Culinary Boot Camp

Whenever I tell people that I have a food blog, the follow up question is usually, “oh, what do you like to cook?” And for as many times as I’ve gotten that question, I still don’t have a good answer.  I usually stammer something out–sometimes I say the thing I cooked last, sometimes I admit that I really don’t know how to cook, but I can read, so I just follow recipes–but truth be told, I don’t actually like to cook anything in particular.  I don’t have a go-to recipe (I rarely make anything more than once) and I’m more the type of person to read about something and want to make it rather than having the ingredients at hand and deciding what to create from there.  And then there’s the whole Type A personality that has already been discussed , which makes baking much more soothing to my already [slightly] frantic mind.

Not being one to ease into things gradually, I decided to remedy my lack of cooking fundamentals by taking an intensive culinary course at Kendall College.  We should pause here to discuss the fact that anything related to boot camp, drills or authority in general is not something that usually appeals to me (although I did consider joining the JAG corps after law school until I learned that even lawyers in the Army have to go to basic training).  My report card from band camp one summer said, “Heather has a distinct problem with authority.” I wanted to frame it; my family was mortified (and query why 12 year old kids need report cards at camp?!?).  Anyhoo.  I was a little nervous that we were going to be forced to do push ups if we couldn’t dice an onion in less than 30 seconds, but I thought that it was the best way to get a working knowledge of the basics so I could [hopefully] be left to my own devices in the kitchen.

I’m going to tell you to sign up immediately for this class. Don’t wait to finish reading this post–I’ll still be here when you get back.  We started the first of two days (with fabulous Chef/Instructor Heidi) learning about different types of knives and how to hold them to make the most of our chopping efforts.  We started with chives and worked our way up to jalepenos (with time for onions, shallots, carrots, potatoes and leeks).  I consider that part a success since I still have all ten fingers.  From there we moved on to learning how to cut up a whole chicken (which is seriously cost effective and not the least bit icky like I imagined. Note: icky is a technical kitchen term).  The carcass, legs and thighs, along with most of our chopped veggies, went into huge pots to make our chicken stock, which would become the base for our cream of broccoli soup and minestone.  Day 1 ended with making creme brulee and me basically crawling home after standing for 6 hours.

Day 2 started with a salt, spice and herb lesson (most valuable: kosher salt can be used for cooking and baking. Who knew? Sea salt is a finisher; regular table salt can overpower the other flavors.  Also, you can dry fresh herbs in the oven to have on hand or chop them up and roll them in to butter for a yummy bread, pasta or fish topping. Oh! And freshly grated cinnamon smells like Red Hots and nothing like the kind found in the jars.  That last one is a personal observation).   We moved on to braised pork shoulder that had marinated in a happy wine bath overnight and then we seared and put in a 300 degree oven for 5 hours.  We got to eat our roasted pork loin with rosemary and wrapped in pancetta for lunch, followed by our creme brulee from the previous day.  We also made beef stir-fry, chicken piccata and tiramisu.

But the thing that made me happiest was the duck breast with a balsamic cherry sauce.  Duck is one of the things I love most in the world, and I had no idea that it was something that I could make at home.  And now?? Now I feel as though I could have duck at every meal (and I would if I could).  We seared the duck breast for about 10 minutes and then put it in the oven to finish cooking.  I missed out on the making of the sauce (we worked in teams of 4 and I was busy making the potatoes cooked in duck fat–yes you read that right), but trust me when I tell you it could make your eyes roll back in your head.  I don’t know that I’ve had a more perfect bite of food that I’ve actually had a hand in making than the duck, cherry, potato combo.  You’ll note there are no pictures of it, because I was too busy eating.  Um, promise to take some next time I make it.  Which will be tonight…and tomorrow night…and the night after….

