three hundred and two

One of the things that I am looking forward to most about moving back to DC metro area is the awesomeness that is known as the Lancaster County Dutch Market.  It's your standard issue Lancaster County, PA market with a slight twist: it's in Montgomery County, MD.  In the middle of the week, a group of Mennonite families pack into vans and ship a little taste of Lancaster County to the suburban yuppies willing to pay extreme markup for the privilege.  And, of course, among the highfalutin yuppies were Mr N and I.

Whenever we could afford it, we would walk down the street and gorge ourselves on the best fried chicken in the world, free cheese samples, spit roasted rabbit, and the best pretzels in the whole wide world.  In fact, the pretzels are something I miss (nearly) as much as our friends!  Since they're apparently like friends to me, I reasoned, why not invite them for a visit?  I set out to make a replica of the pretzels and quickly ran into an obstacle: Cooper cheese.

Wait, what?  Cheese?  I wasn't making just any pretzel (you should know by now that I'm more picky than that).  I was making my favorite pretzel, one that that just so happens to be Lancaster County's answer to the Hot Pocket: a pretzel stuffed with roast beef and Cooper cheese.  There are other fillings, but none are able to top the seasoned, juicy (fresh!) roast beef and ever so slightly tangy, melty-enough-to-put-Kraft-out-of-business cheese.  I refused to try any other kind of cheese because, well, I'm stubborn.

The above is why I may have actually cheered when I found Cooper cheese, presliced in the deli no less, at Wegmans the other week.  The above may also be why I immediately set to making (and eating) a copycat Lancaster County Dutch Market stuffed pretzel.  (And some plain ones, too, but those are boring when you have roast beef and Cooper cheese to eat.)  Now I'm going to do what Amish and Mennonite women have done for years: share the love.

three hundred

"I’m not a fan of summer; it’s hot, sticky, and—for someone as pale as I—sunburny.  I spend most of the summer indoors, hoping for a cloudy day.  For reasons probably related to my aversion to summer, I long ago decided that August is, in fact, autumn.  And what does autumn mean?  Soup, of course!  Every year, I spend my late summer early autumn days making and consuming vats of soup.  In the first week of my imagined autumn, I have already jumped into preparing my favorite soup: French onion."

Read the rest of the post "French Onion Soup" at Home Ec 101.

P.S.  Holy guacamole!  300 posts!  I may need to reconsider my post naming system before I hit one thousand...

two hundred and ninety-five

"If you’ve ever made your own creamy salad dressings from scratch, you may have been shocked by the inclusion of up to a cup of store-bought, chemical filled mayonnaise.  Since when does a 'from scratch' recipe call for 'sauce from a jar'?  Moreover, can a salad dressing, potato salad, or tuna sandwich qualify as 'fresh' or 'homemade' when the main ingredients, eggs and all, can sit on the shelf for years before expiring?  I’m no whole food purist (I’ve even been known to employ a well placed can of Tex Mex tomatoes) but in my opinion, store bought mayonnaise is on the same level as Miracle Whip.  No hate for you Whip lovers, but this post is about real mayonnaise..."

Read the rest of the post "Homemade Mayonnaise" on Home Ec 101.

two hundred and forty-one

Growing up in a vegetarian household, I didn't really "get" the love that many Americans profess for burgers.  Though tasty enough, they were mostly just vehicles for enabling mass consumption of cheese.  (Land'o'Lakes American, thank you very much.)  Then, as most of my stories go, I met my husband.  The second the weather began to warm for the year, my father in law would go into a primal trance and spend every weekend manning the grill producing enough meat for every man, woman, and child within smelling distance.  At first, all of that grilled meat was kind of off putting, but it wasn't long before I was sitting at my mother in law's kitchen table and making towers of burger patties for whatever gathering was happening that weekend.

Though I still consider the cheese a highlight of a burger, I now appreciate the patty's charred outside and juicy inside about as much as I appreciate a good steak.  Even more than the taste, I appreciate the frugality of a homemade semi-gourmet burger, so I try to make them at least once a month in the summer.  I bake challah rolls, think up interesting mayonnaise flavors, and try to work out a mathematical equation to calculate the maximum number of different toppings any given burger can hold (that number is known as the MTR or Maximum Topping Ratio).  Usually, it's great.  Sometimes, meh.  Rarely, a choir of angels having a rave in my mouth.

