warmth

It's almost six, and the girls are still playing outside. Rosie's boot is filled with snow, but she doesn't care. Today, our work party friends came over for some planning, and my friend Jen slipped me a bag.
"Look what's growing in the greenhouse. There's dinner."
I have a cold, but I know if I could breathe in, it would smell good. Not just the greens, the air, and the mud, and everything.
And there's something else.

I'm going on a little trip on Tuesday.
Don't worry, I'm taking you with me.
How about...
Istanbul?

We'll be cooking at home tomorrow, but after that, I can't even say what will be on the menu. Well, I can say that Joey and the girls will be having burritos, and grilled cheese, and noodles and sauce. Anyone who wants to come by and cook them some kale is my hero. As for what I'll be eating, I really have no idea. Except I've hear that it might involve baklava, and some sort of fried cheese, and maybe some lamb.
But tonight, it's Jen's greens. A good send off, I think.

pizza dough in your food processor

You see, we have a bit of a pizza issue in our marriage.
I've told you a little about it I think, but it's time we have the whole thing out in the open.
Joey worked at a pizza place in Denver for nine years. He started folding boxes there far before he was of legal working age, and moved on to working in the kitchen and delivering pizzas when he could get behind the wheel.
His father also worked there, and still delivers pizzas once a week. You could say that this place was, well, a family institution. I think that if one took a cell sample from Joey when he was 18, they would find that he was probably about 88% pizza. It is part of his chemical make up, but it is also, in some ways, the food of his soul.

I like pizza- I always have. I like greasy pizza and healthy pizza. I can't really argue with bread and cheese. But when Joey was growing up eating pizza all day long, I had my own limited diet. I was a picky kid, and for years, my mother made me noodles, with broccoli and cheese on the side. My chemical makeup was more like 88% wheat, cheese, and broccoli.
So you can guess what my favorite kind of pizza is.
Once at the pizza place where Joey grew up, he claims that the manager threw someone out of the joint for asking if they could put broccoli on his pizza. Joey cheers as he tells this story. You can imagine the conflict, I'm sure.
But it doesn't end there. As you might have noticed, I like to make food at home. The dining out budget is fairly nonexistent, and most of the time we can have more fun and eat better at home. And what's more, it's my thing! So, every so often, I make pizza at home.
I make the dough, I make the sauce. Hell, I even make the cheese. And when it comes time to shape the dough, I fall apart. There are holes in the bottom- the whole mess has to be catapulted onto the pizza stone. And it is never remotely circular.

Every time I am about to embark on this failing mission, I appeal to Joey.
"You know how to do this. Won't you make this right?"
He puts on his stubborn face. (I have one of these too, I'm sure, but he is an Aries, and so his is much better)
"Pizza is like Chinese Food. It should not be made at home."
He says this as I am mangling the dough, stretching it into something that the girls will refer to as teddy bear head pizza.
Maybe he's right, I don't know. But maybe I'm right! Maybe everything should be made at home!
Part of the issue until recently has been that he has hated my crust. I have hated my crust too, but I have my stubborn moments as well, and I suffered through. By refusing to employ his expertise to shape my dough into lovely little pizzas, he was, I think, trying to get me to stop making pizza at home altogether. That way, he could stop having to eat pizza that was so far below his standard, and as he saw it, just wrong.
But then, something changed.
Last year, Joey walked in the door one day with a new Cuisinart food processor. I had had a line of food processors before it, all found at the dump or handed down from friends who had upgraded. Two months earlier, the most recent food processor had died, and I had cried. This day was not my birthday or mother's day, it was simply the day that Joey chose to express his love with a random and substantial material good, and I'm telling you, I felt very very loved. We made popcorn, sat together on the couch, and we watched the how-to dvd as if it were the latest Oscar nominated sci fi thriller. And as I observed the resident bread expert for Cuisinart make his pizza dough in there, I thought, that's it. That's my crust. It had all the same ingredients as crusts I had tried in the past, but something deeper in me thought, "this appliance has magic in it."

