Setting the record straight

by Lisa

I have a few wonderful things to tell you about today, which I think we all deserve, since it is Valentine's Day.


Tonight I started making a beef stew tonight with no one in mind to feed. All my roommates had plans and I hadn't thought ahead of time, but I went with it. It turned out magical, and even more so when a few friends showed up. (Apparently, by calling to say I had a beef stew going I caused a previous dinner engagement to be broken. But it's okay, they said - they were going to have Pasta Roni, anyway.)

It all started last week when I was craving stewy meats, Mexican style - chile verde or colorado with tender, pulled pork. But we didn't have any tomatillos or pork. What we did have, however, was beef and the leftovers from a bottle of Newcastle that Albert had brought over last night for Maria's 21st. (Don't be disappointed, Albie, because you rejected the dinner invite for chicken and waffles. So yeah. ) After searing the flour-dusted beef cubes, I used the Newcastle to scrape up the drippings. The result? Deliciousness. I cooked the beef slowly on low heat with tomatoes, onions, garlic, jalepeno, a bit of cumin, oregano and bay leaf. The wonderful secret was a the smallest sliver of butter (inspired by a tomato sauce recipe I've been wanting to make).

My mom called in the middle of it all and gave me the brilliant suggestion of serving it over angel hair - brilliant because this would be more incentive to make Ms. Steph I-love-noodles-more-than-I-do-rice Lai come over. And because for weeks I'd been wondering what to do with all the stacks of capellini we have. (Somehow I find suitable purposes for all other shapes of pasta: fettuccine for pesto, shells for saucy stuff, spaghetti for garlic and olive oil [I'll have the share the Silver Palate recipe sometime] - but never anything for angel hair.) Anyway, Mom was right. It was delicious.

And now for the almost nothing-to-do-with-food comment of the day. The man at the flower shop by my house gave me a rose this morning on my way to work - isn't he sweet? And then on my way back from work a little baguette caught my eye and so I bought that. The two were just so perfect together, and I was very content. Anyway, it reminded me of the time last week I went two days in a row to Trader Joe's just to pick up three things: baguette, brie, and 71% cacao chocolate. (Yes, I share.) 12 items or fewer line? Why don't they just open up a lane for three? Let me just say: I could be wooed with bread and cheese and dark chocolate. (Flowers would help, too.) I'm just saying.


What three things could you be wooed with?


Newcastle beef stew over angel hair

1 1/2 pounds stew beef cubes
flour, salt, pepper for dusting
1/4 to 1/2 cup Newcastle or other similar brown ale
good-quality olive oil

1 medium white onion, chopped
1 can diced tomatoes, with juices
half jalepeno, sliced thinly, lengthwise
3 cloves garlic, pressed
1/4 to 1/2 teaspoon cumin
1/4 teaspoon oregano
1 bay leaf, cracked
1 pat butter (I used less than a tablespoon, but you can't go wrong with more)

1 pound angel hair
cilantro and lime (optional)

Rinse beef and and dust with a mixture of flour, salt and pepper. Heat stainless steel pan (preferably not nonstick) on medium heat. Add olive oil to cover the bottom of the pan and increase heat to medium-high. Add beef and allow to brown. (You may have to do this in two batches, adding additional oil if needed.) Turn and sear other side. Add seared meat to another pot in which you'll cook the stew. (This recipe would do well in a crock pot.) To that pot also add the vegetables, spices/herbs, and butter. Allow this to heat up while you scrape up the drippings. While the pan is on some heat, pour the beer in, scrape up the bits, and add it to the stew. When the stew is at about a boil, turn down heat and allow to simmer for as long as you can wait - forty-five minutes to an hour and a half would be great, but I don't think even we waited that long.

Ten minutes prior to serving, drop angel hair into boiling, salted water with a few drops of olive oil to keep from sticking. When cooked, drain and serve with beef stew on top.

Also, I didn't try it this time, but I'm sure it would be great with cilantro and a squeeze of lime. I wasn't sure if it would be good to put the cilantro into cook - it probably would be good, too. And we didn't have much more than a sip of the brewski left, but I'm sure dinner would go well served with whatever beer you use in the stew.

Lastly, I found a recipe for chile verde I'd like to try sometime. There are also nice pictures, so it's worth checking out.

A brainstorm of sorts

by Lisa


Oh, no. I think I have writer's block.

-

Okay, so I just took that to my wonderful roommate Maria, and we talked it out. So here's how I feel: I have been cooking up storms and taking pictures like nobody's business, but have had absolutely no inspiration this past week to write about any of it. Sure, I wanted to show off my pictures, but, having been an English major, I sort of cringe at the idea of having no theme for my writing. At the same time, this feeling reminded me of brainstorming ideas for papers in college or high school. I would have all these brilliant ideas jotted down on sheets of unlined paper - or if I was lucky, on a huge white board (thanks, Ms. Moore!) - seemingly disparate but somehow connected. Many a time I wished I could just turn in my brainstorm, filled, as it were, with bursts of ideas - raw, distilled, and ready to be unpacked, reinterpreted, connected, extended.

