Derivatives

Spring is teasing us in Mankato. Yesterday was an INCREDIBLE 65 degrees, today we are back down to 30. But that brief whisper of spring fills me with a lot of hope.

I've been meaning to write for, well months. I always want to write more. But I spend all day at work, and school, staring at a screen so then somehow the idea of staring at a screen for pleasure just turns me off. Instead, I cook. Last night was Jamie Oliver's salmon cakes - which were unbelievably easy and delicious. (This blogger also expounds on their wonder). Matt & I decided though that they need a new name - "salmon cake" just doesn't sound appetizing, and certainly is not fitting for this easy, satisfying supper. I feel like someday I will lie to my children and tell them they are "Mom Cakes" and only when they are old enough to discern that the pink is, in fact, fish will they be disgusted.

However, despite the recent foray into spring - we've done quite a bit of winter eating, and perhaps not unsurprisingly derivative to my friend Murph's cravings. The week she made biscuits and creamed chicken, we had fried chicken strips, biscuits and cream gravy. Her miso soup adventures paralleled our discovery of easy egg drop soup. Coincidence? I think not. Lastly inspired by her pie crust, I made a chocolate pie (that riffed off of Lisa Fain's) around the same time as Murph's valentines cake. Kindred spirits indeed.

Below you will find my winter derivatives of Murphy's fine recipes - between the two, you should be able to find at least one option to suit your taste (and likely two).

Here's to putting Winter behind us!

Mark Bittman's Fast Egg Drop Soup
What you need:
4 cups good chicken broth (of your liking, homemade, canned, or you can do like me - herboux.)
2 tbsp soy sauce
2 scallions, sliced
1-2 thin slices peeled ginger
1-2 beaten eggs
1 tbsp. sesame oil
Garnishes of choice (watercress, snow peas, etc.)

What you do:
Heat broth, soy sauce, scallions, and ginger in a saucepan. Simmer mixture for ten minutes. Turn off heat. Spoon beaten egg into hot broth with a soup spoon and steady hand (this trick comes from Cook's Illustrated). With a full spoon full and at an even pace, pour egg from spoon in circles. Repeat until all egg is distributed into broth. This should produce long whisps of egg. Let rest for a few minutes. Add sesame oil, stir gently, and serve in bowls with desired garnishes.

Quick Chicken, Biscuits and Cream Gravy
What you need:
4-6 thawed chicken tenders per person (you can generally find these in the freezer sections of the grocery in big bags, or you can cut your own by slicing a boneless, skinless breast length wise)
1 cup corn meal
olive oil
butter
2-3 biscuits per person
Peppered cream gravy (see below).

What you do:
Set a sturdy skillet over medium-high heat. While the skillet is heating, put your corn meal in a pie pan or shallow bowl. Salt and pepper both sides of the chicken tenders. Next, add oil and butter to skillet. Swirl it around to coat the skillet. When skillet and fats are hot, dredge each side of a chicken tender in corn meal, and add immediately to the skillet. Do not do more than two or three tenders at a time, as it will slow the cooking. Also, do not dredge in advance, or coating will fall off and become soggy. Cook each side of the tenders for 3-4 minutes until coating is crispy and browned, and chicken is firm to the touch. Remove from pan and cool on paper towels. Repeat process until all the chicken is breaded and cooked.

Split biscuits down center, arrange tenders on top. Serve smothered in gravy and watch as your eaters grin as they dig into this southern staple (makes a decent breakfast too!)

Peppered Cream Gravy
(for two! If preparing for more, multiple recipe accordingly.)

What you need:
1 cup milk
3 tbsp butter or bacon fat
3 tbsp flour
salt
pepper

What you do:
In a small skillet, melt fat and flour together. Just before the mixture starts to bubble, remove from heat. This can be prepared in advance and stored in the fridge until needed.

Warm milk in a sauce pan on the stove over medium heat. When milk is warm to the touch, add fat/flour mixture. Stir constantly with a whisk, making sure to get down to the very bottom of the pan. Continue mixing over medium heat until milk begins to thicken. Thicken over heat until desired consistency is achieved. Season to taste with salt and pepper (I recommend more rather than less pepper).

Makifish Reinterprets Grandma's Chocolate Pie
First, let me just say the best chocolate pie I've ever had was in Texas at the Monument Cafe. And I will search from now until my dieing day for a recipe that replicates its splendor. This one comes close (but still not quite! Damn you Monument and your pie, so distant from my current home.)

What you need:
1 cooked pie crust, Murph's kicks booty (I know - I've messed around with A LOT of pie crust).
4 tablespoons of cocoa
3/4 cups of sugar
5 tablespoons of flour
1/4 teaspoon of salt
1 1/2 cups of milk
1/2 teaspoon of vanilla
2 egg yolks, beaten slightly
1 tablespoon of butter

What you do:
On the counter, sift together sugar, flour, salt, cocoa into a sauce pan. Briefly beat eggs and milk and then add to dry with a whisk.
Put the saucepan over medium heat and cook while stirring. When it bubbles and thickens, you are good to go. This took longer than I expected and I started to stress out - but like magic, it thickened up, almost all at once. Remove from heat and beat out any lumps. Then stir in your vanilla and butter.

Fill cooled pie crust with filling. Lisa Fain puts a meringue on hers - I didn't bother. I let everything cool slightly on the counter, and then popped it in the freezer. After a few hours of chilling, slice up and serve.

How 'bout some ice cream with your chocolate sauce?

Chocolate sauce and ice cream was a favourite dessert growing up. After we finished eating, we often found ourselves looking at each other until someone said: Hmmm, I kinda feel like something sweet. Dad would grin, lick his lips and say in a rather mischevious way: chocolate sauce... Minutes later we were filling our bowls with ice cream and drowning it in dad's homemade sauce. When we sat down someone was guaranteed to look over into their neighbor's bowl and say: Oh! Did you want a little ice cream with your chocolate sauce? And we'd all laugh, because this was hilarious. Dad was always the worst. He'd go for seconds, put one small scoop of ice cream into his bowl and spoon four times as much sauce over the top. The man really loves his chocolate sauce.

So do I! I'd forgotten all about it until I was looking through a cookbook Katherine made me of family recipes. When I saw the recipe, I leaped out of my chair and immediately set to work. I'd been waiting for an opportunity like this or someone else to come along and eat the ice cream I had left over from a couple weekends ago. This sauce takes five minutes to make and tastes gloriously better than the I-don't-know-what-you're-made-of store bought sauce. Once you make this you'll never go back. You'll impress countless guests and suffer through them refusing to leave or banging down your door for more. It's a tough life...