Seared Duck Breast with Balsamic Cherry Sauce (courtesy of Kendall College)

Caramel Apples

Before I got braces, I really really wanted them.  I also wanted glasses and a cast (preferably arm, but I would have made do with a leg).  I’m sure any therapist worth his or her $200 an hour fee would tell you what I really wanted was attention, even in the form of teasing and taunting, but because I went to a school full of nerdy people–even the coolest kids crammed around our old school Apple computers and played Oregon Trail at lunch–having braces and glasses would barely have gotten me noticed.  Unfortunately, thanks to all the carrots I ate, my eyesight was 20/20 (although I did try to fail an eye exam, but took it too far and had a very alarmed school nurse thinking I was legally blind) and I was never adventurous enough to break an arm, but luckily my teeth were a mess.  I’m sure there was a bidding war in the back of the orthodontist’s office to fill my mouth with metal.  I mean, at one point there was talk of breaking my jaw to align my teeth.  So, months before turning 14 I got my wish for braces and they were all I hoped for.

That is, of course, until I was approaching my 16th birthday.  What almost 16 year old wants braces?? I threatened to remove them myself if Dr. G didn’t take them off for me.  I even convinced the man to up the ante in the months leading up to my birthday by removing the wires and giving me a mouth guard to speed up the process (I, of course, did not think of the fact that the mouth guard would prevent me from talking, which I’m sure is why he went for it.  Luckily I only had to wear it while I slept). 

Anyhoo.  The braces came off days before my 16th birthday and the first thing I wanted was a caramel apple.  Obviously they were verboten while I had braces, but even before I’d never been able to eat one right off the stick, because my top and bottom teeth didn’t meet in the middle (you thought I was kidding about how crazy they were, didn’t you??).  I always had to cut them up, which really defeated the purpose.  So, I wanted to bite into a caramel apple and drink sugary drinks and eat Cheetos to my heart’s content.  I was totally foiled though, because my birthday is in July and there was nary a caramel apple to be found.  But I kept my dreams alive and at the first whiff of fall I went in search of caramel to make my own batch of apples.  This is where the shininess of youth starts to color your recollections, because as I remember it all I had to do was melt the caramel, dip my apples in, let them cool and voila! Happiness at my fingertips. 

This go round? Not so much.  First of all, there were no sticks in the bag of caramel like I remember, so I had to schlep to Michaels (usually a happy experience, but I was on a mission) and then it took me forever to actually get them in the apples.  As for the melting of the caramel, I admit that I didn’t follow the package directions completely–I used a double boiler instead of melting it down–but I really don’t remember nearly getting third degree burns while dipping the apples.  Melted caramel is hot, kids! You heard it here first.

In the end, an apple covered in caramel is never a bad thing, no matter the process to get there, so hopefully they’ll make your Halloween to-do list.  As for my teeth, they’ve shifted a bit (I actually went to talk to Dr. G about it last summer and he was SALTY. Like I had done his good work a disservice.  He retired soon after…). I still don’t wear glasses and have no desire for a broken arm or leg any longer.  My need for attention, though, has grown significantly…

Caramel Apples

• 1 bag Kraft caramels
• 5 apples
• lots of patience

We’re going super simple on the recipe today.  Follow the directions on the back of the bag of Kraft caramels.  Don’t be foolish (like me) and try to invent your own.

Cinnamon Rolls

 

I’m a total morning person. If I have work to do, I’d much rather go to bed at 10pm and wake up at 4am than stay up late.  Obviously I was a lot of fun in college.  I think I was one of the few people who actually left parties to go to bed (plus my grandfather always said nothing good happens after midnight.  Now, we all know “good” things can happen after midnight, but when you think back on it the next morning, it’s unlikely to fall into any category that constitutes good for a grandfather.  I digress…).  This saved me from gaining the notorious Freshman Fifteen, because I was tucked in well before the late night pizzas were delivered.  Senior year, I instituted the 11:30pm rule in our house which meant that on a school night, no one was allowed to wake me up unless the house was on fire, I was on fire or someone had died.  Don’t you wish you’d lived with me?  The 11:30 rule has become the 10:30 rule since I now live in a CST timezone.  I’m really not kidding about this; I’ve actually had friends ask if they can break the 10:30 rule to call me (I usually say yes…).