So that's what I come to offer today. My raw, unedited thoughts and reflections on what has been going on in my kitchen (and beyond). Is it okay if I show off - my work and others' - in unorganized/conglomerate fashion?

Let's start simple. I've been enjoying a lot of toast and English muffins lately. When I say a lot, I mean a lot. Like I'm-not-having-lunch-but-instead-I'll-have-three-slices-of toast-with-butter a lot. (Daily bread? Um, how about hourly bread?) I think the ability to be content with this simple jewel of a food has to do with the fact that I recently added salted butter to the repository that is our fridge; usually, unsalted does the trick for all the baking that goes on around here, certainly not by me.

(Steph wants to know if anyone else eats buttered toast upside down so that the butter hits your tongue first.)

I tried to make cornmeal pancakes, like they make at Rick and Ann's, but I have yet to perfect the recipe. If anyone has ideas, please let me know!


My friend Milton (whom I had over for shepherd's pie) made me amazing chicken katsu, which is what inspired today's adventure with Stephanie. It was such a pleasant, satisfying meal - brussels sprouts gave it a spin on the traditional bed of shredded cabbage. Recipe to come soon (perhaps), along with a magic sauce. In the mean time, find yourself an old t-shirt to wear while deep-frying.


One word: quiche.


Also, I went through a phase this week when I made things from other good food blogs: curried egg salad, quick black beans with cumin and oregano, and (ahem) more of that parsley pesto. The humbling reality of it all is that I really haven't made up much myself. But that's okay, if it means I get to have Arizmendi pizza. (Steph and I are in the process of whipping out a plan to storm all the good pizza places in the area.) And I certainly don't mind the simple things like oranges and buttered toast.


I don't need to end this thing formally, do I? It is, after all, a brainstorm. Maybe I'll expand on any one of these topics someday. But until then, have a happy weekend!

I feel like breaking all the rules today and not leaving a recipe. This isn't because I don't love you, because I do. It's because I almost never write down recipes, which I know surprises people when they find out I was also a chemistry major. (I hated lab notebooks, except for finding other uses for carbon paper.) And so it's a lot of work when I write a post and have to figure out what I did and share it so you can replicate it at home. Sometimes I even do it again on my own with the measurements just to make sure it's exactly the same. (Example: tonight I tried to redo the katsu sauce and it just wasn't the same as when I did it the first time without measuring.) And now I'm tired and just want to get this post up on the web. But I'd be happy to give rough instructions for anything if you give me a ring. Or, better yet, just show up at my door and I'll make you something real quick. I may not feel like writing, but I almost always feel like cooking.

Thanks for reading!

Easy as pie

by Lisa


It has been freezing these days in Berkeley. So last Friday when I had friends over for dinner, I knew what I had to make. Of course, what I really wanted to make was Molly's parsley pesto again, which to be honest I've been making almost compulsively since we first made it last week. (Is three times in a week a lot?) But I knew I needed to have something more substantial, something warm and comforting. In the kitchen I found an unassuming bag of russet potatoes and then it hit me - those two words: shepherd's pie. It was the idea I had been looking for and didn't know, and/but heck - I'm always looking for excuses to turn on our gas oven. (It heats up our house nicely.)

It was raining (torrentially, I might add) that day, but I was not going to let that keep me from getting ground beef. Armed with an umbrella, I hiked up my jeans and headed to the store.


Actually, to tell you the truth, the whole time I had arguments with myself as to whether or not it was a good idea. Though my jeans stayed dry, my shoes and feet did not. I thought to myself, is it time to get polka dotted rainboots or fake Uggs? I hope not. But as I continued along and thought about the hot and bubbly creamy mashed potatoes on top of tasty ground beef, I came to my senses. And I'm glad I did. It truly was a good day to make shepherd's pie.

We had the pie with a salad, Greek-ish: baby greens, cherry tomatoes, red onions, and feta with a vinaigrette made from lemon zest and juice, olive oil, coarse kosher sea salt and freshly ground pepper. Of course we had a fresh warm loaf of bread, too, and I probably could have just eaten that and been content, but then again - no, the pie was to die for, even worth the cost of getting drenched in the rain.


So, whether or not it's raining today where you live, let me tell you: today is a good day to make shepherd's pie.


