All I really want to do is prepare a fabulous meal for B that leaves him thinking that he can’t live without me. Is that asking too much?
Apparently it is.
My latest attempt at cooking the dream dinner for my dream guy almost asphyxiated us both. After several days of non-stop eating over the Thanksgiving holiday, that were preceded by back to back restaurant dinners, it was time for something lighter and healthier. (Please note, I said lighter and healthier – not light and healthy.)
I talked B out of making Beef Wellington on Saturday night (too much work for a Saturday night dinner... save it for a Sunday afternoon), and I set out to make Blackened Salmon Caesar Salad. He’s a big fan of the Caesar salad, and blackening salmon gives it a little something extra to make it more than your basic grilled fish on salad.
I wanted everything to be made from scratch, because what’s so special about a pre-packaged seasoning mix and bottled salad dressing? Don’t get me wrong, I’ve used them in the past and will use them again in the future, but my goal here was to impress B with my food preparation skills (I’ve given up on trying to impress him with my cooking). I needed recipes for Caesar dressing and the blackening seasoning, and I found them easily on the Food Network website.
My plan was to make the dressing first (it had the most steps and I could really screw up dinner if I waited to do it while the fish was cooking). I pull out the blender, puree the anchovies in olive oil, press the garlic, coddle the egg, dash the Tabasco and Worcestershire sauce, add the dried mustard and celery salt, etc etc, and whisk my little heart out. With the dressing done, I tear up the romaine, grate some premium Parmesan cheese, and pour in the croutons (I decided not to over-commit with homemade croutons – I figured it was a recipe for disaster, no pun intended). Salad aside, dressing ready to be tossed, and now I’m on to the salmon.
The recipe for the blackening season was quite simple – 5 sprigs of fresh thyme, leaves removed and chopped; 1 tablespoon of chopped fresh oregano; 1/2 teaspoon of kosher salt; 1.5 tablespoons of paprika; and 1.5 tablespoons of ground cayenne pepper. Easy peasy. B even helped with the herbs (which is great, since the novelty of my new knives has worn off and I’m no longer excited to finely chop fresh herbs).
After skinning the fish, I coated it in the seasoning mix on all sides. The oil was heated in the skillet, and we were ready to go.
The salmon was added to the pan, and within seconds neither one of us could breathe. The cayenne pepper filled the air so heavily, we had to open all the windows just to feel like we were doing something to try to survive. It infiltrated our noses, and we couldn’t stop sneezing. It got stuck in our throats, and the coughing couldn’t be contained. We were gulping Chardonnay as if our lives depended on it. Loved ones were called, goodbyes were said. It was awful.
Seriously, can I catch a break? I’m really not a terrible cook. Really, I swear it – I’m much harder on myself than I deserve to be. Yes, I definitely have some unusual experiences in the kitchen, but since I met B I can barely boil water. It’s truly unbelievable. This never happened with the pre-made seasoning mix from Emeril.
We managed to endure the cooking of the fish, and drink enough water (once we realized the Chardonnay wasn’t doing much to help) to survive. You ever want to torture someone to get them to talk? Blackened salmon is your weapon, my friend. Recipe above.
All in all, and despite the threat of death, the dinner wasn’t bad. It was definitely very spicy and hard on the respiratory system, but I lived to write about it and cook for B again. The BLT I made him for lunch today was a winner (oh, big deal, I can cook bacon and assemble a sandwich!!), and he’s trusting me enough to let me make linguine with white clam sauce for dinner tonight (homemade, but now that I think about it, I should have bought some in a jar as emergency back up). Hopefully there is a winner in my repertoire somewhere and eventually I’ll prepare the perfect meal with the desired reaction.
A girl can dream, can’t she?
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Thanksgiving Tradition
As much as I have enjoyed having my kitchen invaded and having dinner cooked for me by B two Fridays in a row, it’s good to get back behind the stove and do some cooking myself. With Thanksgiving just a few days away, I’ve got some work to do. But before I start, it’s time to reflect on the most important part of the holiday. Sorry, I’m not going to reflect on what I’m thankful for (don’t you think that can get a little trite?). Instead, I’m going to reflect on Thanksgiving tradition – because to me, Thanksgiving is all about tradition.