Here's the recipe as Katherine wrote it out. I'll rewrite the directions below in case you have trouble reading them.

- In a saucepan heat 1/3 C water or coffee with 1/2 brown sugar* over moderate heat, whisking until the sugar is dissolved. Add the cocoa powder and salt and whisk until smooth. Add 2 tbs of butter cut into small pieces and vanilla. Whisk until butter is melted.

* I used 1/3 cup for a darker chocolate flavour.

- Keep any leftovers in the fridge and spread on baguettes in the morning for breakfast. Or just eat it with a spoon on the front porch in your barefeet wearing your favourite t-shirt and jeans. I dunno, it's spring!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

The blog is 1 year-old today. And I made Tarte Tatin to celebrate. My mom is also visiting, which marks the beginning of the new era: Mom comes to visit. She's already stocked my cupboards, bought me a jade plant, a new little table and a lovely print of two bears holding their arms out to each other with a caption that reads "Donne-moi ta bouche". I like Mom coming to visit.

Writing this blog has been one of the greatest things I've ever done. We've even acquired some faithful readers! I've so enjoyed sharing my culinary adventures with Kelsey and all of you. I know I've only been eating soup lately, but things are changing - spring is almost here!

I first heard about Tarte Tatin from Rock, a man I work with. He was always saying how easy it was and how delicious and how he was going to come to work early one day and make it for us all. He hasn't yet, but since I now know how to make it, I can eat it every day if I want to. And it's so easy! Most recipes I've seen call for store-bought puff pastry; however, in the International Best Recipe by Cooks Illustrated you make your own. And. It. Is. Phenomenal.

Darling Alix came for lunch. I made salmon and quinoa. Mom made a salad. We ate Tarte Tatin.


Tarte Tatin

As adapted from Cooks Illustrated

For the crust:

Cooks Illustrated makes their dough in a food processor. I lack this kitchen tool, so I used a nifty hand pastry blender and the "smear" method (see below).

"Sugar makes pastry dough sticky, crumbly, and generally difficult to handle, and it also tends to fuse the spacers - the little bits of butter that make pastry flaky - leaving the baked crust crunchy, cookie-like, and a little hard." The solution? Confectioners sugar which "simply disappears" in the dough.

1 1/3 C white pastry flour
1/4 C confectioners sugar
1/2 tsp salt
1 stick chilled unsalted butter
1 large egg, chilled and beaten

- Whisk flour, sugar and salt together to eliminate any lumps
- Cut in the butter with a pastry blender until the butter is in pea-sized lumps
- Slowly add the beaten egg, stiring and lifting the dough with a fork until big clumps form
- Dump the dough out onto a well-floured counter or cutting board and gather it into a rough ball. It will be loose and dry at this time.
- Take the heel of your hand and starting at the edge of the ball furthest from you, smear the dough onto the counter, all the while working back towards your body. This helps to combine the butter and the dough together (thank you Julia Child!) Now you can shape it into a disk, wrap it in Seran wrap and chill it while you prepare the apples. (You might need to use a bench scraper to get the dough off the counter).

For the apples:

1 stick unsalted butter
3/4 C granulated sugar
5-6 Granny Smith apples, peeled, quartered and cored.

- Preheat the oven to 375 F and place the rack in the upper third.
- Peel, core and quarter your apples
- Melt the stick of butter in a 10-inch cast iron skillet (or any other oven proof skillet you have)
- When it's melted, sprinkle the sugar over top, stir it around and start to lay your apples on their cut side in a ring around the pan. They should fit tightly together. Fill the middle with more apples also lain on their cut side.
- Over high heat, cook the apples for 10-12 minutes. Then using a fork, turn the apples onto their other cut side. They will have cooked down some, making them easy to turn and creating a bit more space in the pan.
- Cook the turned apples for 5 more minutes.
- While you're waiting for the apples to cook, roll out the pastry.
- When the apples are ready, lay the dough on top of the bubbling caramelized apples, folding any excess dough onto itself to form a small crust.
- Bake for 25-30 minutes or until the dough is nice and brown.
- Let it cool for 30 minutes on a rack.
- Place a plate big enough to cover the skillet and holding the plate and skillet firmly, flip the tart onto the plate. The apples should not stick, but if they do, just reposition any loose ones back on the tart.

THE TOPPING!

We had ice cream, but Cooks Illustrated recommends 1 C heavy cream beaten with 1/2 sour cream until light and fluffy. Yes please!

Thanks for reading people. And thanks Kelsey. What pure delicious joy this is to share this space with you.

- jude

Tomato Soup?

I only eat soup. And when it's as good as this tomato soup, who could complain? I made it yesterday listening to the new Devendra Banhart album called "What Will We Be", wearing read high heels and rolled up baggy jeans. My hair? Sticking straight up from straight out of bed. I sadly do not have a picture. I thought about it of course...



I spotted these lovelies in a second hand shop in Seattle while shopping with my dear friend Kelsey. I have yet to wear them out in public. Most of the time, I just look at them and know I could wear them. One day I hope to stride across stages and sing out about that great big heart of mine.



Alright, the soup. You'll need some of this sweet smoked paprika. It costs about 8 bucks a pot. I bought it last year and I still have 3/4 of a pot left. Is it worth it? Yes. You've never smelled anything like it in your life (besides real vanilla extract from Mexico). And it gives this tomato soup a one hell of a deep sweet roasted flavour.

Judy's Tomato Soup

makes four good-sized servings

1 medium-sized onion - sliced
2 cloves garlic - minced
1 28 oz can of whole tomatoes
2 C chicken broth
1 tsp sweet smoked paprika (or more, or less)
salt and pepper to taste

- In a dutch oven or large stew pot, caramelize the onion in olive oil or butter until deep brown (this could take a while, like 30-40 minutes, but this is where the most of the soup's flavour comes from so don't skimp on this step.)
- add minced garlic
- add tomatoes and chicken broth
- bring the soup to a boil and let simmer for 20 min - 40 min (depending on your level of patience)
- purée the soup with a hand blender or in a normal one
- add the paprika and season with salt and pepper

- grill yourself a cheese sandwich and open a can of pickled beans from the farm and sit on the floor and slurp and munch and crunch away.

A New Friend, A New Year, Endless Possibilities.