The burger I'm about to share with you is one of those angel raves, therefore I recommend you make it as soon as possible.  Preferably yesterday.  (Make extra patties for lunch, too.)  Oh, and not having a grill is no excuse; this recipe is apartment-friendly.

two hundred and thirty-six

(Today's quick tip and menu plan are after the jump.)

 "I’ll never forget the first time my childhood friend showed me how to make one of her favorite treats.  The recipe was simple: one piece of white bread, squished and squeezed into a compact ball.  It was kind of like a bread bonbon, and the thought of it horrified me immensely.  You see, I grew up eating sprouted wheat bread—the kind that can lead a child’s mind to wonder about the possibility of those seeds sprouting further during the digestion process—and it most certainly did not squish.  It crumbled."

Read the rest of the post "Hearty White Sandwich Bread" at Home Ec 101.

two hundred and twenty-seven

"Ramen. It’s a single word that conjures images of students and young newlyweds alike, united by their grumbling bellies and meager budgets.  Most of us have been there, done that—myself included—and if you’re anything like me, you may have also done a happy dance when you finally said sayonara to your noodle heavy twenty dollar a week food budget.  Despite my longstanding eagerness to eat something (anything!) other than what the Japanese refer to as gakusei ryori, or “student food”, years later I still find myself craving the salty, slurpy soup that got me through the leanest times in my life..."

Read the rest of the post "Pork and Miso Ramen" at Home Ec 101.

two hundred and twenty-six

Today I met with one of my pain management center's nurse practitioners, and she was absolutely lovely.  After chatting for a few minutes, she abruptly stated that I needed to stop being so obsessive and paranoid about doing something wrong and/or being seen as a druggo.  She said it jokingly after I mentioned that I felt like my patches weren't lasting a full seven days (but that I was probably just imagining it [turns out, a lot of people say the same thing!]), but the more I think about the nurse's words, the more I realize that her advice rings true in all aspects of my life.

As you probably know, I'm a terrible combination of perfectionist and ADHD.  I literally cannot make myself slow down enough to think before I act, which means that I end up I spending a lot of time thinking about what I should have done, or should have said, or (more often) shouldn't have said.  Have you ever experienced presque vu?  It's when you just know the word you want to use, but you can't seem to think of the right one.  Most people just shrug it off, but with the way my brain works, I'll suddenly blurt out the forgotten word days or even weeks later.  I think about it in my spare time without realizing it, only because I can't just accept that a word could be so easily forgotten.  Crazy, right?  And that's just how much I think about something as inconsequential as a single word!

As frustrating as my obsession may be, I feel that it is the driving force behind my love of homemaking.  Some people groan and grumble at the thought of cooking dinner or scrubbing the baseboards, but my perfectionism makes it an enjoyable challenge--most of the time.  After a long day, my Type A self retires to its mental chambers, leaving the inexperienced Type B Michele to tentatively poke her figurative head out of her possibly less figurative shell.  Type B Michele demands video games, drawing in the dust instead of wiping it, asking the cats to wash the dishes, and (perhaps most importantly) easy dinners--much like the one I'm going to share with you now.

Enjoy!  Or don't.  I don't really care.  (Don't worry, I'll be back to my normal obsessive self tomorrow.)

two hundred seventeen

I grew up painfully aware of my parents' obsession with mostly organic, totally vegetarian diet (except for me; the doctor prescribed Toddler Michele lamb for anemia.)  Every day, come lunchtime, my tofu became the main topic of conversation and speculation.  "What is it?"  "Is that bread or tree bark?"  "Does your mom know how to cook?"  I can't even count the number of times I heard, "Wanna trade?  'Cause I don't!"  My routine pleas for normal food went ignored for so long that I finally accepted that I was going to be a lunchtime outcast, and that was that.