I have no idea where I was going with this (I actually wrote that paragraph last night and then, guess what? I got sleepy, so I’m finishing it this morning and have no idea what I was going to say next.  True story.).  At any rate, I truly believe that breakfast is the most important meal of the day for many reasons, but it’s rare that I have anything more than cereal.  I really want to be one of those people who wakes up and squeezes orange juice to go with my freshly made waffles and crisp bacon, but for all of my morning person-ness, this is likely never to happen.  Why would I do that when there are perfectly good brunch spots within walking distance? I’m all for reinventing the wheel recipe-wise, but not if it’s going to stand in the way of bacon, you know?

So I was all over making these cinnamon rolls because I was craving them and it was too cold and rainy to go outside just for baked goods, especially when I had a delicious recipe from The Chopping Block and all of the ingredients.  But, you know what? I should have braved the elements because these are so ridiculously time consuming that I didn’t even want them half way through.  Seriously. It took me an hour to make the dough, what with the cooling times and mixing and figuring out how many ounces are in 3-3/4 cups of flour (that last part has more to do with my math skills than the recipe).  At any rate, I decided to just let the dough rise overnight, because it was close to lunch time by the time I finished making it and I couldn’t be bothered.  Putting them together was another lengthy process and all I could think was thank goodness there was no one waiting for these because they would likely have given up on me and gone out to get the canned version that bakes in 10 minutes.

That said, they are as ridiculously tasty as they are ridiculously time consuming.  The dough is sweet and chewy and I created a little icing based on the bourbon bread pudding version that is lick your fingers worthy.  So, if you are a total morning person who wants to spend some quiet time kneading dough while everyone else sleeps, make these this weekend.  Otherwise, I’ll catch you at brunch.  I’ll be the girl in the back cozying up to a plate of bacon…

Cinnamon Rolls (courtesy of The Chopping Block)

Chicken Noodle Soup

I spent a very fun weekend in Texas and if I thought I could replicate the yummy bbq from Salt Lick, I’d do it post-haste.  Unfortunately I was too busy debating whether it would be appropriate to move to Austin just for ribs (people have moved for sillier reasons, right?) and didn’t pay enough attention to how the deliciousness was made, so you’ll have to trust me on this one or make a trip down there.

I was lucky enough to bring back some very style-y cowboy boots, but also seemed to have brought back a bit of a cold that wasn’t enough to knock me out completely, but just enough to annoy me and curse the coughing lady next to me on the plane.  Normally when I have a cold I crave tuna (don’t ask, because I really can’t explain it), but the stuffy nose and scratchy throat were crying out for chicken noodle soup.  Now, I’m a Campbell’s girl all the way when it comes to these things. 

When you’re sick, fancy soups can’t beat the comfort found in that red and white can.  Whenever I was home from school with a cold (or more likely strep throat which I got ALL THE TIME), my mom would tuck me under the covers on the sofa so I could watch tv, surround me with my favorite stuffed animals and heat up that condensed chicken noodle goodness.  Other soups she’d make from scratch, but for some reason every mom knows that few things can beat Campbell’s in a pinch.

Admittedly, making it for myself is not as comforting, but it did make me feel better.  As I sat on the sofa watching terrible television (where’s a good Lifetime movie when you need it??), I started thinking whether I could make my own version.  Why I feel the need to try to recreate foods that are perfectly fine already is a question I ask myself repeatedly, but what else would I write about if I didn’t? 

Also, I’m sure there are many grandmothers out there who have a tried and true chicken noodle soup recipe that would put my efforts to shame–one that involves boiling chickens and making stock and chopping vegetables–but when you’re sick and in need of food, that’s the kind of energy you just don’t have (if any of you would like to let me borrow your grandmother next time I have the sniffles, holla!). 

I basically roasted some chicken breasts, cooked up some pasta and threw it all into my Le Creuset to simmer with onions, carrots and broth.  As someone who really believes in the stirring and watching and checking, this couldn’t have been easier and–surprisingly–tastier.  No, I really didn’t think it would all come together (I rarely, if ever, cook anything without a recipe), but it did and in about 45 minutes (roasting the chicken took about 40 minutes, in which time you could put everything else together).