It took me a while to try it out, but when I did, the response was immediate. Joey took a bite of the oddly shaped pie, and, deeply confused, commented on how good the crust was.
Magic.
I made it again, and Joey started to get used to the idea of actually enjoying pizza at home. And the other day, as I pulled dough that I had made earlier out of the fridge, he said,
"Do you want me to make them?"
Success.
He made four perfect little pizzas, one for each of us. I used this sauce, which is fantastic for pizza, and of course this cheese, which I've found melts like a dream. Plain for Rosie. Bacon for Joey. Bacon and spinach for Sadie. And for me? Bacon and, well, you know.

Pizza Dough in Your Food Processor
adapted from the esteemed Cuisinart Instruction and Recipe Booklet

makes 3 medium sized crusts, 4 big personal pizzas, or 6 little ones- in short, feeds four with leftovers for lunch

2 teaspoons active dry yeast
1 teaspoon sugar
1 1/4 cups warm water
3 1/3 cups unbleached all purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
3 teaspoons olive oil

In a liquid measuring cup, combine the water, yeast, and sugar. Let stand for five minutes, and watch for little bubbles. If there is no activity at all, throw away and start with new yeast.
Fit your food processor with the dough blade. In the bowl of the food processor, combine the flour, salt, and 2 teaspoons of the olive oil.
With the machine running on dough speed, add the liquid as fast as the flour will absorb it. Process until the dough forms a ball and clings to the blade, then process for another 30 seconds.
With the remaining teaspoon of oil, oil a medium sized bowl and a piece of plastic wrap. Place the dough in the bowl, cover it with plastic wrap, and leave it in a warm place to rise. Let it rise for an hour, or until it has doubled in bulk. After and hour, punch it down, and use immediately or place in the refrigerator until ready to use.

ham and cheese strata

Oh old bread, how I love you. Hard and impenetrable, past your prime, you will feed us all.

Last week, I ran into a cheese shop that sells not only cheese, but also expensive mustard and caramel corn from France, and most importantly, big crusty baguettes. I had garlic bread on the brain, and although I know I was asking for it by running in at 4:55, I was a little bit heartbroken to see the bread shelf empty. Opening my gaze, however, revealed a floor basket filled with bread marked "day old." It was, as I mentioned, the end of the day, and so this bread was pretty much day after day old. As I grabbed two loaves, I swear I heard little cries of "yippee" from the bread itself. The owner, who was on the phone, swiped at me. "Is that all you want?" he asked. "Take them. I would have just thrown them out."

Thrown them out? Thrown them out! Perfectly hard bread, waiting to be soaked in the liquid of my choice, waiting to be given a second life? I have worked in bakeries before, and I have thrown out hard bread, but that was before I truly understood that a two day old baguette is worth its weight in gold. When he offered the two loaves to me, I had to remind myself to be graceful, to accept what I was given with a smile and walk away. But the basket on the floor- it still had one, two, three...ten loaves of bread. Ten! With that bread, I could feed you all. I would give you custardy bread puddings, crunchy croutons infused with garlic, brothy soups that would warm your soul. I know you've heard this all before- but I am a broken record when it comes to old bread. I can't help it. It's a little overwhelming, I know, but I can't help wanting to feed you something lovely. With all those loaves of stale perfection, I would make you a strata.

Strata is similar to bread pudding, but has less of a custard feel and more of a straight egg base. It is suitable at any time of day, for any meal you choose. But if you want to give the strata its due, if you want to let it walk on stage and really shine, then you will invite a few friends over and have yourself a nice little brunch.


Why Brunch, you ask? Well, first of all, a strata must be prepared the night before it is eaten, so that it can really soak in all that egg-y goodness. All that needs to happen the morning of is out of the fridge, onto the counter, into the oven. Instead making a mess of your kitchen and losing your mind (maybe just me here?) before everyone comes over, you can set the table and sit there with your coffee while the strata merrily bakes away.

But that's not even the best part. The best part (isn't it always?) is the taste of the thing. Hearty and decadent, with a touch of green to make you pat your own back for being the kind of person who eats kale at breakfast. There is so much going on in here, you don't need potatoes, and you certainly don't need muffins or toast. To fill the plate, maybe a little fruit or a citrus-y salad. Coffee or tea depending on preference, mimosas if this is a booze before noon kind of crowd, and you are done.