So, I'm sure you can imagine how shocked I was when a few years after my parents' divorce my brother moved in with my dad, and my mother and I started eating out for dinner near daily.  We ate restaurant food with no abandon, and her concern about grains and non-meat protein flew out the window.  It was during the Time of Restaurant Foods that I learned that I love most everything spicy--as well as anything in the form of nachos.

Fast forward a few years when Mr N and I were visiting for the holidays.  My mother offered to take us out for dinner.  Naturally, we accepted.  She recommended we try Travinia, an Italian place down the street from her house, a suggestion that made my nose crinkle in disgust.  You see, last time I had eaten there, I ordered fettuccine alfredo, which would have been decent had the sauce contained cheese instead of just butter and cream--which would have been acceptable, had they not told me I was wrong and that they would not make me another.

After my mother assured me that the restaurant was under new ownership, we were on our way.  Despite her promise of better food, I still refused to order pasta and opted instead for an appetizer, except... nothing looked very good.  I was about two seconds away from ordering a salad when I saw it.  I knew what I wanted and I knew that, if they didn't screw up the sauce, it would. be. epic.  And oh, how epic it was.

Oh, you mean you want know what it is?  I'll share, but be warned: once you've had it, you'll find yourself with near constant cravings and, possibly probably, a larger waistline.  Alright.  If you're sure, you can find it behind the jump...

two hundred and thirteen

My husband grew up in an Italian-American family, therefore, like all other Italian-Americans, he loves meatballs.  It's genetic, I think.  He doesn’t care if they’re served alone, with pasta, or on a salad, so long as they’re served, period.  I know I’ve said that I love it when he makes requests for meals, but meatballs are just one of those things that can be a huge pain to make in bulk.   First you have to mix the meat with a ton of filler to make sure the balls don’t crumble, then you have to brown every last one of them in a skillet before transferring them to a giant vat of simmering sauce (or “gravy” as folks ‘round these parts call it.)  In the grand scheme of things, they’re really not all that difficult, but they never fail to take up a large chunk of one’s day given that, ideally, meatballs will spend several hours simmering on the stove top.  And don’t even get me started on the mess that the sauce creates all over my stove, counters, walls, hair, you name it!

The sauce’s super staining powers are almost enough to make me give up making meatballs for good, but I would feel kind of evil if I denied my husband one of his favorite foods just because it’s messy.  So, the other week, I decided to experiment with meatballs in the slow cooker, and you know what?   Even though the slow cooked meatballs go straight into the slow cooker without being browned, they taste even better than the stovetop version.  Cleanup is done in a blink of an eye, especially if your slow cooker’s lid and insert are dishwasher safe!  And, best of all, you can start them in the morning, go about your day, and forget about them until dinnertime.  That’s right, meatballs: you’ve officially joined the ranks of weekday foods.

one hundred and ninety-eight

I absolutely love Mexican food (as evidenced by my menu plans,) but I hate to admit that I am not a fan of "real" Mexican food.  Something about the lack of cheese (sorry, but my stomach does not recognize cotijo as cheese) combined with the corn tortillas and pickled onions never fails to leave me wanting for a drive through taco.  I suppose this means I'm not really a "foodie," but I know that I can't be alone in preferring nachos to menudo, right? 

It certainly feels as though I am when I try to eat at Mexican restaurants in New Jersey.  When Mr N and I lived in the South, we would go out for tacos or nachos (or pollo fundido!) once a month or so.  It was cheap and entirely unauthentic, but over the top delicious.  It makes my mouth water to think about the cheesy, crunchy mess of a meal to this day, but there is simply no where in the area(that isn't a chain) that sells the cheap "Mexican" food I crave. 

So, I make my own.  Sometimes it'll be your standard issue beef + taco seasoning + hard taco shells, other times it will be carnitas, but more often than not we end up having chicken soft tacos.  Not only is the recipe super easy, it is inexpensive, reheats well, and is sure to please anyone who even kind of likes homemade Mexican food.  It's so good, it may just become your go to recipe (in my oh so humble opinion.  Ahem.)

one hundred and eighty-three

Is it really Monday again already?  In fear of losing power, was spent playing video games, listening to music, cooking, finishing up some Samurai Sudokus (copied from the Washington Post by a lovely friend), and looking out the windows.  Of course, since we were fully prepared, the lights didn't even flicker.