So while I can’t say I’ll forsake Campbell’s next time I’m sick, this is a hearty substitute when condensed versions just aren’t cutting it.  Let’s hope I make it through winter without any need for either (knock on wood)…

Chicken Noodle Soup

• 2 large chicken breasts, roasted (or baked) and chopped into bite size pieces
• 1 medium sized onion, diced
• 2 cups frozen crinkle cut carrots
• 3 14.5 ounce cans of chicken broth
• 1 box bowtie pasta
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• salt and pepper to taste

While chicken is roasting (about 15 minutes before it’s done), heat olive oil in stock pan and add onion, sautéing until tender.  Add chicken broth and carrots, bring to a boil and then reduce heat so it’s simmering. 

In separate pot, cook pasta according to package directions, but undercook by about 2 minutes (I originally thought of cooking the pasta in the chicken broth, but didn’t have enough broth to cover all of the pasta.  I think it might work. Try it and let me know!). 

Add chopped chicken to broth, then drain and add pasta (it will finish cooking in the broth).  Add salt and pepper to taste.  Serve hot (and preferably with a good movie).

Scrapple

I saw a quiz several months back that was supposed to rate your sense of adventure.  There were four choices of what you may consider adventurous: whitewater rafting, karaoke, something else I forget and trying a new food.  I, of course, chose trying a new food, not because I thought it truly the most adventurous thing I could do, but it sounded the most appealing.  Plus, I’ve already done karaoke and really, whitewater rafting looks like fun, but I guarantee you that if you ask me to go I’ll tell you I just got my hair done, but I’ll meet you at the end with a towel and dry clothes.  Just not my thing.  Of course, I was rated on the very lowest end of adventurous–which I didn’t need a random quiz to tell me–but I found it surprising that singing in a bar with a bunch of strangers while likely 37 sheets to the wind (and even more likely not to remember it) was considered more adventurous than eating something that could possibly poison you or at least make your eyes cross.  Obviously these people have never watched Bizarre Foods or read anything by Anthony Bourdain. 

Long way of saying that while I don’t think trying new foods is really as adventurous as jumping out of a plane (again, why??), I do think it can be just as exciting.  Think about what you ate all of last month and I bet that you probably only had one or two new food adventures.  So imagine my excitement (and I’ll admit, slight trepidation) when a work colleague told me that he would introduce me to the Philly favorite, Scrapple. 

Now, for those of you not from Philly, I’m going to pause here to say that you really shouldn’t go look up the ingredients.  No, seriously, don’t.  Suffice it to say that it is a very inventive and inclusive pork product.  I don’t know what’s in hot dogs and I really don’t care, because they’re tasty.  This is the same approach you should take to pate, fois gras and Scrapple, ok?

I really don’t think that he thought I’d try it, but I thought it very kind that he brought it back–on ice during the drive–from Philly and really, how could I call myself a foodie or even a food blogger (neither of which I call myself on regular basis, just FYI), if I wouldn’t try something that at first blush made me a little anxious.  But look how well the quinoa experiment turned out, I told myself!  I was given detailed instructions on how to prepare the Scrapple: slice it thin, fry it in a pan, serve it with an egg and toast. Hot sauce or ketchup could be put on top.  I did admit that I’d have to jazz it up a bit for this post, but I promised to try it as directed first.

Side note: I make a lot of the recipes I write about early in the morning before work, because that’s when I have the best light to take the pictures.  Unless it’s a cake or something that I can do the night before and still get a fresh looking shot the next day, you’ll find me in my pajamas at 6am slicing and sautéing and generally making a mess before I’ve even had a cup of coffee.  Overshare?

So, I’m in my kitchen at 6:30 yesterday morning about to open a package of a product that I did read the ingredients of and I was a little scared.  But unlike the quinoa, there was no smell so I was happy to move to the next step of slicing and frying.  And when I slid it in the pan, it started to smell really good, as you would expect a pork product would.  I think I may have sliced it too thin, because it fell apart, but I just chopped it up and used it in my frittata (my fancy Scrapple adventure).  I finally got the perfect cut, got it nice and crisp and made a lovely sunny side up egg to go along.  My plate was beautiful, but could I live up to my own challenge and eat it??

I could and I’m glad I did. 

