What to Cook Next?

I was getting into a pretty good groove of cooking a nice meal on Sunday nights and having something to write about. This week we shook things up a bit – cooked dinner last night, and will be ordering greasy Chinese take out for dinner as soon as B gets here. (And I’m totally excited for crab rangoons and egg rolls!!)

Last night’s meal was nothing too exciting. Swordfish steaks with roasted potatoes, green beans sautéed in garlic herb butter and a garden salad. The swordfish had an herb rub made from fresh herbs, kosher salt, olive oil and lemon zest. It added a very nice flavor to the fish, which despite the odds working against me, was cooked perfectly. (For the first few minutes of broiling, I forgot to leave the oven door ajar, and it took 5 minutes longer than the How to Cook Everything guy said it would.) My issues with the meal were that I think I used too much butter on the green beans, and the potatoes weren’t as hot as I wanted them to be (since the damn fish took too long to cook).

But fortunately, B – the dear, sweet man that he is – had no complaints. He’s making this too easy on me. Then again, I’d be upset if he didn’t like what I cooked, so I should count myself as lucky that I have a guy who seems like he will only tell me that he likes my cooking!

Chinese takeout aside, I’m at a loss for what to cook next. There are so many important days coming up (Super Bowl Sunday, Valentine’s Day and B’s birthday), so I need to pull a list together and start planning. Super Bowl Sunday will most likely consist of a bag of Jax and a six pack of beer… maybe some potato chips and onion dip. If I decide to get fancy, it’ll be with shrimp cocktail. And let’s face it, as much as I enjoy cooking, I’m not cooking on Valentine’s Day.

 Here are a few ideas I’m contemplating:

• Homemade pasta… my mom got me the pasta maker attachment for my KitchenAid stand mixer for Christmas. I’m dying to make some spaghetti. Which means I need to make some more sauce – good sauce this time (I keep having flashbacks to the sauce I ruined with burnt meatballs the first time I cooked for B).
• Cioppino… I can’t forget the delicious spicy seafood stew I had at RM Seafood in Vegas. And it was served with pasta, so I can kill two birds with one stone with this meal.
• More mussel experimentation… I wrote about cooking mussels a while back, and I need to try a few more sauces. When B and I were in Maine, we had mussels steamed with cider jack. If I can figure out a way to only have to buy one bottle of cider jack instead of a six pack, I may give this one a shot.
• Mexican fiesta… Lindsay and I were planning a Mexican fiesta for the Patriots tailgate back in October, then Padraig shut us down. (And yes, it’s okay to be shut down for lobster and steamers. So I’m not really complaining.) Not sure if Lindsay still has all the sauces and seasonings she had a few months ago, but if so, we should get this rescheduled. (Lindsay, if you’re reading this, let me know what you think!) Or I can just wait until I’m in Mexico in 41 days and have it cooked for me. Hmm… this may be a better idea. (Sorry, Lindsay.)
• Birthday cake – from scratch – for B… this one needs some planning, since we are going to Mexico for his birthday. So, the cake will have to be either early or late. B was one of the victims of the bland made-from-scratch cupcakes I served at the aforementioned Patriots tailgate party, so I do have a little redemption coming my way.

Anyone have any other suggestions? Anything you’d like to see me embarrass myself attempting to cook?

The Best Thing She Ever Cooked

When we last saw our fearless heroine, the Wannabe Foodie, she was basking in the glory of her roast chicken success. Feeling good, and maybe just a little cocky, she decided it was time to bring out the big guns. It was time for the manicotti. Yes, the manicotti that has been deemed “the best thing she ever cooked.”

Now keep in mind, this praise was heaped upon her by two of her toughest critics – her dad and her brother. And these two never agree on anything. (Which is probably why the praise came on separate occasions, with neither knowing that the other had provided the same feedback.)

After an afternoon at the Boston Wine Expo on Saturday, followed by dinner at Morton’s, the Wannabe Foodie decided she wanted to impress her love, the man known as B, with her manicotti. It was time. She was ready.