Ham and Cheese Strata

1 pound of old crusty bread, sliced to 1/2 inch thick
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 onion, diced
2 large cloves garlic, minced
2 cups packed kale, taken off the stem and sliced into ribbons
1/3 pound cooked ham, sliced thin and cut into ribbons
1 tablespoon dried thyme
7 eggs
2 1/2 cups whole milk
8 ounces firm and strongly flavored hard cheese, such as gruyere or jarlsberg, grated
fresh ground pepper
salt

Butter a 9x13 casserole dish, and line it with about half of the bread, fitting the pieces together like a puzzle. Combine the eggs, the milk, a pinch of salt and a few grinds of pepper. Whisk together until smooth and completely combined.
Heat the oil in a skillet over medium heat. Add the onion and cook until translucent. Add the thyme, garlic, and a bit of salt and pepper and cook for another minute. Add the kale and about a tablespoon of water. Cover and cook for a few minutes, stirring a couple of times. When the kale is tender, remove from heat.
Spread the kale mixture over the bread layer. Then lay the ham here and there. Sprinkle with half the cheese. Then make a layer with the rest of the bread. Pour the egg mixture over the whole thing, and then top with the rest of the cheese. Cover with plastic wrap, and use another pan to weight the whole thing down. Refrigerate overnight.
Take the strata out of the fridge about 1/2 hour before you are ready to bake it. Preheat the oven to 325 degrees. Bake for an hour, rotating the pan after 30 minutes. The strata should be puffed and golden, and very firm. Let sit for at least ten minutes before serving.

egg-free not so sweet birthday cake

Oh, birthday parties. I try, I really do try.

Children, presents, sugar. It's hard to make all those elements come together without tears. This time, the tears started early, far before the first ruffle-dressed guest ever arrived.

Remember that sweet girl who turned five the other day? Full of love and gratitude? Well she was gone. Sunday I awoke to a panicked child who had run into the living room to see how we had set up the space for the 10:30 birthday party.

"Mom! It doesn't look like a party! Where is my pinata? Where are my balloons?"

It was, after all, her special day. Bridezilla's got nothing on a five-year-old birthday girl. I vowed to cancel the thing then and there.

But of course, the show must go on. We explained that there would not be a pinata, and we didn't have balloons, but we had set up individual beading stations for each girl! We would have pancakes, and hot chocolate with little paper umbrellas in it! We tried to convince her how good we were at this birthday party thing. She recovered for a few minutes while I clumsily hemmed her new Cinderella dress from Grandma that she was determined to wear. Although exceedingly lovely, the dress extended a full 18 inches past her feet, and that just seemed like a bad idea on a morning that was already destined to fail. Joey made 3 different pancake batters, all involving different relationships of gluten and eggs, and I created an outstandingly crooked hemline. Sadie wrote out the menu on poster board, and for a moment, there was peace.

Then the dress went over her head, and there was a shrill scream of "It's too short! Cinderella's ankles do not show!" We were back into the tears, and I was officially cursing the day.

In the end, we made it through. Sadie excelled in her roll as the helping older sister until she too burst into tears, caving under the pressure. "Mom, I can't take it! There's just too much to do!" The grown ups drank coffee while the all of girls alternated between love and dramatic moments; then we ate cake.



This is the third time I have made this egg-free cake, and all three occasions have been a success. As you may have noticed by now, for some reason the search for egg substitutes brings out the irrational eye-rolling teenager in me, and I continue to resist egg replacer, ground flax seed, and other egg substitutes that do not excite me. I know I am stubborn, and I know I need to get over it, but I've stayed stuck on the idea the right recipe will come.
A few weeks ago, my friend Hedley came over. She is a baker by soul and profession and she told me a secret. She said that if you combine maple syrup, apple cider vinegar, baking soda and baking powder, somehow, the egg is mysteriously replaced.