So here is a list of my favorite Thanksgiving traditions:
Traditionally, we start the meal with homemade cheese tortellini in chicken broth. My grandmother made these every year while she was alive, and once she passed away my mom and dad took on the task. This is absolutely my most favorite holiday food. It’s the thing I look forward to the most. My mother has a tendency to ration the tortellini, so we won’t fill up on the first course and barely touch the rest of the meal that she and my dad spent days preparing. Traditionally, this tendency is greeted with boos and lots of criticism. It can get pretty ugly. It’s very dangerous to withhold the tortellini from a group of half drunk, half-Irish, half-Italians!
Traditionally, my parents invite me to help make the tortellini. And in an even grander tradition, each year I come up with an excuse for why I cannot help. This year my excuse was that it’s really a two person job and I would just get in the way. I honestly don’t know why they keep asking.
Traditionally, my parents do all the work preparing the meal, and cleaning up. This is my most favorite tradition of all. Yes, I do get some crap for not helping, but they forget about it pretty quickly so it’s worth the little bit of grief I get to not have to get my hands dirty. (In my defense, I never ask them to help when they eat at my home.)
Traditionally, the meal is served 30 minutes after the time my parents tell us we’ll be eating. They always say 2 o’clock, so I get there at 1 o’clock, and we are lucky if we’re eating by 2:30. Each year they swear we will eat on time, but yet it never seems to happen. You know what? If they served the meal on time, the rest of us probably wouldn’t be half drunk by the time we sit down and the rationing of the tortellini might be less ugly. Just a thought…
Traditionally, my mother tries to get me to eat butternut squash and I have to remind her, as I do every year, that I do not like butternut squash. She always seems surprised and asks “since when?” and I always reply “since forever.” Truth be told, a few years ago I tried butternut squash somewhere and loved it. But I am such a fan of tradition that I don’t want to ruin this one by admitting I now like something I insisted for years that I hated. Plus, it’s fun.
Traditionally, I make the chicken soup for the tortellini. I start by roasting the bird, and then cleaning all the meat off of it and boiling the carcass with onion, celery, carrots, parsley, kosher salt and peppercorns. After it reduces, I let it sit overnight in the refrigerator. The next day I skim off the fat and bring it back up to a boil to check and adjust the seasonings. It’s a lot of work – albeit easy work – but it is so worth it. Those tortellini deserve nothing but the best, and canned broth simply will not do.
Traditionally, I argue with my parents over whether or not to serve salad with the meal. I am always (ALWAYS!) pro salad, and they are usually opposed. My sister usually settles the argument by volunteering to bring the salad. Everyone wins – I get my salad, and my parents don’t have to make it. I’m not sure why they are anti-salad with Thanksgiving dinner, because we have always been a salad family. Seriously, pretty much every dinner was accompanied by salad. For some reason it becomes offensive on Thanksgiving.
Traditionally, my mother tries to fancy up some aspect of the meal. One year she decided to serve potatoes au gratin instead of mashed. Another time she added nuts to the green beans. (I will not even discuss the year she added grated carrot to the broth for the tortellini. She’s lucky to be alive.) Each year she gets chastised. Yet, the tradition continues. It’s not that what she makes isn’t good (with the exception of the carrot in the soup), it’s just not part of our traditional Thanksgiving dinner. Thanksgiving is not the time to experiment with new dishes.
Traditionally, the asparagus is way over cooked. They always buy fresh asparagus, but manage to cook it to the color and texture of canned asparagus. Recently, my brother Dave informed us all that he never liked asparagus until he had it in Vegas when we were there for Lindsay and Padraig’s wedding. My parents asked why he all of a sudden liked it, and he answered that he never had it cooked properly before. They thought he was crazy (he is, but for different reasons), but Lindsay and I quickly came to his defense. This year, they claim they are going to cook it properly. We’ll see…
As big a fan as I am of Thanksgiving tradition, I am taking a big step away from it this year. For the first time in my life, I will not be having dinner with my family. Instead I will be having dinner with B (which I am both excited and terrified about). So, I will not be partaking in the traditions of eating later than anticipated, and telling my mother that I don’t like butternut squash (maybe I’ll actually get to eat it this year!). There will be no salad served with dinner (this I learned earlier today – they wasted no time in cutting me out of this meal once I told them I would be with B instead), and I’ll have to check in with Lindsay and Dave to find out whether or not the asparagus was overcooked.