Her day was planned. She would visit her parents, then on her way home hit the grocery store to buy the necessary supplies. While B was out taking care of some things on his To Do list, Wannabe Foodie would make the sauce, mix the filling, and prepare the pasta. She would add a salad and some homemade garlic bread, too.

With her grocery list in hand, and her plan in place, the Wannabe Foodie went to her trusty chariot, also known as The Trailblazer, to embark on her journey.

Effin’ A, the car won’t start. Nothing. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. (Turns out, car batteries don’t last 6+ years. Who knew?)

B was gone, and his phone was dead. There was no way to get in touch with him to ask if he’d pick up the groceries. And besides, he wouldn’t be back until after three o’clock, which means that she would be preparing the manicotti instead of watching the AFC championship game. (And since the Wannabe Foodie is a die hard Colts fan, sorry New England, this was not an option.  Relax, I still like the Patriots.)

Fortunately, Wannabe Foodie’s dad came to the rescue. With the promise of his own batch of manicotti, he whisked her off to the market to procure the necessary provisions.

With the roadblocks out of the way, the preparation could begin. Despite the fact that the Wannabe Foodie once again ignored her own best advise by not prepping her mise en place, everything was perfect. B was impressed – two weeks in a row!! (When pressed, he indicated that he thinks it was the best she ever cooked him.  Fortunately, he's having trouble remembering everything she has cooked for him.  Phew!) 

Wannabe Foodie is on a roll. What will she cook next?

* * * * *

In honor of Championship Sunday (and a Colts win!), I’m re-running one of my first posts… my review of the Brett Favre Steak House in Green Bay, WI. As it stands at this very moment, the New Orleans Saints are beating Mr. Favre is in Vikings 21-14 (with about 8 minutes left in the 3rd quarter). As you will notice, I am not a fan of Brett Favre, and hopefully you’re not either and you’ll enjoy the re-run of this post. Go Saints!

A New England Girl in Green Bay Territory

Originally ran July 30, 2009

Dear Mr. Favre:

I recently found myself in the Green Bay area, and had the “pleasure” of dining in your “steak house.” I have a bone to pick with you…

First of all, are you trying to kill me? Since when is a baked potato served with more ounces of butter, sour cream and cheese than the potato itself? Granted, I’m in Wisconsin. I will deal with the cheese. But to have a potato so dripping in butter fat is not okay.

Shall I discuss the ambience? You’re a good looking guy, but I don’t want to look at you that much. Wall to wall, side by side, nothing but pictures of you. No other memorabilia from your time in Green Bay - it was less a restaurant and more a Brett Favre portrait museum that happened to serve food. This sentiment has nothing to do with me being from New England. I wouldn’t even want to look at Tom Brady that much. And he’s a really good looking guy.

There were six in our party. Our bread basket had five rolls. People eat carbs these days. Accept it.

We started with the chilled seafood platter. Since the dish is described as chilled, our expectation was that it would be cold, perhaps served on ice. There is nothing good about eating room temperature oysters. Nothing. Especially in Wisconsin – you’re nowhere near the ocean. Ewww.

About 30 minutes after our starter, the salad course was served. Unremarkable. It was more like dressing soup, garnished with some lettuce.

The entrees were actually pretty good. No need to provide constructive criticism – we all legitimately enjoyed our steaks (and roast chicken, for the one red meat hold out of the group). As I previously mentioned, the baked potato could have done with a little less saturated fat. After all, isn’t it supposed to be a relatively healthy side dish?

Only two of us ordered dessert. The carrot cake was good, but a little heavy. I’ll own that, and give you a thumbs up. The key lime pie was also well received – and by a New York Football Giants fan nonetheless.
All in all, I’d say the food was okay, the décor a bit extravagant. But I didn’t see any Super Bowl XXXI memorabilia from where I was sitting, so you’re off the hook for that one.

Best of luck in your retirement. I hope you enjoy a full summer off before you change your mind and look for a new place to play ball.