Despite the power's awesome cooperation throughout the storm, however, I still had a terrible time sorting out food this weekend.  Between things not working out well (I'm looking at you, disgusting baked oatmeal that ended up being fed to the trash) and my whim-influenced food cravings (ahem, hollandaise sauce and garlicky chicken), the SNAP Challenge menu plan I posted last week got turned on its head.  Fortunately, we're still on track to finish the challenge, but with the following modifications to the remaining days of the plan:

Monday
Breakfast - ham, egg and cheese biscuit sandwiches oatmeal brown sugar muffins
Lunch - leftover stuffed baked potatoes or grilled cheese chili

Dinner - leftover beef and bean chili with fresh cornbread stuffed baked potatoes

Tuesday
Breakfast - leftover oatmeal brown sugar muffins
Lunch - leftover chili and cornbread baked potatoes

Dinner - white chicken enchiladas (using thigh meat)

Wednesday
Breakfast - egg and cheese biscuit sandwiches
Lunch - leftover enchiladas or grilled cheese

Dinner - beef and rice lettuce wraps leftover chili and fresh cornbread

Thursday
Breakfast - leftover muffins biscuits
Lunch - leftover lettuce wraps or enchiladas

Now, on to day four's foodstuffs and a recipe for a luxurious but SNAP friendly breakfast: eggs Benedict-ish.

SNAP Challenge - Day Four

 

Breakfast - eggs Benedict-ish (recipe below!)

Lunch - grilled cheese and tomato soup

Dinner - rosemary garlic chicken Francese with mashed potatoes and green beans

 

one hundred and seventy-five

My favorite thing about wintertime is not crackling fires, fuzzy scarves, or the serenity of falling snow.  It's not the holidays, or snazzy knee-high socks, or Macy's window displays, or even the release of the next season in The Simpsons DVD collection (which is saying something).  No, it's about the food.

Winter is the one time of year when we get downright primal about our food intake, gorging on savories and sweets as though we are in a perpetual state of preparing for hibernation, and it's something that I always take full advantage of when planning my meals for even the warmest of winter weeks.  From November until March, my menu plans are full of soups, chilis, stews, (did I mention soups?) and one of my favorite non-soup meals: chicken pot pie.

There's just one problem.  The only chicken pot pies I ever had as a child were (unbeknownst to my mother) eaten at my grandmother's house, which means they came from the freezer aisle.  I have never been able to enjoy a chicken pot pie made from whole ingredients, yet I can't bring myself to purchase premade freezer pies because, come on, they're freezer pies.  I was faced with a serious conundrum: give up pot pies forever or learn to like the "real" kind.

Since I'm a stubborn little monkey, however, I wasn't able to do either and ended up having to meet myself in the middle of the road.  Inspired by a source I normally ignore, the chicken pot pie recipe that follows combines an awesome homemade crust with a shameful quantity of store bought Italian salad dressing.  I know, I know.  It sounds terrible, but it really is comfort food at its finest--once you learn to ignore your inner foodie, of course.

one hundred and forty-seven

I was born in Cocoa Beach, Florida, the land of rockets, drunks, and awesome Cuban food.  Every weekend after church with my grandparents, I went to breakfast at a restaurant called Roberto's.  As a young child, I ordered grits or pancakes or something equally mundane and hard to mess up.  When I got a little older, I started going to church at 11 instead of 8.  On top of giving me an extra two hours of sleep, the later service afforded me the opportunity to learn that Roberto's had a life beyond breakfast food.

Since I was not very knowledgeable about Cuban food, I would often pick something that sounded interesting and hope for the best.  More than a few times, this led to disappointment when I was presented with bits of the animal that are best used for pet food--and rice and beans, of course.  Once I was presented with a Cuban sandwich, however, my roulette style of ordering was quickly abandoned.  After a couple of months, I stopped having to order.  Life was good.