Dear Judy & Faithful readership -

1. I think we have a new friend here. Let's read her and admire her pictures.

2. Birthday is March 11th. To celebrate I suggest we cook tarte tatin from The Best International Recipe. The last time I attempted tarte tatin was in the communal kitchen of my freshman dorm with two of the very best in terms of friends and foodies. We made do with little and spent hours creating puff pastry, rolling it out with an illicit wine bottle. The result though, was divine, if a little less than aesthetic. Roasting a chicken might not be a bad idea either.

3. I also suggest a blog face lift in honor of year two. Thoughts?

Love to all,

Makifish

For the Love of Chocolate

I love that fancy chocolate comes with instructions. Consider Vosges "See, Smell, Snap, and Nibble."

Generally the delight is wrapped in various layers, meaning that the consumer gets to delicately open the cardboard and then savagely peel into the foil before breaking off a piece with a satisfying jerk. It makes the moment of chocolate craving less primordial and more soothing.

Are their sommeliers of chocolate? Because I’d like to be one. I have a discerning palette.

Some of the favorites at our house when we are kindly gifted or choose to splurge:

1. Jacques Torres These are for special occasions, I've only eaten them in New York. But I reccomend earl gray.
2. Chocolove in Rhaspberry. Break up and add to brownies.
3. Green & Black in Mint. By far the finest Mint Chocolate combo.
4. And clearly, I failed this valentines day because I did not purchase Matt this.
5. My mother on the other hand succeeded because she found me a dark chocolate orange, for which there is blissfully no web link.

Happy Belated Valentines day and happy Chocolatiering. Get after that foil, and follow with a glass of red wine at whatever price point suites you. This my friends, is indulgence.

The “No Expectation Let Yourself Love and Be Loved Cake”

Valentine’s eh? A holiday filled with expectation and commercial horror. Or so seems to be the opinion of my ever-liberated generation. I have celebrated Valentine’s with few of my boyfriends, but only because there haven’t been many to celebrate with. I was either so engrossed in my studies I didn’t look around the room twice to see if someone might be interested, or I had just started dating someone, and it was much too early to make a big deal about it.

Valentine’s is unfortunately associated with this need to buy all sorts of presents to prove how much you love someone. This seems to be the root of the problem for many people. Shouldn’t we be able to express this every day? Of course! Good grief. I’ve always celebrated Valentine’s whether I was with a boyfriend or not. It’s a delightful excuse to eat delicious things with some favourite people and celebrate one of the most important things in this world: love.

Growing up, we always had a Valentine’s day breakfast. My mom would set the table in red and white; there would be flowers in vases, chocolates and cookies beside our place mats, and sometimes little “ I love you cards”. No matter what we had planned for that morning, we always ate together. Scones, coffee cake, cinnamon buns, or anything else delicious would be served with scrambled eggs and strong black tea. Someone would turn on Chicago’s "Make Me Smile" and we’d all sit ourselves down. Being the joyful little unit that we are, we’d all say “Happy Valentine’s!” Wave our forks and napkins around in the air and dig in.

My first boyfriend only wore shorts. Even in winter. This didn’t bother me – I found his long skinny legs charming. He swam, skateboarded, played the bass and ran track. We were sixteen and knew nothing about relationships. As we stumbled through, stealing kisses after track practice and clambering back into our clothes when we heard our parents coming home, we learned a lot about each other and about loving. I remember a rather juvenile conversation we had about what clothes we would look best in. I admitted he would look great in a red t-shirt and black pants. He grimaced of course at the mention of pants and I laughed saying it really didn’t matter, I’d love him anyways, but it would look good…. Valentine’s rolled around that year and we’d been dating for maybe four months. I don’t remember planning anything special, but we both cooked up something on our own accord. I made him a huge heart-shaped “red cake” (a family favourite) complete with cinnamon heart decorations and “I love you Eric” written in the middle. He showed up at my locker wearing a red t-shirt and black pants, carrying a Styrofoam carton with a cinnamon bun in it from my favourite bakery. Huge points.

A couple years later – a far cry from being innocently sweet and sixteen – I celebrated another Valentine’s with a Montreal, tree-planting boyfriend. Looking back, I can’t help but smile. Things weren’t going so well, to say the least, and I used Valentine’s to try and prove how perfect we were for each other. If I could make the perfect dinner, he would know how much I loved him. In the week prior, I scoured the city for ingredients. I bought little cards for our two other roommates and left them little candies at breakfast. On Valentine’s I cooked all day, making yet another heart-shaped red cake complete with cinnamon heart decorations. For dinner, I made a moose tajine (yes, a tajine with moose meat instead of the traditional lamb or chicken – it didn’t pair so well with the spices, I must add). I dressed up, lit candles and waited for him to come home from school. When he walked in the door, he was surprised, but underneath seemed uncomfortable. Why had I gone to so much trouble? Dinner was good, but we said little and ate too much – our full bellies trying to fill our empty hearts. The evening was filled with unsatisfied expectation. It was Valentine's after all! We should be so in love! But I knew it wasn't working and I had no idea how to get out. After dinner we went and played hockey with friends. Skating around the rink, I remember wanting to keep skating as fast as possible, forever, until I couldn’t see anyone anymore but myself. But I kept going in circles.

I made another cake this year. Molly’s Winning Heart’s and Minds Cake. Except I’m calling it the “No Expectation Let Yourself Love and Be Loved Cake”. You can visit her website and read all about it here.


Happy loving folks.

Afternoon Sun, Loud Music and Miso Soup

These days I have time. Time to wake up slowly, stretch, eat oatmeal, read, think. I do work, oh yes, most days I have many things to do: translations for school, technical writing exercises, statistical documents to read in French, emails to write. My mornings are slow, but I'm usually working by 10. Then comes lunch, more work, singing, dinner and class. Not a bad existence considering it's February and everyone's supposed to be going stir crazy. I feel the opposite. This is the first winter in Montreal I haven't wanted to run at top speed off the top of Mount Royal and fly back home as fast as possible.

In January, I decided I wasn't going to let the solitude get me down. I wasn't going to be harsh with myself - winter is harsh enough. I would eat good soup, lots of roast chicken, broccoli and oatmeal cookies. I would dance regularly in the living room and go for long walks. I would read Kurt Vonnegut short stories and Marguerite Duras. I would enjoy the company of myself; because if we can't do that, where are we? Some days I'm more productive than others; some I go stir crazy from sitting in front of the computer too long; some I lie on the floor after lunch in the sun too long with Sinead O'Connor or Fleetwood Mac blasting from the speakers. Then I frantically leap up and say, "Oh no! Where has the day gone?" My nimble lion fire fuels me. I allow my mind to go where it needs to. And I eat Miso Soup for lunch.