Sincerely,
A Wannabe Foodie

The ULTIMATE Chicken Roaster

My loyal readers will recall that I have – on several occasions – claimed to be able to roast a chicken with the best of them. They will also recall that everything I have cooked for B since we started dating a few months ago has not turned out all that good. In that time, I have roasted several chickens and they have come out great. Of course, B wasn’t around to eat them. It’s kind of like when a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it… How do we really know the chicken was great if there were no witnesses except for the chef herself? (Okay, the cook. I know I’m no chef!)

The time has come, my friends. This evening, B will be eating his first ever Beth Ryan prepared roast chicken.

I have done everything I can to ensure a perfect meal. I bought the expensive, all natural Bell & Evans fresh chicken, brushed up on my roasting techniques by reading cookbooks, browsing websites and watching the latest episode of America’s Test Kitchen on PBS. (Coincidentally, the subject was how to cook the perfect, crispy skinned, roast chicken.)

And the piece de resistance… I purchased the ULTIMATE chicken roaster. Yes, my Calphalon roasting pan is good enough. But I have learned that standing the bird up ensures a better roast. But my oven is just slightly too small for my stand-up rack. Granted, that hasn’t stopped me before but since B is here while I do this cooking, I did not want the whole house to fill up with smoke like it tends to do when I use that rack. A smoke filled kitchen does not do much to instill confidence that the meal will turn out fantastic. (Trust me, I speak from B-specific experience.)

What is the ULTIMATE chicken roaster, you ask? It’s an All-Clad, Williams-Sonoma exclusive, stainless steel, shallow roasting pan with an extension arm and reservoir for holding liquids to infuse the meat. Can’t picture it? Here it is:

We saw this in the Thanksgiving edition of the Williams-Sonoma catalog (one of my favorite reads). We talked about buying it, and never got around to it. After all, do I really need another roasting pan? Especially a $180 one?

But now it’s time for me to put up, or shut up. I can either roast a damn good chicken or I’m full of crap. So, off to Williams-Sonoma I go, armed with the gift card Lindsay gave me for Christmas to help mitigate some of the damage to the wallet. And let me tell you, this is a beautiful pan – almost too pretty to use.

After I got over the beauty of my new ULTIMATE chicken roaster (that’s literally what it’s called – but I did add the capitalization for color and excitement), I was ready to get to work. The menu for this evening was as follows: roast chicken, stuffing, roasted vegetables (potato, broccoli and mushrooms) and garden salad.

The vegetables were cut, dressed with olive oil, seasoned with fresh rosemary, kosher salt and fresh ground pepper and adorned with lemon slices and a few mashed garlic cloves. For extra flavor, I splashed them with a little organic chicken broth. The salad was simple – fresh lettuce and tomatoes from the farmer’s market, red onion, celery, scallions, cucumber and Belgian endive. I used Pepperidge Farm stuffing mix (my old roommate Lova will be glad to learn that I have graduated from Stove Top – well, perhaps “moved on” is a better word than “graduated”), added the onion and celery, used garlic herb butter instead of regular, and finished it off with some of the chicken broth.

The chicken is where my handiwork needs to shine.

First, I rinsed the chicken and patted it dry. Then, I separated the skin from the meat, to allow some air to help with the crispiness. After that, I made a few incisions in the skin where there were fat deposits, and again on the back to allow the fat to drain (and help ensure that side gets crispy skin as well). I salt and peppered the bird inside and out, and then rubbed it generously with olive oil. In the reservoir, I added chicken broth, fresh squeezed lemon juice, a smashed garlic clove (also from the farmer’s market) and a sprig of rosemary. For good measure, I added a squeeze of fresh lemon juice on the breast.

I would like to say that I did this all by myself, but once it came time to tie the chicken to the extension arm I did need an extra set of hands and had to ask B for a little help. But, the rest was all me. (I will regret these words if the chicken turns out awful.) Here is the before shot:

Now, it’s time to wait…

Ah, dinner’s ready. Here is the after shot:

While the chicken didn’t brown on all sides like I had hoped, it was delicious. The stand-up rack was better for that, but I think I can learn by trial and error (perhaps starting the bird breast side down, and rotating it halfway through cooking). The thing that mattered most was the meal was good. B thought so, and I thought so. The gravy was a little too lemony, and the vegetables had a distinct lemon favor as well (although for the most part, not too overwhelming).