My only disappointment was that it kind of tasted like a sausage patty (without the added spices), when I was kind of expecting something totally unfamiliar.  Mixed with the egg and toast, it was an excellent sausage egg mcmuffin substitute.  I can totally see the appeal of it, though, because it’s super easy to fry up and stick on a slice of bread.  And, it turned out well in my frittata, too (which I brought to work) even though I imagine that I’m not going to convert any die-hard Scrapple lovers over to my schmancy use of their childhood comfort food.

So score one for me on the food adventure path, although I will deduct half a point because it wasn’t truly that adventurous, just new and different.  And I’m ok with not being adventurous.  The world needs people like me to nurse the rest of you back to health after you catch a cold with all that whitewater rafting…

Scrapple Frittata

Lamb Burgers

How many women–with a combined 5 degrees, 4 languages and  having lived on 3 different continents–does it take to turn on a grill?  As I learned last week, it takes 4 women and 2 incredibly amused men.  I’m pretty sure that we could have figured it out on our own, but as soon as we looked the least bit confused these lovely men rushed over to impress us with their cooking over open fire prowess.  So, technically, we never really had a chance to even try to do it ourselves.  We could have! Maybe… Possibly… Moving on.

Anyhoo.  Three friends and I have decided that we need time away from the masses every once in awhile to hang out with each other and catch up on life’s big and small events over copious amounts of food and wine.  It started with a delicious Greek dinner in March, followed by a traditional Spanish dinner in April and then we sort of fell off the bandwagon due to schedules and well, all of those big and small life events.  But last week, the sun was shining, we were all in the same place for once and it was the perfect chance to sit outside, drink Cava and talk while watching the sun go down. 

L (of New Orleans fame) pretends she can’t actually cook, but in the half hour she had between work and our arrival, she made it to Whole Foods where she sweet talked the butcher into grinding up some fresh lamb, put together the tastiest–and most creative–lamb patties, sliced up some challah and created a beautiful summer salad. Any woman who can do that in 30 minutes, plus have sparkling beverages chilling, should call herself a chef extraordinaire.

The surprise of the burgers was that she mixed curry and cumin in, so there was a bit of a kick to the otherwise subtle flavor of the meat.  We topped them with a bit of whole grain mustard and feta crumbles (which kind of cooled things down nicely) and truly–grill ignorance aside–they were perfect: moist, juicy and full of flavor.  Add them to your list of bbq must haves immediately.

So I am up next in the rotation of dinner.  Given our busy lives, it may be October before I get to host. Am taking suggestions… And! if you’re in the Chi, come out for this good food for a good cause event tomorrow (Thursday) night! I’ll be the one double fisting luscious drinks and delectable treats… Taste of the Nation: No Kid Hungry

Lamb Burgers

• 1 lb ground lamb
• 2 tablespoons (approx. to taste) curry powder
• 2 tablespoons ground cumin
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• salt and pepper
• whole grain mustard
• crumbled feta
• challah buns

Combine the first 5 ingredients in a bowl and mix well.  Form into mini burger patties.  Place on hot grill and cook for 3-5 minutes each side.  Top with cheese and mustard and place on buns.  Thank the cute guys for lighting your fire.  Ahem.

 

Peach Kuchen

Following all good memoirists who now put disclaimers in bold typeface all over their books thanks to James Frey: the following story is based on my recollection of certain events.  All conversations are as I remember them and effort has been made to lay out the facts in chronological order, although some liberty may have been taken solely for the purpose of moving the story forward.  All names and defining features have been changed, except in the instance of the peach kuchen (a type of cake with fruit), because that’s the star of the story.

Senior year of college, my two best friends–Marie and Jenny–and I decided that it would be a good idea to share a house on campus.  The fact that all three of us are still alive to tell about it really does not do justice to how hard it is to live with your two best friends, another new friend (Lily) and a very angry cat while writing a thesis and in the throes of about 17 different college romances (spread out among us. Seriously! Who do you think I am??).   We were all writing a thesis, but Marie’s was due first semester, while Jenny, Lily and I had all year.  This meant that while Marie was busy being the queen of footnotes and index cards, the rest of us were free to gallivant for the first 3 months of the school year.  It also meant that when we’d get home from a party, Marie was still up working and we’d try our best to be quiet as we tipsyly made our way to bed. 