B and I will be arriving later to have dessert with my parents, and I’m sure the grand tradition of finding something wrong with my cheesecake will continue. There truly is no place like home for the holidays!
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!!
So here is a list of my favorite Thanksgiving traditions:
Traditionally, we start the meal with homemade cheese tortellini in chicken broth. My grandmother made these every year while she was alive, and once she passed away my mom and dad took on the task. This is absolutely my most favorite holiday food. It’s the thing I look forward to the most. My mother has a tendency to ration the tortellini, so we won’t fill up on the first course and barely touch the rest of the meal that she and my dad spent days preparing. Traditionally, this tendency is greeted with boos and lots of criticism. It can get pretty ugly. It’s very dangerous to withhold the tortellini from a group of half drunk, half-Irish, half-Italians!
Traditionally, my parents invite me to help make the tortellini. And in an even grander tradition, each year I come up with an excuse for why I cannot help. This year my excuse was that it’s really a two person job and I would just get in the way. I honestly don’t know why they keep asking.
Traditionally, my parents do all the work preparing the meal, and cleaning up. This is my most favorite tradition of all. Yes, I do get some crap for not helping, but they forget about it pretty quickly so it’s worth the little bit of grief I get to not have to get my hands dirty. (In my defense, I never ask them to help when they eat at my home.)
Traditionally, the meal is served 30 minutes after the time my parents tell us we’ll be eating. They always say 2 o’clock, so I get there at 1 o’clock, and we are lucky if we’re eating by 2:30. Each year they swear we will eat on time, but yet it never seems to happen. You know what? If they served the meal on time, the rest of us probably wouldn’t be half drunk by the time we sit down and the rationing of the tortellini might be less ugly. Just a thought…
Traditionally, my mother tries to get me to eat butternut squash and I have to remind her, as I do every year, that I do not like butternut squash. She always seems surprised and asks “since when?” and I always reply “since forever.” Truth be told, a few years ago I tried butternut squash somewhere and loved it. But I am such a fan of tradition that I don’t want to ruin this one by admitting I now like something I insisted for years that I hated. Plus, it’s fun.
Traditionally, I make the chicken soup for the tortellini. I start by roasting the bird, and then cleaning all the meat off of it and boiling the carcass with onion, celery, carrots, parsley, kosher salt and peppercorns. After it reduces, I let it sit overnight in the refrigerator. The next day I skim off the fat and bring it back up to a boil to check and adjust the seasonings. It’s a lot of work – albeit easy work – but it is so worth it. Those tortellini deserve nothing but the best, and canned broth simply will not do.
Traditionally, I argue with my parents over whether or not to serve salad with the meal. I am always (ALWAYS!) pro salad, and they are usually opposed. My sister usually settles the argument by volunteering to bring the salad. Everyone wins – I get my salad, and my parents don’t have to make it. I’m not sure why they are anti-salad with Thanksgiving dinner, because we have always been a salad family. Seriously, pretty much every dinner was accompanied by salad. For some reason it becomes offensive on Thanksgiving.
Traditionally, my mother tries to fancy up some aspect of the meal. One year she decided to serve potatoes au gratin instead of mashed. Another time she added nuts to the green beans. (I will not even discuss the year she added grated carrot to the broth for the tortellini. She’s lucky to be alive.) Each year she gets chastised. Yet, the tradition continues. It’s not that what she makes isn’t good (with the exception of the carrot in the soup), it’s just not part of our traditional Thanksgiving dinner. Thanksgiving is not the time to experiment with new dishes.