But the overall verdict was positive. B said that the whole meal was good, the chicken was nice and moist, the potatoes were seasoned well (and the salad was just a salad – I’ll take that as a good thing since I know he likes salad). In the past, B has said some nice things about my food while I have been disappointed. Since I was pleased and he still said nice things, I have no choice but to believe that I FINALLY cooked him a good meal. Yea me!!

And now, there is some leftover Wally the Green Monster ice cream for dessert…

Wally the Green Monster and an Ice Cream Dream

A few nights ago, I dreamt that I went out for ice cream with my sister. She ordered crème brulee ice cream. It looked nothing like crème brulee (I don’t think crème brulee ice cream would have candy pieces mixed in). I ordered Green Monster ice cream. All I remember was that it was green, and a clear nod to the Red Sox mascot. When I woke up, I couldn’t get that ice cream out of my mind. Even though I had no idea what it was supposed to taste like, I had to have it. Since it didn’t exist, I needed to invent it.

So I dusted off my Cuisinart ice cream maker (yes, a complete waste of money – I never use it) and managed to find the recipe for a basic vanilla ice cream. Since the ice cream had to be green, I determined that it would be mint flavored. Plain old mint flavored ice cream would not be sufficient, and mint chocolate chip is too common, so I decided to make a mint Oreo cookie ice cream.

This was really quite easy – mix up all the ingredients (minus the Oreos), pour the mixture into the freezer chamber of the ice cream maker, and turn on the machine. Let it whir for 20 minutes, then add the crushed Oreos. My only road block was the mint extract – the grocery store was out, and I didn’t have enough at home. The recipe for mint chocolate chip ice cream called for 1/2 teaspoon of extract, and I had maybe slightly more than half of that amount. So, I compensated with vanilla extract and crossed my fingers.

The ice cream was done, and if I do say so myself, it tasted quite good (mint and Oreos, yum). But what was so Green Monster about it? This is where I had to get creative.

I scooped some ice cream in a cup, added two Oreos for eyes and a maraschino cherry for the nose. Ladies and gentlemen, please allow me to introduce my Green Monster ice cream!

I do have to say, I was feeling quite proud of myself. Even B thought it was really good – and not in that “I’m dating you so I have to tell you it’s good” sort of way. He actually liked it! I was waiting all week for the holidays to end so I would have time to sit down and write about my big Green Monster ice cream accomplishment.

Before I get riddled with comments, let me tell you the rest of the story.

Flash forward to this afternoon. I am literally sitting down with my laptop, writing this blog entry when B comes over. He was charged with picking up dinner rolls for our meal of Guinness Beef Stew, so he had to stop at the store on his way to my place. Since we opted for heat and serve rolls, he found himself in the freezer section. What else did he find in the freezer section?

Son of a bitch.

Hood, the official ice cream of the Boston Red Sox, has produced Green Monster Mint ice cream. Chocolatey mint socks swirled with thick fudge in mint ice cream. (I may be being a tad too petty, but truth be told it wasn’t so much a fudge swirl as it was a layer of fudge that was frozen on top of the ice cream.)

I swear I had no conscious knowledge of this ice cream. It is possible that I once knew about it and forgot, then had a dream that was triggered by a suppressed memory, and the resulting idea of a mint flavored ice cream was not as clever as I originally thought. But really, how likely is that?

Now that I was aware of the Hood version of Green Monster ice cream, there was only one thing left to do. It’s time for a taste test.

A completely objective and unbiased research panel was assembled. Okay, it was just me and B. But it’s Sunday night – no one else was around. My conclusion was that mine is better – the mint in the Hood version was a little overwhelming, antiseptic tasting even. The chocolate socks were mint flavored and that was a little too much mint for one bite of ice cream. As I mentioned before, the fudge swirl was not as described and was pretty hard to break to get to the ice cream. The mint flavor was more subtle in my version – perhaps aided by the addition of vanilla. The Oreos added a chocolate flavor while balancing the mint with the smoothness of the cream filling. Plus, my sundae actually looked like Wally the Green Monster.