One Saturday afternoon, Jenny’s mom came up from New Jersey bringing with her a cooler full of food for us–lasagnas, bread, soup and desserts.  Being the poor starving students we were, we ate about 2/3 of the food she’d meant to have last at least 2 weeks.  We were clever enough to store a lasagna in the freezer and put away most of the desserts, except for the peach kuchen.  I think we decided we’d devour it the next day for breakfast after a night drinking watered down amaretto sours (because we were nothing if not classy).

That night, Jenny, Lily and I headed out to parties, leaving Marie behind to work on her key to Phi Beta (which she got!). The next morning Jenny and I are in the kitchen making coffee, while Marie was reading the Sunday NYT.  I suddenly remember the kuchen.  The bright light of the morning seemed a bit more mellow with the thought of homemade pastry. 

“Jenny!! We have kuchen! Pull it out!”

“Why are you yelling? It sounds as though a freight train is running through my head.”

“That’s why we need the kuchen, babe.  Hand it to me and I’ll put it in the oven to warm.”  Jenny’s head disappeared into the refrigerator and I hear a muffled voice.

“It’s not here.  Did you freeze it?”

“No, I put it on the bottom shelf last night. Just keep looking.  You can’t be that hungover.”

“I’m telling you there’s no kuchen in here. There’s milk, a half eaten lasagna, some rotten lettuce and condiments. No kuchen.”  It’s at this point that Marie’s little voice pipes up.

“Um. I have to tell you something.”

“Hold on a second. We’re on the hunt for the missing kuchen.”

“Yeah. Um. About that.  I ate it.”  I stop pouring coffee and look out over the kitchen island to the dining room where Marie is sitting.

“What do you mean you ate it? Like you had some of it? Who cares. Where’d you put the rest, though?”

“No, no. I ate the kuchen.” Now Jenny’s head has popped out of the fridge and she’s staring at Marie like she’s speaking another language.

“You ate an entire kuchen? By yourself? In one night? Who does that?”

Marie looks stricken, but is trying really hard not to laugh.  “No. I mean, yes. I ate the entire kuchen.  But it’s not what you think.”

“What I think is that you ate an entire kuchen, Marie. BY YOURSELF.  How am I wrong?”  This from Jenny, whose head looked like the freight train may come rumbling out at any minute.

“Ok. Technically, I ate the entire kuchen by myself. But listen to what happened!  I was working and you all were gone and I was sitting there and I remembered the kuchen.  So I went and I got a slice.  And then I went back to work.  And it was taking me a lot longer to finish this chapter that I need to get done to keep on schedule and so I made some tea and remembered the kuchen and so I had another slice.  And then it got later and I got more tired and I thought some sugar would help, so I got another slice and then…. Well then the slices started to add up and it was gone.” 

It was at this point that the tears started rolling down my face I was laughing so hard.  I could barely breathe, but managed to ask, “So your plan for staying up all night was to inhale a whole cake?  At what point did you figure out that that wasn’t the best idea?”

“Um… after it was gone and I realized I’d have to tell you guys what I did.”  By now Marie’s head is down on the table and all I can see are her shoulders shaking from laughter.  “I’m sorry, but the good news is that I finished my chapter.”

“Well, thank goodness for that,” piped in Jenny, who was not seeing the same humor.  “God forbid a kuchen my mom slaved over was sacrificed for no reason!”  This got us started laughing again as Jenny stormed out of the kitchen.

“Jen!! I’ll make you another one! I promise! I’ll get the recipe from your mom. Don’t be mad.”  But Jenny was already in her room, door slammed and didn’t hear.  Her dramatic exit started us laughing again.

“Marie.  Really. Did you eat the whole thing?”

“I did. And it was good. I’d do it again.”

Present day: Marie and I are still friends and still laugh over the kuchen.  We’ve lost touch with Jenny (not over the kuchen episode, although I’m sure that didn’t help) and we miss her and her mom’s baked goods.  I don’t know if Marie ever made Jenny a make up kuchen, but I saw fresh peaches yesterday and I knew I had to give it try.  Since I’ve never actually tasted one, I have no idea if this is real deal, but just getting to tell this story is dessert enough….