Suddenly, I found myself uprooted to South Carolina where there was no Cuban food to be found.  Disappointed, I willed myself to forget about the ambrosia of sandwiches--and I did.  A few years later, out of the blue, my mother came home from work with a Cuban sandwich, which I eyed suspiciously.  "Where did you get this?" I asked.  "Publix.  Wanna split it?"  She heated it up in the oven and I sullenly ate half of my half of the not-very-good sandwich.  When I was finished, I put the leftovers in the fridge to eat later.

Later came and went, and I was starving.  I padded to the kitchen and pulled out the cold sandwich and began to eat.  And that's the story of how I discovered my favorite sandwich: the cold Cuban.

I live in New Jersey now, the land of no Publix supermarkets and not very delicious Cuban restaurants, so I don't get my favorite sandwich very often.  Every now and then, however, cravings take over and lead to me buying a pork loin and making one at home, but my dislike of touching pork limited these cravings.  That is, until I discovered that I can make the pork in a slow cooker.  Now I'm passing the curse of that knowledge on to you!  Enjoy!

one hundred and thirty-eight

Before I start this post, I want to give a big, public "Thank you!" to my friend Cara for her help with my "bleh" food photographs.  In case you haven't noticed, I haven't had to use the ugly food tag ever since I started using her tips some weeks ago; I was even able to get a tasty looking picture of pollo fundido using my point and shoot!  Check out her blog, Simply: Homemade Life, if you're in the mood to drool all over your keyboard. ;-)

If you're like me, you've had at least one experience in cooking where you have ended up disappointed in the end result.  Not because you messed anything up, or because you made substitutions, but because you made assumptions.  Well, you know what they say about assumptions.

Last night I made the calzones, as planned.  They turned out well--inside.  The crust was nearly inedible; it was sour from resting in the refrigerator overnight, it didn't roll out the way pizza dough usually does, and it decided that it didn't like my seal.  Oh, and it wouldn't brown.  Ugh.

Nonetheless, the filling was absolutely delicious.  It could have only been made more delicious by the addition of balsamic vinegar, so I'm including that in the recipe.  (There I go with the assumptions again!)  I'm going to share the recipe with you for the filling, but until I give the calzones another shot this weekend or early next week, I'm not going to provide you with a dough recipe.  In theory, you should be able to use your favorite regular (not thin crust) pizza dough recipe.  In practice, I'm thinking that Tyler Florence's focaccia dough might make an excellent crust.  I'll update the recipe next week to include the crust, but until then...

Spinach Alfredo Calzones with Turkey

Note to self: pictures on cutting board =/= easy to color correct

This calzone filling also makes a delicious combination of toppings for a white pizza.  Just roll out the dough, top with alfredo sauce (and seasoned ricotta, if desired), then follow with spinach, tomatoes, turkey or chicken, and mozzarella/provelone.  The calzones can be served with a side of red dipping sauce, but we enjoyed them plain.  Each calzone made as directed is large enough for two hungry adults; divide the dough and ingredients into quarters rather than halves to make each one a (large!) single serving.

1 batch of your favorite pizza crust, preferably not left to ferment overnight

1 tbsp olive oil, plus extra for brushing

3 fresh (or 1 can) tomatoes, deseeded and chopped if fresh, drained if canned

1-10 oz. box frozen (or 3 cups fresh) spinach, defrosted and fully drained if frozen

1 tsp dried oregano

1/2 tsp garlic powder (or 2-3 cloves fresh garlic)

1-2 tbsp balsamic vinegar (use more if your balsamic is sweeter)

1-2 cups cooked, shredded turkey or chicken

1 jar or batch of your favorite alfredo sauce

12 oz. ricotta cheese

1/2 tsp chili powder

1 + 1/2 tsp kosher salt (use less if desired)

1 tsp dried basil

fresh ground pepper, to taste

2 cups mozzarella or Italian/pizza cheese blend

Prepare the pizza crust dough according to instructions.  After it has risen, divide it into halves and then allow to rest for about 10 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 400.

Meanwhile, add 1 tbsp olive oil to a large pan set over medium-high heat.  Add the tomatoes and cook, stirring frequently, until cooked down (or if canned: until they no longer smell metallic), about 5 minutes.  If you are using fresh garlic, add it now.  Stir in the spinach, oregano, garlic powder, and 1 tsp of the salt.  Allow to cook an additional 3 minutes, or until fragrant.  