B agreed with me on all of my points, and pointed out that the fudge had a very strong peanut buttery flavor (turns out one of the primary ingredients in the fudge was peanut oil).

With the test concluded, and the results in, Wannabe Foodie’s Green Monster ice cream prevails. Perhaps it wasn’t as original as I had hoped, but I can safely say that I came up with the idea completely independently even though the product already existed. It’s not my fault I didn’t know about it.

Hmmm… if B liked my ice cream better, how come he finished off the Hood ice cream instead???

Torta Time!

Before I get started, please allow me to apologize for my absence these past few weeks. I was surprised to hear that people noticed I hadn’t been posting, but glad to know that I do have committed readers out there!

The holidays are officially upon us, and the weeks since Thanksgiving have been pretty hectic. But the tree is up, the stockings are hung by 3M hooks on my door with care, gifts have all been bought and wrapped, and the cards are in the mail. The only thing left to do is COOK!

Here’s what’s on my list to prepare over the next few days:

• Chicken soup (the tortellini tradition carries over to Christmas, where I believe it rightfully belongs)

• Oatmeal raisin cookies (my brother’s favorites, and the only way I can give him a gift without him feeling like I gave him a gift… long story)

• Torta di pittata

Torta di pittata, affectionately known as torta pittat, or just plain torta, by my Italian relatives, is the most important item on that list. Honestly, if I don’t get around to making the oatmeal raisin cookies, no one would even notice. If I decided to cheat, and use store bought chicken broth instead of homemade, I’ll probably still get told that it’s the best I’ve ever made (somehow this soup magically gets better every year – not sure how, but I’ll take the compliment). But if I screw up the torta, I’m out of the family. While it’s a tempting punishment at times, I’m still going to try my best.

Torta pittat is basically an Italian potato pie. The potato is the only ingredient that won’t give you heartburn or a heart attack. The other ingredients are a veritable death sentence – onions, romano cheese, parmesan cheese, butter, and eggs. And I’m talking about lots of butter, onions and cheese. I am unable to share the exact recipe – again, I’ll get kicked out of the family – but you basically mix all these things together and spread it on a thin crust and bake it. When it’s done, you sprinkle it with a little sugar and eat all your stomach (and heart, blood pressure, arteries, etc) can take.

I never actually liked torta before, but once I started making it myself I developed a taste for it. It’s amazing what pride of ownership will due for your taste buds.

So talking about torta is the easy part. Not screwing it up – that’s where the challenge lie.

The filling always comes out good – seriously, what’s not to like about potato, butter, eggs, cheese and onions all mixed together and baked? It’s like the world’s guiltiest mashed potato mix. But for some reason, I struggle with the crust. Every other year it gives me trouble. If I remember correctly, last year was a bad year, so this year should be an easy one. But, then again, I plan to make two batches so that I can bring some to B’s family. Does that put the odds against me? Maybe, if I’m lucky, it’s not every other year, but every other batch.

I would like to think it’s an every other year plague, but given my track record with cooking for B, I’m guessing it’s going to be an every other batch problem.

Truth be told, no one really notices when the crust is not right – the filling is 99% of the torta, and that’s all anyone really cares about. But it drives me crazy because it is so simple and when it gives me trouble, it does so to the point of tears. Literally, I get so frustrated I just start crying. It’s not the most productive way to deal with stress in the kitchen, but it is what it is.

Tomorrow I will make my shopping list – figure out how many pounds (yes, pounds) of potatoes, onion, cheese and butter I need to make two recipes of torta di pittata. Tuesday I will shop, and Wednesday I will cook. Thursday I will let you all know how horribly wrong it all went. (My eyes will be too red from crying to update you any sooner!)

Merry Christmas and/or Happy Hanukkah to you all!

Death by Blackened Salmon

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?

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!!