Miso Soup

Ros gave me the Cooks Illustrated International Cookbook (an absolute must have) in a cookbook exchange we did. The first recipe I made was miso soup from the Japanese section. I went to the health food store and bought enough seaweed, tofu and miso to last all winter. But my first soup was a disappointment. After several tries, I figured out this soup is best eaten immediately and now only make enough for one. Although it won't satisfy a growling, ferocious hunger, the kind that takes over me around dinner, it's perfect for lunch. And it takes 15 minutes to make.

The Broth

Kombu is a thick form of seaweed used to make dashi, the basic broth in Japanese cooking. When making miso soup, bonito flakes (at right in picture) are added after the kombu water boils. Some people strain out the fish flakes, but I like to leave them in, as I enjoy their strong, smoky taste.

one bowl of water
1 piece of kombu broken in half
1 TBS (or more or less) bonito flakes
1 TBS miso paste (I use brown rice)

- fill up the bowl you want to eat soup in with water
- pour the water into a small sauce pan
- add the kombu
- cover the pot and bring the water to a simmer
- turn off the heat, take out the kombu and add the bonito flakes (you can cut the kombu up and add it to the soup, but I find it tough)
- let the broth sit for 3-5 min (strain out bonito flakes if you don't want them - they are a bit stringy)
- turn the heat on to medium and start stirring in the miso paste with a whisk
- heat the broth until it just starts to simmer and the miso is disolved

Additions to your soup

While the kombu water is heating up, start preparing your bowl. I like to add tofu, pickled vegetables, sesame seeds and green onion. You can add whatever else you like or drink the broth plain.


1/3 block tofu
1 TBS pickled vegetables (recipe to follow)
1 green onion (sliced finely)
1 tsp toasted sesame seeds

- cut up the tofu into small cubes and place in bowl
- add the rest of the ingredients to the bowl
- when the miso is hot enough, pour it over the tofu in the bowl

Because I'm always very excited to eat, I often burn my tongue on soup. I use cold tofu which cools down the soup while cooking gently in the broth.

Pickled Vegetables

1/2 carrot
1/2 cucumber
4-6 radishes
ginger
1 C rice vinegar (or more)

- cut the carrot and cucumber on the bias so you have long diagonal slices. Lay the slices out on the cutting board so they slighty over lap each other and cut them into skinny strips. This is called julienne. Another way to do this is to first square off the vegetable and then cut it into match-stick slices. You can watch a video of how to do this here.
- for the ginger, you will need to peel it and cut it into coins. Then you can cut it into skinny slices.
- put your julienned vegetables in a bowl and cover them with rice vinegar. Let the vegetables sit for 30 minutes or over night. They will keep for 2-3 weeks in the fridge. I wouldn't keep them any longer, however.

Afterwards, eat a few oatmeal chocolate chip cookies and some fruit. That should be enough until snack time.

Speaking of lunch....it's that time of day.

- murph

The Epitome of Comfort Food

"What are we having for dinner?" My thirteen-year old self yelled from the living room into the kitchen.

"Creamed chicken and biscuits." Mom called back. She was pulling containers out of the fridge, washing her hands, tying her apron, and sighing now and then. Long day?

"Awww, really? Again?" I cried.

"Yes, we are. It's been a long day, there's leftover chicken that needs eating. Will you please come in and set the table?"

I put my nose back in my book and scowled. Chicken and biscuits. How uninspiring. I got up and dragged my feet into the kitchen. I hated setting the table.

In the kitchen, mom was scraping chopped, cooked chicken into a thick, warm gravy. She opened the freezer, dug out some frozen vegetables and added them to the mix. She put the lid on the saucepan and opened the oven to check the biscuits. They were done: fluffy, flaky, buttery goodness. My stomach rumbled.

"Where's dad and Katherine?" I asked.

"They're coming home from track practice. Should be here any minute. Will you please set the table?"

"Aww do I have to..."

"Judy, I don't want to ask you again."

I got the silverware out of the drawer, set it out on the table, lit the candles, and made sure everyone had a napkin. Then dad and Katherine came in the door, sweaty and hungry. They'd been out high-jumping or long-jumping or doing some kind of jumping, running around in circles, throwing things, you know.

"Smells good!" Dad said.

"Okay, we're ready to eat!" mom cried. I stood with my plate in hand, hungry, and no longer "uninspired". She opened up a biscuit, put it on my plate and poured the thick chicken gravy over the biscuit. It smelled so good. Then we all sat down.

No one said much; it was the end of a week in February. The rain poured down, the candles flickered and Joni Mitchel sang about bows and flows and angel hair. After we'd finished eating we ate the leftover biscuits slathered in Smuckers raspberry jam for dessert.

"Can I be excused? It's been 15 minutes," I piped up, breaking the quiet.

"Yes, you may." Mom said.

"Me too?" said Katherine.

"It's Katherine's night for dishes! Katherine's night for dishes! Haha!" I broke out into song, dancing around the dining room. My sister groaned when she remembered this was true.

I scampered off into the evening, delighted I didn't have to do the dishes or sit a moment longer at the table. But my belly was full and I called out as I pounded downstairs to my room, "Hey mom! Thanks for dinner!"

"You're welcome," I heard her call as I shut my door and disappeared.


Creamed Chicken and Biscuits

Because I have class at night, I often cook during the day. I also try and make meals that are nourishing, inexpensive, comforting and easy. The answer? Chicken and biscuits. No wonder my parents made it so often. And even though I've never really liked frozen vegetables, I quickly realized that this dish isn't the same without some added frozen peas, corn, or carrots, or all three.

Despite my resistance throughout my teenage years to sit for longer than 15 minutes with my family at the table (that was the rule anyways), I now value eating with people above all, and the meals I share with my family when I go home beat any meal I've ever eaten by myself. In the meantime, I'm focusing on enjoying eating alone, because that too has value: Being comfortable with you are.

for 2 people

1 TBS butter
1 TBS flour
1 C chicken stock

1 C cooked, chopped chicken
1 C frozen veggies
1 tsp dried thyme (or to taste)
salt and pepper to taste

1 recipe for biscuits

- Make biscuits.
- They may be done before the gravy is. No problem! Take them out of the oven, wrap them in a towel and set them aside in a bowl until you're ready to eat.