Push the tomatoes and spinach off to one side of the pan.  Add the balsamic to the empty side of the pan to deglaze, then stir in the shredded turkey or chicken.  Stir until heated through, about 2 minutes.

Remove pan from heat and stir in alfredo sauce.  Set aside (over low heat, if needed).

In a medium bowl, mix the ricotta, chili powder, the remaining 1/2 tsp kosher salt, basil, and pepper.

On a floured surface, roll your balls of dough out into two large circles, about 10-12" in diameter; no need to measure, just eyeball it.  Brush circles with olive oil, leaving a 1/2 inch boarder of unoiled dough around the circumference for sealing.  Spread half of the ricotta mixture onto half of the circle of dough, again keeping the circle's edges clean.  Top the ricotta with half of the turkey-alfredo mixture, then top with one cup of the mozzarella cheese.  Add additional parmesan, if desired.

Carefully fold the naked side of the calzone over the filling, lining up the edges as best as you can.  Crimp with a fork or your fingers, then fold the edges over like a pie crust and crimp again.  Using your hands or a bench scraper, transfer the sealed calzone to a lined or cornmeal coated baking sheet.  For extra crispness, cut steam vents in the top; bonus points if it's decorative!  Brush the top of the dough with additional oil, then sprinkle with salt, if desired.

Repeat the process with the second dough round and the remaining ingredients.

Bake at 400 for about 30 minutes, or until the crust has browned and the cheese in the steam vents is bubbly and delicious.  Cool on a rack for at least 10 minutes before eating to avoid burning your face off.

Serves 4.

one hundred and twenty-five

Dear Internet,

I couldn't think of a blog post today because PSE&G keeps messing with my head with its random outages.  Since I'm not a total bum, I figured a recipe might be a good compromise.  Just for good measure, I'll even make it seasonal and Thanksgiving-y.  So, here's my recipe for beer brined bone-in turkey breast, complete with a punny title.

Love,
Michele

Baysted Bone-In Turkey Breast with Pan Gravy

Start with:

6-8 lb. bone-in turkey breast, thawed if frozen

Brine overnight in:

1/4 cup kosher salt

1/4 cup packed brown sugar

1/4 cup apple cider vinegar

1-12 oz. bottle ale (I used Magic Hat HIPA)

water to cover

When you're ready to roast, remove the turkey from the brine and rinse thoroughly inside and out.  Pat dry.

Place the turkey breast side down on a large cutting board.  Using kitchen shears, cut along either side of the spine (your shears will cut through the ribs) until you encounter resistance.  Place one palm flat on the very top of the spine.  Using your free hand, grab the wing (or what's left of it, if your breast came wingless) and bend it towards the spine.  You know, like you're trying to break its shoulder, because that's precisely what you're attempting to do. 

Repeat the process on the other shoulder, then use your shears to finish removing the spine by cutting through the space between the shoulder and arm.  Don't throw away the spine or any scraps (except for the white tube-looking spinal cord because yuck).

Allow the turkey to rest at room temperature while you make...

Lazy Turkey Stock:

32 oz. homemade or store bought chicken stock

scraps from turkey

Combine stock and scraps in a medium pot.  Simmer covered over medium heat for 45 minutes, or until it smells sufficiently turkey-y.  

Meanwhile, start on...

Bay Butter:

8 Turkish bay leaves

12 tbsp salted butter

In a small saucepan, melt the butter.  Stir in the bay leaves, then infuse over low heat for about 30 minutes, or until fragrant.  Fish out the bay leaves and set them aside.

While the butter is infusing, gather...

The Rest of the Stuff:

1 onion, cut into eighths

2 ribs celery, cut into thirds

2 tsp garlic powder

1/2 tsp paprika

salt and pepper

Preheat the oven to 375.

Once the butter and broth are done, place the turkey breast-up on a roasting pan.  Slide your hand under the skin to disconnect it from the meat.  Slightly lift the breast off of the pan and slide the onion, celery, and bay leaves (from the Bay Butter) into the hollow space under the rib cage.  Gently rest the turkey on top of the veggies, making sure nothing's poking out.