I was intrigued. The thought of health food store egg-free solutions gross me out, but this? This was pure chemistry, and when it comes to the chemistry of baking, the eye rolling teenager becomes a focused college student. And at the moment, when it came to my relationship to egg-free cake, I matured.


It seems that we are officially transitioning to egglessness in many ways. Now that we are sure that they do so much damage to Sadie's tummy, we still eat eggs here and there while she munches her favorite new breakfast of apple sauce and toast, but when it comes to birthdays, we better damn well have a good cake that we can all enjoy. With Hedley's help and the reliable framework of Alice Waters, I am proud to report that we now have our cake.

Alice Waters has a recipe for 1-2-3-4 cake, a yellow cake that I can use reliably for everything from after school cupcakes to a wedding cake. I thought that this was the best base to work with in the pursuit of our new family cake. I used her proportions but tweaked the liquid, adding oil as well as butter to make it super moist. I kept the sugar out entirely, using only maple syrup as a sweetener. In the end, what came out of the oven was light and moist, with all of the rise and sponge of an egg-filled cake. Hedley was absolutely right. It was magical.
We ate that first cake with nothing on it, testing the texture and flavor to measure our success. It was gone in a few minutes, and the second time I made it, the cake seemed happy enough to be coated in a bit of cream cheese frosting. The third time, Rosie insisted on chocolate. If I had any doubt before, I must say that with a not so sweet chocolate cream cheese frosting, we have officially found the cake. Yay us. Luckily, Sadie has opted for a city day for her birthday instead a party, and between you and me, I'm thrilled to be let off the hook. I guess we'll just have to find another occasion to make the cake before the next birthday comes around.


Family Cake
with help from Hedley Stone and Alice Waters

makes a double eight or nine-inch round cake, or, I would imagine, one 9x13 sheet cake
(this recipe can also be halved with great success)

for the cake:
3 cups sifted (sift and then measure!)cake flour (use all-purpose if that's all you have, but the cake will be a bit heavier)
3 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 sticks unsalted butter, softened
1 cup milk
scant 2/3 cup canola oil
1 cup pure maple syrup
2 teaspoons apple cider vinegar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

for the frosting:
16 ounces cream cheese, softened
1 stick unsalted butter, softened
4 ounces semisweet chocolate, melted
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
1/2 to 1 cup confectioners sugar, depending on your taste


Make the cakes:
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Butter your cake pans, line the bottoms with parchment, then butter the parchment. Dust the pans with flour, tapping out the excess.
In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.
With an electric mixer, cream the 2 sticks of butter until light and fluffy. Add the vanilla to the butter and beat until combined. In a large measuring cup or bowl with a spout, combine the milk, maple syrup, canola oil, and apple cider vinegar. Then, add the flour mixture and the milk mixture to the butter alternately, starting and ending with the flour. It should go flour, milk, flour, milk, flour. Beat until just thoroughly combined. The batter might be a little lumpy- it's okay. Pour the batter evenly into the two prepared pans and bake for 25-30 minutes, rotating the cakes halfway through baking. The cakes are done with a toothpick comes out clean and they are slightly golden. Cool on a rack completely before frosting.

Make the frosting:
Clean out the bowl of your mixer and the beater attachment. Combine all of the ingredients in the bowl of the mixer and beat until smooth. If you are not happy with the consistency, you can add a touch of milk or a touch of sugar.

To assemble the cake:
Cut out a circle of cardboard the size of one cake pan and place it on your cake stand or platter with a dallop of frosting under it to hold in in place. Put another dollop on top of the cardboard, and place one cake over the cardboard. With a silicone spatula, spread a bunch of frosting on top of the first cake until you have an even layer about an inch thick. Then center the second cake over the first. Spread frosting over the top cake, spreading the excess over the sides. Add more frosting to the sides where it needs it.

rock out in the kitchen

New music up today! Download here. Happy March....

tom's

I've finally figured something out about me and hot dogs. All these road food adventures are leading me to some deep processed meat induced soul searching.


This is Tom's in Whately, MA. Hop off 91 as you are heading north towards Greenfield, and the wildly friendly counter woman at Tom's is ready to feed you. This is no snobby hotdog joint- Tom's aims to please everyone. Far beyond the length of my lifetime, they have been posting their motto, "If you can think it, we can make it."