Okay, now that I've written you a beautiful, heartfelt post, it's time for you to send me/us some love! My shameless plug:

Our blog is powered by Blogger and your comments. Really. Comments equals love, says Stephanie. Maybe you thought you need a blogger account to comment. You don't! In fact, you don't even need a gmail account. (Though they are pretty spiffy.) So leave us some love; let us know you stopped by. Don't remain a stalker - a closet love-is-cooking-reader, if you will - like some. Ahem. (End shameless plug.)

Now for the recipe...

Shepherd's Pie

For the potatoes:
5 medium sized potatoes (peeled or not)
1 tablespoon butter
roughly half a cup of milk
salt and pepper

For the filling/pie:
1.5 pounds ground beef
2-3 carrots, peeled and chopped
1 medium yellow onion, diced
half a bag of frozen green peas
1 tablespoon oil
1 packet mushroom gravy mix (I know, most gourmets don't have this kind of stuff sitting around, but yanno. It is okay to go out in the rain for this ingredient. I promise it'll be worth it.)

Preheat oven to 400.

Potatoes. Boil salted water for potatoes. Throw in diced potatoes and boil, covered, until cooked, about 20 minutes. (I left the skins on, and some fell off while cooking, so I had about 1/3 of the skins in my mashed potatoes. This was the effect I wanted, as so really, my laziness paid off for me this time!) Drain, and to a large bowl, add potatoes (with however much skin you like), milk, butter, salt and pepper and mix with a hand beater or potato masher until smooth. Adjust milk to desired consistency. It's better to err on the wet side since it dries a bit in the oven.

Filling. While potatoes are boiling, heat oil in large pan. Add onions and sautee until they are lighter in color. Add carrots stir and cover, allowing them to cook, about 10 minutes. Set vegetables aside and cook ground meat in pan; drain if there is excess fat. Combine meat with vegetables, then add frozen peas and heat until peas are brought to the same temperature as the rest. Sprinkle mushroom gravy mix (don't add water!) to mixture and stir to combine.

Putting it all together. Spread meat mixture on bottom of 9x13 pan. Spread potatoes on top; leave it rough so that it browns nicely. Bake at 400 for about 30 minutes until warmed through and nicely browned. (Recipes online said until "hot and bubbly." I wanted mine to get bubbly, but it started getting too dark before it ever got there. Am I a failure?)

Serve with salad, bread, all the good stuff.

Sip or slip with soup

by Lisa

Growing up in a Chinese household, soup was something Mom made many nights to go along with dinner. The stock was most often made with pork bones and to that base was added many a vegetable and/or mysterious dried seafood. Other varieties included my favorite chicken medicine soup made with ginseng; or Emperor soup made with leftover roast duck along with tomatoes, firm tofu, and pickled vegetables--hot and sour and, well, ducky: definitely killer.

All of these soups were brothy; a creamy soup was never to be found except sitting in a can on the garage pantry rack for the occasional casserole--which wasn't really a speciality or anything, just something "American," and that was good enough for us kids.

So I was surprised when at 17 or 18 I realized that other people actually eat creamed (or at least pureed) soups as a regular thing--and that it could even be gourmet! My favorite high school English teacher gave me The Silver Palate as a graduation present, sending with it her wishes that I would use it share the love of Christ with others I met through the gift of hospitality--and truly, the gifts of her friendship and that book have truly sparked such a passion.

(An aside: She had wanted to take Albert and me--her Teacher Assistant and Teacher Cadet, respectively--to Chez Panisse when we got into Berkeley, but things didn't work out so we ended up at this tiny little Tuscan restauarant on College Avenue, which, after now having been to CP--which to be fair, is amazing--I might dare to say is even better. Was even better, I should say. So unfair.)

I should also add, though this probably goes without saying, that this same teacher inspired me towards writing, in addition to all she did to encourage me in endeavors both in faith and food.

The Silver Palate has a few chapters on soups. My favorite of these has to be carrot; many people like it with ginger, but I say it's best on its own. Its taste is as vibrant as its color--sweet (in a vegetable-y sort of way) as it slips down your throat. And so I don't really like to add anything to it. I have pretty much followed the Palate's recipe religiously since I found it, but I omit the orange juice. (Just because things are the same color doesn't mean they go along.) I think I should add that I don't usually even like cooked carrots; this recipe is that good.

I made asparagus soup for that dinner party with Steph a while back, which we never ended up posting about, unfortunately. Which is really quite ridiculous because we had such good food that needed raving. (Steph, do post your chocolate pudding recipe. Just so I don't have to call you one more time for it; I think three has been enough.) But back to the point. The asparagus was truly dreamy and captivating. (Oh, of course, as was that pudding.) But, to be honest, it was quite a bit of work.

This picture was taken by my friend David. My wonderful friend Sarah helped tie the garnishes; aren't they lovely?