For the gravy

- Over medium heat, melt the butter in a medium sauce pan.
- Add the flour and stir vigorously to combine it with the butter until bubbling.
- Slowly add the chicken stock, stirring constantly. As the chicken stock heats up and the flour cooks, a gravy forms. The sauce may take 10 minutes or so to thicken. It is important to stir the sauce while it thickens. Otherwise, it will burn on the bottom.
- Add the salt, pepper and thyme.
- Add the chicken and veggies.
- Turn the heat down and put the lid on the pot and cook until the veggies are soft.
- Taste for seasoning. (I've heard you can add some cream here, if you're not too fat, but I've never done this. I don't consider myself too fat, either. I bet it's delicious.)
- Cut open two biscuits, place them face up on a plate and smother them with the creamed chicken.

- After, have a little dessert why don'cha! I've been eating huge oranges every day, because they're in season in some far off place, and delicious. And then a couple squares of chocolate never hurt anyone.

Mak and Murph Unite

Kelsey and I were reunited at last over the holidays. And what a wonderful time it was! Every Christmas since my family moved to Victoria, we have visited Kelsey's family in Seattle on our way home from visiting my dad's parents in Portland. This year was a repeat of many shared holiday eats between our two families that started in Chicago when our parents got hitched, met each other and became friends.

We went to Boom Noodle, located in the ever funky neighborhood of Capitol Hill, and ate memorable dishes such as edamame puree with sweet potato crisps, ahi tacos, and okonomiyaki (pork pancakes). We drank sake and tons of green tea while we talked, laughed and planned dinner for the next night. Although Kelsey missed out on this outing, the rest of us (our two families) really enjoyed it. Leaving the restaurant I announced, I'm going to move to Seattle! However, I say this about many places.

Katherine, me and Kelsey

The next morning we ate breakfast at Lola, one of our favourite restaurants in Seattle, owned by the infamous Tommy Douglas, the creator of the incredible Triple Coconut Cream Pie. Breakfast was, however, a light affair. After too much excessive holiday eating I only wanted granola with greek yogurt and fruit, and Kelsey, victim to similar excess, had a bran muffin (her favourite). Other members of the parade had delicacies such as lacinto kale scrambles and Greek omlettes. After lots of tea and coffee, we left the restaurant with a bounce in our step, ready to hit Pike Street Market and shop for dinner.


Well, to be honest, the dads and Katherine shopped for dinner. Sal (my mom) and Kathleen (Kelsey's mom) shopped for lamps, while Kelsey and I went to the Finnish store and had more coffee and tea with a cookie at Le Panier; we had a lot to catch up on you see.

The day progressed beautifully. After the market, some people went to the museum, others went home to bake cakes and take naps, and Kelsey and I went over the the University district to poke around in used record stores and second hand clothing shops. I found a pair of red high heels. Kelsey found a colourful knit dress. We had more tea. Then we went home to cook.


'Twas a seafood feast to remember!

Dungeness crab, deep fried razor clams and oysters on the half shell, complete with bread from Le Panier, butter and a salad. Katherine's cake followed.



This is a Dungeness crab before dad broke it in-half over a step-ladder, removed the lungs and guts, rinced it off and dumped it into a huge pot of boiling salty water for 10 minutes.


Kelsey learned how to shuck an oyster.


I used John's deep-fryer to deep-fry these razor clams. (For breading, Panko bread crumbs work the best.) They were succulent.


That's a big crab. Man! 100 reasons why living in the West is best.



The salad was delicious. My mom is the best lettuce-washer and dressing-maker around. Kelsey garnished it with oranges, pomegranate seeds, pistachios and feta cheese.


Katherine made a butter sponge cake with apricot glaze and toasted almonds on top.


A light, fluffy end to a protein-rich, buttery feast. Thank you Maki's for hoasting the party! I can't wait until next time.

The Dads: Eric and John

NY, NY

These are long over due, but a nice reminder of good times in '09. (Too early to be nostalgic? Not for meals like this).

1, 2 & 3: First supper out at Nick's. Fabulous mixed green salad with candied fig (I think). Followed by truly superior pizza, and completed with the finest cannoli I've ever eaten.

4, 5, & 6: The River Cafe - a true dining experience. The view was foggy, but that was made up for by the lunch service which featured more waiters than diners. Tuna Tartar that changed my life, Branzino Fillet of Mediterranean Sea Bass, completed with chocolate sticky pudding and pistachio ice cream sandwich. Devine splurge - looking forward to another visit someday.

7&8: The Rowley/Maki Thanksgiving feast! Perfectly timed and truly exquisite. Featured turkey breast, candied yams, mashed potatoes, Brussels sprouts with red wine vinegar and pistachio nuts, pickled beets with mint, rolls, gravy, stuffing, and Rowley Family Famous Cranberry Sauce. And yes, all that was for two. Followed by pumpkin pie with fresh whipped cream. A perfect day.

9: One of two french toast breakfasts I ate consecutively. This one was at Jane. Both were exactly crunchy and soft enough - and served with something sweet - orange slice or banana/pecan topping. For some reason, french toast was on the brain. Also Blinis.

Enjoy the drool fest...

Apple Pie and Cowgirls

When I was home at Christmas, Katherine and I decided we needed to live in the same city: left to our own devices, we are much too serious. Both very driven, intense individuals, we can lose ourselves in various projects, only to lift our heads up and say, hmmmm, it's Saturday and I haven't seen a soul for days! I am the more extroverted of the two, wearing my emotions proudly on my sleeve, always seeking center stage, while Katherine is more reserved, working quickly and quietly backstage until, before you know it, she's made 100 jars of jam, 10 pies and 50 jars of pickles. She's unstoppable. Without her, a career on center stage would be a joke and a dream; her take-it-as-it-comes approach to life reassures me. She's always reaching up and pulling me back to earth. Together on the ground we run fast, but evenly.


We spent the entire holiday in the kitchen. We left of course from time to time to brush our teeth and go to sleep, to tie up our shoes and go somewhere, or to put our feet up and read a book, but most of the time we hung out in the kitchen. Even when we weren't cooking we were in there sitting at the island, eating sandwiches or bowls of berries and ice cream. I was often standing on a chair reading aloud from Even Cowgirls Get the Blues by Tom Robbins, or playing my guitar and singing, pretending I was at Woodstock, or announcing my latest philosophical epiphany. Other pet activities included: listening to Fleetwood Mac at full volume and dancing around with vigor, doing push ups and sit ups (because that's our idea of fun), or reading cookbooks and calling out promising recipes.