Traditionally, the asparagus is way over cooked. They always buy fresh asparagus, but manage to cook it to the color and texture of canned asparagus. Recently, my brother Dave informed us all that he never liked asparagus until he had it in Vegas when we were there for Lindsay and Padraig’s wedding. My parents asked why he all of a sudden liked it, and he answered that he never had it cooked properly before. They thought he was crazy (he is, but for different reasons), but Lindsay and I quickly came to his defense. This year, they claim they are going to cook it properly. We’ll see…
As big a fan as I am of Thanksgiving tradition, I am taking a big step away from it this year. For the first time in my life, I will not be having dinner with my family. Instead I will be having dinner with B (which I am both excited and terrified about). So, I will not be partaking in the traditions of eating later than anticipated, and telling my mother that I don’t like butternut squash (maybe I’ll actually get to eat it this year!). There will be no salad served with dinner (this I learned earlier today – they wasted no time in cutting me out of this meal once I told them I would be with B instead), and I’ll have to check in with Lindsay and Dave to find out whether or not the asparagus was overcooked.
B and I will be arriving later to have dessert with my parents, and I’m sure the grand tradition of finding something wrong with my cheesecake will continue. There truly is no place like home for the holidays!
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!!
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Kitchen Invasion
They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I think I’m going to need a new set of directions, because I clearly am not going to get to B’s heart with my cooking. The good news is that my homemade spaghetti sauce neither killed nor scared him away. The sauce was by no means my best effort, but he politely cleaned his plate and then offered to cook for me next time. I’ll try to believe that he liked it (he said he did) and not read too much into that follow up gesture.
I’ve fully admitted in the past that my foodie status is strictly in the wannabe category. I’m working hard to make it legitimate, but it’s going to be a long journey. Now, I’m dating someone who not only knows so much more about food than I do, but is an infinitely better cook than I am.
B invaded my kitchen this weekend and made me an unbelievable dinner – chicken breast stuffed with spinach, kalamata olives and a goat cheese brie, with garden salad and wild mushroom risotto. I sat humbly by and watched while he prepped and cooked in my tiny little kitchen. There wasn’t much for me to do, so I sat on the counter and drank several glasses of Kendall Jackson Chardonnay while he chopped, sliced, etc. Eventually he broke down and let me stir the risotto. And let me tell you, I stirred the crap out of that risotto. I had to make myself useful after all. Maybe I’ll get close to his heart by being a good sous chef.
Oh, I forgot to mention that he prepared a nice little Italian hot sausage appetizer for us to enjoy while he cooked. Everything was delicious. It was an amazing dinner. (Eat your heart out, Tom Colicchio and Craft. B put your over-salted quail to shame!)
Since my spaghetti sauce was okay, and I’m unable to identify the flavors of various herbs in the many dishes we’ve eaten together, I need to redeem myself somehow. I resorted to baking cookies. High school flashbacks aside (that was probably the last time I baked cookies from scratch for the sole purpose of impressing a boy), it was what I felt was my only viable option on short notice. I will not share this recipe – it’s all I have left in my arsenal – but there is a lovely bag of 3+ dozen, made from scratch, chocolate-peanut butter-toffee chip cookies just waiting for B to enjoy.
And naturally, he’s not hungry. So the bag remains untouched, and we all are left waiting for the final verdict. I feel more confident about these cookies than I do that spaghetti sauce (even though he said he liked it), but alas we must wait for him to get hungry. Do stay tuned, I promise to share the results.
(I just remembered… my manicotti recipe. If the cookies fail, I have one strike left!!)
I’ve fully admitted in the past that my foodie status is strictly in the wannabe category. I’m working hard to make it legitimate, but it’s going to be a long journey. Now, I’m dating someone who not only knows so much more about food than I do, but is an infinitely better cook than I am.
B invaded my kitchen this weekend and made me an unbelievable dinner – chicken breast stuffed with spinach, kalamata olives and a goat cheese brie, with garden salad and wild mushroom risotto. I sat humbly by and watched while he prepped and cooked in my tiny little kitchen. There wasn’t much for me to do, so I sat on the counter and drank several glasses of Kendall Jackson Chardonnay while he chopped, sliced, etc. Eventually he broke down and let me stir the risotto. And let me tell you, I stirred the crap out of that risotto. I had to make myself useful after all. Maybe I’ll get close to his heart by being a good sous chef.