Peach Kuchen (adapted from allrecipes.com)

Tru Love

My birthday is tomorrow and, despite a few moments of sheer panic that I’m going to be an age that I never imagined and can barely count to, I’m starting to get excited.  It helps that I have a party planned for this afternoon where specialty cocktails (St. Germain mixed with Hendricks and a splash of club soda) will be flowing and tasty appetizers and desserts will be on hand (bacon wrapped dates and mini chocolate mousse cakes anyone?).

Last year was not a big birthday–unless you consider that I have outlived Jesus, which I suppose is a milestone worth noting–but after a bittersweet year, I felt that there was never a better time to reflect on the past and celebrate all that lies ahead with a bit of decadence. 

Lucky for me, my mother is a fan of celebrations and doing things on a large scale.  I mentioned in passing that I would love to one day have dinner at the chef’s table at Tru, never imagining that it would happen within this decade.  One afternoon she announced that she had made a reservation for us to sit in the kitchen of one of Chicago’s best restaurants and experience first hand how they’ve come to win several James Beard awards.

I should pause here to say that we actually celebrated her birthday there just 6 weeks before, so the extravagance of going back within a lifetime, let alone sitting in a private room in the kitchen was a little overwhelming.  I had no idea what to expect, but you couldn’t have convinced me that it would have involved our own personal waiters (one for each of us), a valet to keep us happy between courses, a personal tour of the kitchen by Chef Tim Graham, and the ability to take as many pictures as I wanted and ask any question that came to mind.  BEST PRESENT EVER.

I’ve only ever been in one other professional kitchen and it was pure chaos from the time it opened until the minute it closed.  Tru’s kitchen on the other hand is like being in your grandmother’s kitchen–if your grandmother had a staff of 30 and every conceiveable appliance to make good food outstanding–where everything has its place, everything moves and flows in a practiced yet original way and the anticipation of what’s ahead makes you a little giddy, because you know that not only will it be prepared to perfection, but prepared with true skill and love.  

I admit to being so afraid of falling over in my fancy shoes and bringing an entire fish course down with me that I didn’t walk around as much as I should have.  But I did have the courage to talk to the pastry chef, Meg Galus, about the exploding truffles which look like regular chocolate truffles, but when you pop it in your mouth, it explodes with a lavendar flavored liquid.  I seriously wanted to curl up in her little corner of the kitchen–a seperate room stuffed from floor to ceiling with industrial sized mixers, pans and whisks–and listen to her stories of creating desserts under Gale Gand, but restrained myself.  I watched her and her sous chefs slice vanilla beans into slivers as thin as a thread (I actually gasped at one point, because one man’s finger came so close to the knife.  He didn’t even flinch.).  I also took a walk around the station where they put together the “caviar” (in quotes because it’s actually boiled milk flavored with sturgeon that’s made to look like caviar).  The sous chefs actually took tweezers to remove any errant pieces of caviar… TWEEZERS, people!

Our special room was made even more special because Chef Graham came to describe each course to us.  I was rendered completely speechless at first, but I think I must have asked at least one intelligent question, because he asked me if I was in the “industry,” which was so swoon worthy I checked for a ring on his left hand (none!). 

I wish I could describe in detail each course of our Grand Collection menu, but everything was more about a feeling than an actual taste to me.  It was as though the chefs had taken all the emotions of my previous year–happiness and joy and longing and desire and sadness and hope and love–and served them to me in a gorgeous glorious array of food in a stunning atmosphere.  I realize now that it is the last two– hope and love–that carried me through a bittersweet year that ended in me experiencing such a lovely meal at a time when I couldn’t have imagined anything so grand or magical ever happening to me. 

Which makes me think that as long as I have both of those things, anything and everything is possible…

Pineapple Panna Cotta

You’ll be happy to know–because I know you think about me and my happiness a lot–that my absence from the blog has more to do with too much gallivanting and nothing at all to do with my lack of enthusiasm for cooking and the like.  Granted, not much has been made chez moi lately, but I hope you’ll understand that we only get a few really lovely months in the Chi and I have to take full advantage.  Since you’ve heard from me last, I’ve been to NYC and fallen in love (with the city. Although you Big Apple boys certainly could give the Chitown boys a run for their money!), eaten out for just about every meal, started fencing lessons (oh, what I wouldn’t give to be able to relate that crazy to a food post! But no one seems to want to go to Medieval Times with me…) and contemplated many a farmer’s market, but settled for a good book at an outdoor cafe instead.