More specifically, and more pertinent to the picture above, (although we did a lot of cowgirl-like activities and didn't get the blues), we made apple pie, twice. For a while, whenever I would think of home it was about eating cinnamon buns and drinking coffee with Katherine at a local bakery. Now I think about eating apple pie and doing the twist to Fleetwood Mac on a rainy holiday afternoon. In my opinion, there are few things better than an apple pie, especially one eaten in the company of terrific, well-loved, and highly thought of individuals. I have an incling, however, that if I was eating some alone right now, that'd be fine too.

So let's talk about pie. What's a good pie? First of all, there's the pastry. Most people don't make their own crust because it sends them into a fit of worry. This is unfortunate, but I've been there and I understand. You have to learn how the dough will feel in your hands when it's the right consistency. You have to master a few key techniques. You have to confidently try different recipes until you find one that works for you. This takes time and courage. And remember, someone will always say: the best pastry I ever tried was at the Christmas party last year. Betty Sue gave me the recipe, but I just can't make it like she does! Hogwash. Let's all stop comparing ourselves to everyone else.


Once you have spent hours and days and weeks and months and years perfecting the art of pastry making, perhaps you will have found a favourite filling you particularly like. In the meantime, refer to the Joy of Cooking; it won't let you down, promise. Runny filling is unsatisfying and unpleasant, so use some sort of thickener, like flour, tapioca, or cornstarch. Good quality fruit, nuts, syrups and sugars will make all the difference in the world, so use them.

The pastry recipe I'm going to share with you is inspired from my dear friend Max's mother, Lee. I have previously posted the original recipe here. Since then, my dad has made some modifications and Katherine has worked on polishing them. Before Christmas, I made several pie crusts with lackluster results. Katherine also felt as if something was missing from her pastry. We tackled our separate problems as a team. Both times, I made the dough, while Katherine tossed together a filling. When the dough was chilled she rolled out the crust. Both times, the pie was unreal. Together we are unstoppable.

Apple Pie

1 9-inch double-crust pie

à la jude & co.

I highly recommend using white spelt flour here if you can find it. There was a difference in texture between white pastry flour and the white spelt. Katherine said it was the easiest dough she'd ever handled. Why this is, I'm not sure, but that's a good enough reason for me.

The original recipe is for two double crust pies. We cut the liquid in half and reduced the flour to 3 cups.

Use room temperature butter for this recipe. You should be able to press your finger into the butter so that it just gives way and leaves a soft imprint.

In a bowl:

3 C white spelt flour (or white pastry flour)
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt (add 1 tsp if you're using unsalted butter)
1 1/2 C room temperature butter

- Sift together the flour, baking powder and salt.
- Cut in the butter until the butter is well dispersed in the four. If you leave big chunks of butter, the dough will be difficult to roll out once it's chilled.

In a liquid measure:

1 egg
1 TBS apple cider vinegar
1 TBS brown sugar

- Mix these first three ingredients together.
- Add cold water until it reaches the 1/2 C line.

- Slowly add the liquid to the dry ingredients, using a fork to mix the dough together with a light flicking motion.
- Once the dough has come together in big globs, stop mixing and turn the dough out onto a floured surface and gather it together in one pile. Starting from the end furthest from you, smear the dough away from you using the heel of your hand to fully incorporate the butter into the flour. You should smear the dough about six times.
- Separate the dough into two flat discs, wrap them in plastic wrap and refrigerate for two hours.

To Roll Out The Dough

- On a floured surface, start to roll out the dough by gently turning the dough clockwise after each stroke of the rolling pin.
- Once the dough is about 1/8 inch thick and large enough to fit into the pie pan, gently roll the dough around the rolling pin and lay the dough into the pan. You can also use the four corner fold method. This involves folding the circle in half, and then folding that half in half to make a quarter. You then put the point of the quarter in the center of the pie pan and unfold it.
- Roll out the top the same way.
- Once the filling is in, lay the top over the pie, trim off any excess, fold the overhang under and crimp the edges.

* For good detailed information and photos about dough, rolling out dough, and crimping visit these pages at thesmittenkitchen.com.

Filling

5-6 C sliced cooking apples
1/2 - 3/4 C brown or white sugar
1 TBS lemon juice
1 - 1/2 TBS cornstarch
1/4 tsp cinnamon
1/8 tsp nutmeg

* only very tart apples require the larger amount of sugar
* only very juicy apples require the larger amount of cornstarch

Optional: if serving the pie with cheese omit the lemon juice and add fennel or anise seed

- Preheat the oven to 350 F.
- Mix above ingredients together in a bowl and pour into pie shell.
- Cover with the top pastry and crimp the edges.
- Cut some slits in the top to let the steam escape.
- Brush with egg and milk; sprinkle with sugar.

- Bake for 45 minutes or until the top is brown and the filling bubbling. If you notice the top burning after 20-30 minutes, you may have to turn down your oven temperature to slow down the cooking.
- I like using glass pyrex pie dishes because you can see how the crust is doing on the bottom.

- Give your sister a high five, or yourself a pat on the back, get out some vanilla ice-cream or cheddar cheese and tuck in!




Yeah lady!



And if any of you devoted readers have any questions or need more information, I am always a keyboard away.

Getting it out There or Why it Takes me so long to Shop for Groceries

I try to stick to food for this blog – but today I’ve been really struck with a few items that while not directly related to food, do have a union with that topic, and are worthy of spouting off a bit about. Nor am I normally so vulnerable here, but I believe I need to be. It is good therapy for me. And perhaps also for you.

Today I am haunted by my own consumption. Judes and I joked a little over the holidays about how I believe that our consumer culture is the root of all evil (and, well, I do). But nonetheless it is our culture – so how do we live in this culture and keep a clear conscience? I’m not sure that we can.

I spent $50 a Wal-Mart today. I went in because it was convenient and I wanted to buy a mixer for less than $10, and Target was out. I hate shopping at Wal-Mart. Nickel & Dimed just flashes before me at every turn. I was both appalled and secretly thrilled to find things there so cheap. Two frozen rising crust pizzas for $8? Normally that would cost $10-$12. And they carry things with the appropriate key words: natural, organic. I can never decide if I am actually making the prudent choice or just being deceived.