Oh, I forgot to mention that he prepared a nice little Italian hot sausage appetizer for us to enjoy while he cooked. Everything was delicious. It was an amazing dinner. (Eat your heart out, Tom Colicchio and Craft. B put your over-salted quail to shame!)
Since my spaghetti sauce was okay, and I’m unable to identify the flavors of various herbs in the many dishes we’ve eaten together, I need to redeem myself somehow. I resorted to baking cookies. High school flashbacks aside (that was probably the last time I baked cookies from scratch for the sole purpose of impressing a boy), it was what I felt was my only viable option on short notice. I will not share this recipe – it’s all I have left in my arsenal – but there is a lovely bag of 3+ dozen, made from scratch, chocolate-peanut butter-toffee chip cookies just waiting for B to enjoy.
And naturally, he’s not hungry. So the bag remains untouched, and we all are left waiting for the final verdict. I feel more confident about these cookies than I do that spaghetti sauce (even though he said he liked it), but alas we must wait for him to get hungry. Do stay tuned, I promise to share the results.
(I just remembered… my manicotti recipe. If the cookies fail, I have one strike left!!)
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Back to the Kitchen
After a week filled with a lot of restaurant dinners (Grill 23, Oga, Craft, Aureole, Skipjack’s and Bravo), and two weeks of pretty horrible blog posts, it’s time for me to get back to the kitchen. (My apologies for the crap I’ve been making you all read. It’s unacceptable, and it won’t happen again.)
Before I start, I do need to gush a little bit about Craft. Being a huge Top Chef fan, and by extension, a fan of all things Tom Colicchio, I was so excited to eat at Craft for the very first time. We’ll forget about the fact that halfway through the meal I realized I had eaten there before – minor detail. It was an amazing meal, from start to finish. It started with an amuse bouche of raw scallop on pumpkin puree, garnished with fennel frond. Yum. Then I ordered the lemon and arugula salad, the roasted quail and Brussels sprouts. For dessert, I had pumpkin crème brulee (being a lover of all things pumpkin). Everything was great, but I do need to point out that the quail was pretty over-salted. I have a very high salt tolerance, and I still found it very salty. Being that everything else on the table was perfect, it needs to be said that the quail would have landed Tom Colicchio on the wrong side of the judge’s table.
Salt aside, that meal reminded me of why I do this. Write this blog, that is. It is all for the love of food. I may not know much about it, I may not have much of a palate (this, I very recently became aware of), and I may not be that good of a cook. But I love to get in the kitchen and figure it all out. Why else do I have all this fancy cookware and knives?
Oh, that reminds me. I experienced my first knife casualty this past week. While I was drying dishes, my bread knife gave me a good slice. It bled like crazy, and for a good ten minutes I thought I was going to pass out. But I survived, and it turned out not be that bad of a wound. It’s nice to get the first accident out of the way!
So, back to being back in the kitchen… I had two very lovely meals with B this weekend (that’s all you’re getting out of me folks), and I decided it’s time to cook him dinner. In other words, it’s time to scare him away. Since I don’t actually want to scare him away, I decided to keep it simple and stick with what I know. Here’s the menu for this evening: Italian bread, garden salad (with homemade vinaigrette), spaghetti with homemade marinara sauce and meatballs, served with good quality parmagiano reggiano cheese and accompanied by a nice Cabernet Sauvignon.
I have two good recipes for marinara sauce. One is a quick 15 minute sauce, and the other is an all day affair (well, a few hours anyway). I chose the long version, and the sauce has been simmering all day. In my humble opinion, it smells and tastes delicious. My dad has commented that my sauce is too salty. Due to my previously noted high salt tolerance (and let’s be fair, he has an extremely low salt tolerance), I have no idea what he’s talking about. But to be safe, I used kosher salt since it’s far less salty than table or sea salt. While I did use dried Italian seasoning, I opted for fresh basil added at the end for a better flavor.