Coat the turkey with the bay butter, then sprinkle with garlic powder, salt, pepper, and paprika.  Place the turkey in the preheated oven and roast at 375 for 30 minutes.

Carefully pour two cups of the broth into the bottom of the roasting pan.  Baste the turkey with the juices and broth from the bottom of the pan.  Reduce the heat to 325 and roast an additional 1 1/2 hours, basting again at the one hour mark, and one last time at the one hour-thirty minute mark.  If the pan begins to dry out or the drippings begin to burn, add extra broth one cup at a time.

Remove from the oven once the temperature in the thickest part of the breast measures 165.  Allow to rest on the counter 20 minutes before carving.  Meanwhile, remove the veggies and bay leaves from the roasting pan and start on...

Pan Gravy:

pan drippings from roasted turkey (above)

2 tbsp flour

2 tbsp butter

1 cup turkey broth

chicken stock, as needed

salt and pepper, to taste

In a small pot, melt the butter.  Whisk in the flour to create a roux, cooking for about one minute or until it smells nutty.

Whisk in the pan drippings and turkey broth, adding chicken stock 1/4 cup at a time until the gravy reaches your desired consistency.  Check seasoning, then...

Eat:

one hundred and twenty-three

Late post today.  The power's been out for the last six plus hours, but it's back now... Just in time for me to tell you a story about shellfish.  And ovens.  Mostly shellfish.  Spoiler alert: the story ends with a recipe.

When Mr. N and I moved to Maryland, we learned just how big crab and crab accessories truly were amongst anyone with a stomach.  While my husband loves shellfish, I am not much of a fan.  Something about the briny fishness of it all really puts me off, so I tend to pass when a well meaning individual offers up one of their famous lobster rolls or clam bakes.

Then, one day I met a man named Mike.  We met at a party where I was armed with lime cookies and he with a baguette and an awesome hot dip of some sort.  After hovering over the dish for a few hours, I cornered him and asked what I had just devoured.  When I learned that it was crab dip, I didn't know if I should gag or shrug, so I opted for the latter of the two.

When later I asked Mike for the recipe, he gave the standard answer of someone who's prepared the same dish umpteen times, "Some cream cheese, some crab, some Old Bay..."  Figuring we would be in the DC area for a while yet, I never bothered to probe the issue further; yet here I am two years later living in New Jersey.  D'oh.

After a year or so of crabby cravings, I finally gave in and made my own version.  Like Bubby's chicken soup, it's not quite as good as when Mike makes it, but it's still something I'd make again.  Who knows?  Maybe I'll send Mike my recipe and have him cook it in lieu of his own.  You know, so he can see what crab dip is supposed to taste like.

one hundred and eight

If you'll direct your eyes to the left sidebar on the blog (assuming you aren't using a reader), you'll see a new link: recipes!  On that page, I'll be listing and categorizing each and every recipe I post on my blog.  Please let me know If you catch a recipe that I posted on the blog and forgot to include!

Speaking of, it seems that many of the recipes are either modern reworks of classics, or are longtime family favorites courtesy of Mama or Gran.  From beef stroganoff to meatloaf to chicken pot pie, these are the sorts of recipes that give most Americans warm fuzzy memories of childhood dinners.  Note that I said "most".

I was vegetarian before that was the hip thing to do--not that I had a choice about it.  When I think back to the dinners my family ate, I remember oven baked eggplant Parmesan, barbecued tofu, and spaghetti with wheat balls.  My fairly rational mind can appreciate the fact that my parents tried to give me some semblance of traditional American foods like barbecue and spaghetti (I think I even remember tofu bacon).  Heck, I'm even grateful that they attempted to make vegetarian food taste good, rather than just serving lentil soup every day!  My not-always-rational heart, however, often feels a little bit left out when those around me start reminiscing about childhood favorites.