I did end up buying organic milk and butter (something I NEVER do because of the cost differential) partly because I felt guilt for being in Wal-Mart period, and partly because I just watched Fresh. I mentioned this film in a previous post, but it really is sticking with me. I’ve known about the horrors of the meat and food industry in this country, but this film sort of solidified them for me. In particular the scene of baby chicks being dumped on the ground out of plastic bins – they make a terrible squawk, as well as the description an industrial turned natural farmer gave of a wound he received from one of his own pigs. The injury proved UNTREATABLE because of the amount of antibiotics pumped into his animals. Thinking about the schlock that makes its way into my food, before I even begin to work with it, horrifies me. Matt and I cannot afford to buy all our meat and food product as “organic” and “free-range” or “natural.” But I sure do want to. Not so much even from an environmental or political standpoint (all though those are important to) but more from a health standpoint. If am going to eat fats and meats and what not – I would like them to be doing something for my body other than making my summer pants too small. And not eating meat isn’t really an option at this point (although I considered it) because I cook for and eat with a Texan – to whom vegetarianism might as well be asceticism.

Another stroke of guilt that rolls through me when shopping (and not just at Wal-Mart) is that of indulgence. Unfortunately attending private college gave me a taste for expensive things – DAMN those wealthy roommates. For example, expensive candles really do smell better. So I will periodically indulge in one of these items, today it was nail polish, which really wasn’t that much of an indulgence given it was Revlon, but anyway – I spent about $8 on nail polish and as I was driving home was panged with the thought of how far that $8 could go in Haiti right now. HOW DO WE MANAGE THIS PEOPLE? Is it wrong to buy nail polish when we I could be making a donation to support Haitians? I rather think so, and yet, I rationalize the purchase as an attempt to better enact my femininity, which I regularly suck at. That is lame too. Not as lame (lame is not the appropriate word here but bear with me as I attempt some parallelism) as the horrific situation in Haiti, but lame.

At least the drive home was stunning. The wind is blowing snow around today, so the trees our delicately outlined. The sky is white – so the limbs appear delicate, black and tender. My trip home from Wal-Mart involves a long downward stretch lined densely with trees, and in concert with the sky today, they moved me to tears. Granted, it may have been the stress of deciding between nail polish and Haiti, or organic milk for $3.50 vs. standard antibioticized milk for $1.50 that built me up to that point, but the trees put me over the edge. And although my father will cringe to read this, I was so thankful for the opportunity to send all of these thoughts – the fear and guilt over Haiti, the concern over our food stuffs, and the awe for natural beauty – to God. I don’t feel like here is the place to justify or discuss my religious standing as I am kind of trying to wrap this all up nicely, but I will gladly go into more detail later (for a quick overview of my feelings perhaps watch a little Studio 60? I sort of rest somewhere in the middle of that argument). But today it was nice to put faith in the idea of a plan – that somebody, or something, some where’s got all our backs. Whether we are painting our toes or navigating rubble, I praise God for the peace and opportunity to put it all up to him and mindfully get on with our day.

Back At It

A few notes on the new year of eating:

• While I was home in December Matt would call me and say, "I am eating Salmon with an asparagus sauce," to which I would below "WHY DON'T YOU COOK LIKE THAT FOR ME?" or "SINCE WHEN ARE WE ALLOWED TO BUY SALMON?" He's used to this kind of extremity, so he was un-phased. Upon returning home I found our fridge fully stocked with produce, including lettuce. For those of you who are not avid readers, produce is something of an anomaly in our house hold because it is expensive. After viewing a fridge full of foliage, I spun on my heal to give Matt my nastiest-how-could-you-do-this-while-I-am-away face. Again, un-phased. Shortly there after I opened my Christmas gift from Matt: a copy of Jaime Oliver's Ministry of Food. I am of course pleased, but Matt goes on to explain that the meals he cooked over break were out of this book and practice, because this year he is committing to cooking dinner once a week. For those of you that may miss the point, let me spell it out for you: A-W-E-S-O-M-E.
• None of my pants fit due to much eating while home and the neccessity to where layers in the negative Minnesota temperatures.
• In the past week I've successfully made cinnamon rolls with cream cheese icing, pita bread, pulled pork, mashed potatoes, tzaziki, stir fry, and lentil soup. A GOOD START INDEED.
• Everyone should know how to make pulled pork. It requires nothing but good pork. I recently watched Fresh, which makes me grateful that I have the Thompson's to buy meat from. Please see below for pulled pork recipe. Trust me, this is so good it needs no sauce.
• I love beginning a stew or sauce or soup because that initial sauté of celery, onion, carrot and what have you is rich with promise. That might sound tacky, but I believe it. From that simple start so much can develop, so it is exhilarating, always to begin.
  

Pulled Pork
What Ya' Need:
4lb bone in free range, natural pork shoulder or butt (should have a really nice bit of fat on it)
1 medium onion

What Ya' Do:
Preheat oven to 300. In a dutch oven or other, deep oven proof pan, place pork shoulder/butt in pan, fat side UP (you want all that lovely flavor to dribble down past all the meat). Quarter onion and break up over pork. Fill pan with one inch deep of water. Cover and place in oven. Cook for at least 3 hours, or until meet is falling away from bone. You pretty much can't over cook this. I will cook it all day sometimes if I am around.

When you are ready to eat, remove dutch oven, use forks to pull pork from the bones and away from residual fat. Eat as is or serve in sandwiches, with beans, on salads, etc.

Do NOT be concerned with the fats. If you do use a good, natural cut of pork that fat is PACKED with fats that your body really does need. Granted I am not recomending you eat pulled pork every night, BUT once and awhile is something that will serve you well in the long run.

Happy New Year!

The Victoria Backyard in Winter

Hello all, I've missed you, but I had to take a break. The following little "essay" is something I just finished for my Writing Techniques class. I couldn't resist posting it, and since it's not for marks, there was very little pressure. Please! Feel free to comment on my writing. Apparently translators have to write REALLY well. Who would've thought? So these next few months are going to be dedicated to improving my writing. I'd especially like your help with pointing out any unclear recipe directions. And, I have to write a How To article at the end of the semester. Since food is a likely candidate for a topic, are there any delicious, rather complicated recipes you'd like me to tackle?