Obviously, the 90 degree heat and 100% humidity mean only the very coolest of things can be consumed.  A friend sent me a recipe for panna cotta back when snow was covering most of the city, so I didn’t give it much thought, but now is the time!  This dessert is light and creamy–kind of the skinny cousin to a custard–and since it plays well with fruit, you can take full advantage of the blueberries, strawberries and blackberries that are at their peak during the summer. 

I think this is the shortest post ever, but it sort of fits with how simple this dessert actually is.  Plus, I have a pool to go sit by, a sparkly drink to sip and a beautiful day to enjoy.  Forgive me?

Pineapple Panna Cotta (adapted from Food & Wine, March 2010)

• 1 cup 2% milk
• 1/2 cup sugar (I would reduce this next time)
• 2 teaspoons plain powdered gelatin
• 2 tablespoons cold water
• 1/3 cup low fat sour cream (3 ounces)
• 1-1/2 cups low fat plain Greek yogurt
• 1/4 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
• 1 cup crushed pineapple (canned), drained
• 4 tablespoons pineapple juice

In a medium saucepan, heat the milk and sugar over low heat until the sugar dissolves.  Meanwhile, in a small bowl, sprinkle the gelatin over the water and let stand until softened.  Scrape the gelatin into the warm milk and cool completely.

In a large bowl, whisk the sour cream, yogurt, pineapple juice and vanilla. Whisk in the milk.  Put a tablespoon of crushed pineapple in the bottom of glass and pour panna cotta over.  Refrigerate until set, about 3 hours (or overnight).

Remove from refrigerator and top with crushed pineapple.  Serve immediately.

Ice Cream Sandwiches

So I have a confession: I’m not a huge fan of ice cream.  I know, catch your breath.  Ready to move on?  I mean, I certainly wouldn’t say no to a bowl of mint chip if offered, but it’s not my favorite thing in the world.  A pint can safely sit in my freezer from one season to the next without fear of being attacked with a serving spoon and subjected to chick flicks.  I think it’s partly because I am always always cold, and the idea of eating something frozen just makes me shiver and sets my teeth on edge.

Cookies on the other hand are likely to be my downfall.  As I think I’ve mentioned a time or 1000, I love oreos more than I like most people (have you tried the new mint ones? HEAVEN!).  Big chewy chocolate chip cookies are comfort on a plate.  I really don’t think you can ever go wrong with oatmeal raisin and a glass of milk.  Even a sugar cookie will do in a pinch. 

So every year, my neighborhood has a book fair with book sellers and readings and all types of nerdy events and I always have an ice cream social.  I chose ice cream because I think a cookie/cupcake social sounds strange.  I started doing it the first summer I lived in the neighborhood because I wanted to be of the fair without actually being at the fair (basically, I wanted be a part of it without having to be in the crowds).  Now it’s become an annual party where my friends come over and I make ice cream sandwiches and have all of the fixings for sundaes (sprinkles, maraschino cherries, m&ms, whipped cream) and root beer floats.  All of this is accompanied by cupcakes and brownies and pink lemonade.  Basically it’s a sugar fest, with a few books thrown in for good measure.

The ice cream sandwiches are always the belle of the ice cream ball, because they are two delicious things put together and really, how can you go wrong?  The trick is to bake the cookies and freeze them as soon as they cool a bit.  This will keep them from bending and breaking when you’re spreading the ice cream. Wrap the sandwiches in wax paper and let them refreeze so that they won’t start melting right away as your guests (or you) devour them.  You can get really fancy and add sprinkles or mini chocolate chips around the edges.  Really, the possibilities are endless.  Which is what I’m hoping this summer will be: endless and full of possibilities…

Ice Cream Sandwiches

• Chocolate chip cookies
• your favorite flavor(s) of ice cream

This is pretty self-explanatory, no?  Take a cookie, spread some ice cream, top with another cookie, wrap in wax paper, let freeze a bit (if you can stand the wait), enjoy!