For the meatballs, I turned to the America’s Test Kitchen Family Cookbook. Granted, this cookbook totally screwed me with the clam chowder and cupcakes I made (ahem) for the tailgate clambake, it hadn’t failed me before so I’m giving it one last chance. I normally prefer meatballs that you cook entirely in the sauce, but they tend to fall apart and I’ve come to learn that’s really not a good thing. The primary reason I like that way better is that I can’t really stand browning meatballs in a frying pan and then baking them. Don’t ask me why. I just don’t. The ATK recipe calls for pretty much frying them in vegetable oil until they are completely cooked. I made sure to sample some, and they taste pretty good. But, I do have to admit, they may be slightly overbrowned. Not burnt – I would admit it that were the case. But, they are a little crunchy. I’m on the fence about serving them… I never actually promised the meatballs, so I could just serve him spaghetti.
While I think the sauce and meatballs taste pretty good, the true test will be whether or not B likes the dinner. Or more importantly whether I see him again after he eats it. We’ll see…
Before I start, I do need to gush a little bit about Craft. Being a huge Top Chef fan, and by extension, a fan of all things Tom Colicchio, I was so excited to eat at Craft for the very first time. We’ll forget about the fact that halfway through the meal I realized I had eaten there before – minor detail. It was an amazing meal, from start to finish. It started with an amuse bouche of raw scallop on pumpkin puree, garnished with fennel frond. Yum. Then I ordered the lemon and arugula salad, the roasted quail and Brussels sprouts. For dessert, I had pumpkin crème brulee (being a lover of all things pumpkin). Everything was great, but I do need to point out that the quail was pretty over-salted. I have a very high salt tolerance, and I still found it very salty. Being that everything else on the table was perfect, it needs to be said that the quail would have landed Tom Colicchio on the wrong side of the judge’s table.
Salt aside, that meal reminded me of why I do this. Write this blog, that is. It is all for the love of food. I may not know much about it, I may not have much of a palate (this, I very recently became aware of), and I may not be that good of a cook. But I love to get in the kitchen and figure it all out. Why else do I have all this fancy cookware and knives?
Oh, that reminds me. I experienced my first knife casualty this past week. While I was drying dishes, my bread knife gave me a good slice. It bled like crazy, and for a good ten minutes I thought I was going to pass out. But I survived, and it turned out not be that bad of a wound. It’s nice to get the first accident out of the way!
So, back to being back in the kitchen… I had two very lovely meals with B this weekend (that’s all you’re getting out of me folks), and I decided it’s time to cook him dinner. In other words, it’s time to scare him away. Since I don’t actually want to scare him away, I decided to keep it simple and stick with what I know. Here’s the menu for this evening: Italian bread, garden salad (with homemade vinaigrette), spaghetti with homemade marinara sauce and meatballs, served with good quality parmagiano reggiano cheese and accompanied by a nice Cabernet Sauvignon.
I have two good recipes for marinara sauce. One is a quick 15 minute sauce, and the other is an all day affair (well, a few hours anyway). I chose the long version, and the sauce has been simmering all day. In my humble opinion, it smells and tastes delicious. My dad has commented that my sauce is too salty. Due to my previously noted high salt tolerance (and let’s be fair, he has an extremely low salt tolerance), I have no idea what he’s talking about. But to be safe, I used kosher salt since it’s far less salty than table or sea salt. While I did use dried Italian seasoning, I opted for fresh basil added at the end for a better flavor.
For the meatballs, I turned to the America’s Test Kitchen Family Cookbook. Granted, this cookbook totally screwed me with the clam chowder and cupcakes I made (ahem) for the tailgate clambake, it hadn’t failed me before so I’m giving it one last chance. I normally prefer meatballs that you cook entirely in the sauce, but they tend to fall apart and I’ve come to learn that’s really not a good thing. The primary reason I like that way better is that I can’t really stand browning meatballs in a frying pan and then baking them. Don’t ask me why. I just don’t. The ATK recipe calls for pretty much frying them in vegetable oil until they are completely cooked. I made sure to sample some, and they taste pretty good. But, I do have to admit, they may be slightly overbrowned. Not burnt – I would admit it that were the case. But, they are a little crunchy. I’m on the fence about serving them… I never actually promised the meatballs, so I could just serve him spaghetti.
While I think the sauce and meatballs taste pretty good, the true test will be whether or not B likes the dinner. Or more importantly whether I see him again after he eats it. We’ll see…
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