Here she is:

Why I keep moving to Montreal

I have moved to Montreal three times over the last five years. The first time for my first year of university at McGill, and then for a second time because I fell in love with a Quebecois one-summer tree planting. After both of these short sejours, neither longer than 8 months, I returned home to Victoria, B.C, where I finished my undergraduate degree in French studies. In January 2009, I came back to Montreal for a third time to study translation, and to establish myself in a place I can call home.

I find transition extremely difficult. Filled with uncertainty and worry, it takes an enormous amount of effort, especially when moving from place to place. Whenever I phone my family, usually rather panicked, during these times of change, my mom always tells me: “Well, you do like to know how things are going to turn out.” I do, but life is full of change, and you have to find a way to get comfortable when the earth trembles underneath and you slip a bit between the cracks. In my family, food is our middle ground. Cooking and eating together keeps us in check, even during the most difficult of times. Each time I’ve left home during these glorious early years of my twenties, I have scrambled to find the same ritual and comfort in the food I cook, or the people I share it with. However, it wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be.

Cafeteria food was traumatizing. Now when I look back on my first year in Montreal living in residence, I can’t help but smile. But how I scoffed and scorned at the gummy lumps of pasta, cried over wilted salad, hung my head at the over-cooked broccoli, held my stomach and prayed it would stop aching between meals, hoarded the grocery stores for the foods I ate at home; I was searching for a common ground in this vibrant, windy city. I tried making muffins like dad did at home, but between mixing them in a sauce pan on top of my apartment fridge and carrying them around residence to and from the oven, it seemed like a lot of work for the tiny, hard, porous pucks I produced. For Thanksgiving, I shamelessly bought piecrust and pumpkin filling, added eggs and baked the thing. I brought the pie to a dinner I was invited to. Shocked by how much people loved it, I realized for the first time that it’s about sharing food as much as it is about the quality. A plain ole’ hot dog can go a long way when shared under the right circumstances. I was learning that if you cook, they’d come.

I tried this same approach when I moved in with Jean Simon after only three months of living together in the bush. I thought he was the one; it was a risk, and I took it. But I was so in love, it was hard to admit early on that it wasn’t working. He was starting his masters and had little time; I had too much time, working 15 hours a week at Petits Gateaux, a cupcake store on Mont Royal. To remedy the lack of communication and growing distance between us, I cooked good meals for us to eat together. This gave me enormous sense of purpose. He’d come home from school and lean over me at the stove. “Qu’est-ce que tu fais?” He’d ask. “I’m cooking up those moose steaks your parents gave us. There’s sweet potatoes in the oven and rice on the stove,” I’d reply. “Est-ce que tu vas faire une sauce pour la viande? As-tu la mariné? Ma mère fait ça.” I’d grit my teeth and mumble no, but maybe next time. Maybe I wasn’t cooking what he wanted to eat, but nothing seemed ever good enough. However, it was the bread that finally broke me. After Jean Simon left for school, I’d eat breakfast and then start to make bread. At home, I’d successfully made pizza dough, foccacia, sandwich bread, etc., but I couldn’t make it work in Montreal. The crumb was always too loose, or the bread undercooked, or the top burned. One day I opened the oven to see the bottom element sparking like a Halloween sparkler. The top of my bread was black. A burning smell filled the kitchen with a cloud of smoke. I took it out of the oven, unmolded it, and started crying over the uncooked (yet burned!) mass steaming steadily on the counter. Shortly after that, and several emotional phone calls home, I got on a plane.

When I arrived in the middle of January 2009, one year after leaving Jean Simon, the wind was howling, it was – 30 C, and I was very unsure of what I would do. I had a couple of classes to finish by distance at the University of Victoria, but I had no job lined up and a lot of time before my translation program started in the spring at McGill. However, I moved in with one of my best friends, Libby. She was in school full time, and I became, very naturally, the in-house chef. Another one of our friends was living with us, and I cooked time-consuming vegetarian casseroles for weekly sustenance from the Moosewood Cookbook. I made baked fish with an avocado, red pepper sauce, and rich, moist chocolate cake served with dark coffee rum; I made Stollen, a German holiday bread for Easter, peanut butter cookies for late night movies and more pancakes and muffins than the three of us could eat. When Libby left for Toronto in April, I was on my own. I’d already started to write a food blog and spent most of my free time thinking about what to make, how I’d photograph it and where I could find ingredients. My obsession with food fueled me through a time when I was scraping to build a foundation for myself. I had finally come back to Montreal with the right intentions: to discover what I had to give, and how I wanted to give it.

Returning home from the Christmas holidays this year was hard. The future of my career is uncertain, the length of my stay in Montreal is uncertain, finding a potential partner is uncertain. I left the warmth of my family, and the damp, rainy West coast, to arrive in a city blanketed by snow, again. But leaving Victoria has always been a way to meet the harsh beauty of life’s uncertainties that is softened and less obvious at home. Uncertainty is like sitting on a prickly cactus, and I will always be learning how to navigate the murky waters of ambiguity. I like to think cooking helps teach me this. Because, no matter how good our recipe is, we measure wrong, or we don’t read the directions, and we have to pull ourselves up out of the mess. Botched meals can usually be salvaged, even enjoyed in the right company, or you can just have omelets; they’re always delicious, anywhere you are.

Mak & Murph Together at Last

Commence countdown as the Mak and Murph families in total will be dining, dashing, and devouring excellent grub together in just over a week. Fabulous lives people and it is on its way.

Dissapointment.

As I am sure you have noticed, faithful readers, I have been MIA. This is due to some fabulous traveling (and eating) that has occurred in the past few weeks. Expect a photo montage soon.

However, tonight I am home, back to the grind and on my own, so I decide to try for some homemade cream of broccoli soup as I am fresh off of In Defense of Food which encourages "mostly plants," and having lovingly par-boiled and frozen some vendor surplus broccoli this summer. I pull out the trusty How to Cook Everything by Mark Bittman and set to work.

DISASTER. My soup is thin, tasteless (unless you count that awful overcooked broccoli taste as something worthy of note), and even worse - there is TONS OF IT. Currently I have nasty broccoli puree in three containers and one pot and am at a loss as to whether I should freeze it and at a later date try to resurrect the mess, or if I should just wash my hands of it and toss it.

Also, please note I blame only myself. Too much stock - too much broccoli, not enough starch. Mark Bittman, you're still my go to guy, your French bread and peanut butter pasta sustain me (don't tell Michael Pollan, he'll tell me to eat more vegetables.)

Anyhow, it looks as if I will be hitting the dishes with little spring in my step. At least I have Nutella to look froward too.