Unfortunately, they don't seem to be able to make the hot dog I'm thinking of. The one I really want. There is no seating at Tom's, so on a cold and snowy day, the car is your fancy table in the corner. A dog each for the girls and I, two for Joey, side of fries, and lunch was served. Tootsie pops were on the house.

Tom's is famous around these parts for their special dog with tomato sauce and cheese. Joey ordered one of these, alongside a more traditional kraut dog.
He deemed the hot dogs superior to most, although the fries were a disappointment. He said definitively, "This is a great hot dog."


But I had to disagree. Not on the fries- those disappointed me too, but on the whole dog experience. I agree that the the dog itself was excellent. It had a very satisfying snap with every bite. But the tomato sauce, although innovative, tasted downright old to me. The bun was soft as wonderbread, but I wanted a little more heft to it. The kraut was sad and flavorless, and I was left wanting.
The truth is, I love a good hot dog. It needn't be nitrate free or made of chicken- I just like a good hot dog. But a great hot dog? My great hot dog is different from Joey's great hot dog, and I'm certainly not going to find it at Tom's.
In Ghent, NY, there is a farm store that makes their own hot dogs from their own meat. They bake hefty rolls in which to lay the dogs, and they offer their own lacto-fermented sauerkraut along with grainy mustards. Joey may call this an imitation of the ideal hot dog, but for me, it is bliss. Joey loves the dirty road food, and I love the road food that has been taken and recreated with good ingredients and new flavors. We enjoy the tastes of the other, but our opinions differ on what is truly great. We are finally finding peace in this, and someday maybe he'll even stop saying that broccoli pizza is an abomination. At least maybe he'll stop saying it, but I know he'll never stop thinking it. That stuff runs deep, real deep.

So, depending on your definition of great, Tom's is maybe worth the drive. It's worth it for the hot dogs, the tootsie pops, or maybe just the deep introspection it may inspire.

rosie

Today, Rosie is five.

A few days before Rosie was born, we had an ultrasound. She was a solid ten days late, and my midwife just wanted to have a peek in there to make sure she was okay.

She was big and ready, and her form was so much clearer than what we had seen in the ultrasound 5 months earlier.

"Awwww," we said to each other. "Look at her butt!"
"Um, actually," the technician interrupted. "That would be her face."

Please forgive me if you've heard this story before. I tell it a lot. But only because we get stopped on the street all the time, and all that we hear is, "those cheeks!" I know that this is a food blog and everything, but if you've met my Rose, you know that I'm not straying so far off topic here. Since she was born, somehow everyone around her has had the desire to eat her. Doesn't that sound horrible? But I understand the urge. It's like there is a light inside her, and it draws people in. I can't even tell you how many times I have gone in to kiss one of her cheeks, only to end up with the whole thing in my mouth. Delicious things, those cheeks.


My grandfather died when I was pregnant with Rose, and we decided that we would name her Ida if she was a girl. Ida was my grandfather's mother, and she was a tough little Jewish woman from New York. But when she was born, she had those cheeks, and they were as red as apples. The midwife swooped her onto my chest, and I couldn't help myself.
"Look how-"
Joey joined me, and we finished the sentence together..."rosey she is."
And that's how Rosie was born. She came out and introduced herself.
After her grand entrance, she nursed for a few minutes, and then she slept for three months. We started to refer to her as the potato, and she slept everywhere we put her- on the table, on the floor- we often forgot she was there. She nursed and she slept, but mostly she slept.
But then she woke up. She woke up laughing, and she hasn't stopped since.
I think it was a good day for Rose, but then, most days are. She got to walk around the sun five times at school, and I picked her up early. We sloshed around on the wet and snowy sidewalks, and I took her out for lunch, where she ate her favorite lunch of bread while she made silly faces at me and kept me laughing for an entire hour. She got her own library card, and then she had her favorite dinner of bread. And throughout the whole day, she laughed, and with every moment, she thanked me, or whoever was closest to her.
If only every day could be Rosie's birthday. Until next year, then.