As soon as I was in charge of cooking for Mr. N and myself, I was prepared to dive headfirst into the world of comfort foods, but there was a problem.  Since I hadn't eaten much salt or processed foods as a child, I soon realized that simply don't like most of the recipes out there.  Even worse, many of the recipes called for Cream of Something Soup or disturbing quantities of Velveeta.  Undeterred, I realized that I would just have to do like good ol' Gran and start from scratch.  Many of my versions are merely approximations, but others (in my oh so humble opinion) are good enough to make you kick your Mom's recipes to the curb--like these meatballs.

ninety-one

In case I haven't gotten my point across yet, I'll state once again that I'm a fan of food.  I like cooking it, I like eating it, and I like reading about it, but I don't like looking at it.  I know that the Internetz are full of people with thousand dollar cameras who love to create blogs, sites, and Pinterest boards full of pictures of cakes meant to resemble the Tibetan monks that milled the super special wheatless "flour" that went into the batter or child-pleasing plates of broccoli made into scale models of, say, Sherwood Forest.  Even the humblest of casseroles can be made to look like Manna rained down from the heavens to come to a rest on platinum-edged china.

 Don't get me wrong, I'm impressed by the work and the skill behind the photography, but the pictures certainly don't make me hungry or leave me inspired (maybe because I've learned too many food photographers' "secrets").  Usually, I just end up feeling too embarrassed to post my original recipes because I feel like the pictures aren't up to par.  Today, I was hit with the realization that, duh, this is the Internet!  This is the one place where I could say I enjoy sandwiches made of modelling clay and I wouldn't be alone.  So I've decided that I'm standing up for ugly-yet-delicious meals by sharing one of the ugliest, cheapest, easiest foods in the world...

eighty-five

 Have you ever noticed that some people are just lucky at life?  In high school, my husband and I knew a kid that won every luck of the draw contest that he entered, especially those random phone-in radio contests that would give away tickets to shows and concerts.  He would be barred from entering contests for a period of time, only to seemingly win yet another one the very day he was allowed to participate again.  If that wasn't frustrating enough, his other family members had similar luck!

It's probably needless to say after that incredulous rant, but I am not one of those winny (new word!) people; that's one of the reasons I don't gamble or enter any contest that costs me anything more than 30 seconds of my time.  Well, imagine my surprise when I checked Google Reader this morning and found that I had won a giveaway from one of my long-time favorite blogs, Home Ec 101!  It certainly brightened up my rainy, weekend's-finally-over morning.  Thanks to Heather@Home Ec 101 for providing the web with years of near-encyclopaedic knowledge that I can always refer to when I don't know the best way to get something cooked or cleaned!

While on our quest to save money (especially on food in a disturbingly delicious part of the country), we have done a lot of our eating out at the Momofuku family of restaurants.  How is this decidedly not inexpensive food even close to a frugal option?  Because we have gift cards leftover from our wedding, of course. ;-)  That means we've eaten for "free" every time we've been since April!  Unfortunately, the cards' values are starting to dwindle, meaning I'm faced with a sad choice, indeed: pay real money for Momofuku or learn to make my own homemade version of Noodle Bar's pork buns (sans pork belly, because I have this thing about textures--especially fat that isn't crispy).  Since six billion pounds of slow roasted pork shoulder were staring me down when I opened the refrigerator yesterday afternoon, my answer was obvious...

eighty-two

Did you know that you can't buy Gordo's Cheese Dip anywhere in New Jersey or New York?  I found this out after much Googling (and possibly some praying/begging a higher being to give me what I want, darn it).  So, I figured I'd make my own with Queso Quesadilla, "Authentic Mexican cheese for melting"--or so the wrapper claimed.  I spent something like a half an hour working on the queso fundido, but only 20 minutes making the chicken filled fried tortillas (including the few minutes I spent nursing a giant oil burn on my hand).

I finally got everything plated... And then I forgot to stir the cheese one last time before topping the tortillas with it, so Mr. N got all of the creamy awesomeness and I ended up with something resembling cottage cheese.  (Should I go insane and decide try it again, I'll probably strain out the cheese solids or try to find some Asadero or something...)  Needless to say, I didn't take a picture.  I did promise to share the recipe, though, so I will with a word of warning: don't try to make your own queso fundido using this recipe.

Now that I've successfully made Pollo Fundido sound 100% horrible, here's the recipe!