So I tried to make zucchini soup yesterday (by method similar to the carrot thinking it'd be easy), and I have just one word for you, Mr. Zucchini Soup: boring. (I don't even have a picture of you!) I had four small bowls, adding different ingredients each time to see if it was just missing a li'l somethin' but I couldn't figure it out. I salvaged the leftovers by making some pasta shells and throwing them together with black pepper and parmesan, and while I was eating that, I thought about making it by the asparagus method; afterall, the two vegetables sort of taste similar--full of green. Somehow cutting the zucchini seemed like less work than picking through and trimming asparagus; maybe it'll be worth it. Oh, and it'll probably a bit smoother, too: the asparagus had a bit of fiber (and I was too rushed at the time to push it through the sieve). Also, zucchini blends nicely, and when its peel is fragmented into tiny flecks of dark green it nicely offsets the lighter green of the soup.


One more green thing before I finish up here. I thought I would mention that I recently made the Brussels sprouts with fettucini and pine nuts on Orangette adapted from Gourmet. Definitely worth making, imho, and sure to banish the distrust of many a person who (thinks he) dislikes this little cousin of the cabbage. (And if you have non foodie friends who can't imagine eating the thought of eating only Brussels sprouts with only pasta to go with it, you can throw in some bacon with it. But I really think it's cheating.) I was pleasantly surprised by the goodness of this simple recipe. I've never had a successful pasta dish without garlic or black pepper, but this here was definitely a winner. I'd make it again, just to get a chance to appreciate the fragrance of the sprouts being sauteed with butter. Yum.

Now there' s almost too much green on this page, so I think I'll tell you about these beauties; I've been sneaking about four or five a day this week. Oh, my darling Californian clementine.


Well, time to get back to making Chinese noodles. (They are definitely being added to a soup with vegetables and dried seafood.) The dough's already been started with the aid of the, uh, KitchenAid--one reason I'm grateful to be back at my parents', because, everybody knows that you can't own a KitchenAid unless you're married.


Carrot Soup Without Orange Juice
pretty much from The Silver Palate, except for, of course, the orange juice
(and I'm currently doing this from memory, since the book's back on my shelf in Berkeley)

4 tablespoons butter (I use less and sometimes replace half with olive oil)
1 medium yellow onion, diced
1 1/2 pounds carrots, chopped (about 8-12, but it really doesn't matter)
4 cups chicken stock
salt to taste
pepper to taste, and also to pass at the table

Melt butter over low heat in heavy pot. Cook onions in butter until tender, about 20-25 minutes. (The secret to this soup is to be patient and really let the onions cook this long.) Add carrots and stock and bring to boil. Lower heat and cook for 20-30 minutes, until carrots are very tender. Strain, reserving the stock. Puree, in batches, the vegetable mixture in a food processor or blender, adding a half or whole cup of stock with each batch. Return puree to pot and reheat, adding reserved stock to bring to desired consistency. Adjust seasoning to taste and serve hot.

Leftovers, if you have them, are good cold, too!


Cream of Asparagus Soup
adapted from Victoria: At Table with Family and Friends

1 1/2 pounds asparagus
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 medium-sized yellow onion, diced
2 shallots, thinly sliced, plus 6 for garnish
1/4 cup dry vermouth (I used sauvignon blanc)
4 cups chicken broth
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon white pepper
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1 cup heavy cream
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
4 chives, for garnish

1. Remove and discard the tough stems of the asparagus. Reserve 3 tips per person for garnish. Cut the asparagus in 1-inch lengths. Peel the asparagus if they are large. (Otherwise the outer layer may impart a bitterness to the soup.)
2. Melt the butter in a heavy large saucepan over medium heat. Cook the onion in the butter, stirring often, for 5 minutes. Add the shallots and cover with vermouth. Cook until onions are translucent.
3. Add the stock and bring to a boil. Add the asparagus. Cover and cook the soup for 5-10 minutes, until the asparagus is very tender. Season the soup with salt, white pepper, and nutmeg.
4. Allow the soup to cool slightly. Strain the soup and reserve the liquid in the saucepan.
5. In batches, puree the vegetables in a blender or food processor. Add about one cup of the cooking stock and process until smooth. Strain the soup through a fine sieve to remove any asparagus fiber. Return soup to saucepan.
6. In a medium-size bowl, gradually whisk cream into flour until flour dissolves. Slowly whisk that mixture into the soup. Whisk soup over moderately high heat until it is thickened and boiling.
7. For each garnish, tie 3 tips into a bundle using a chive. Peel and halve the shallots length-wise. Blanch them for about 5 minutes in boiling, salted water. (Plunging the asparagus bundles in cold water after blanching can keep them green.) Drain.
8. For each serving, arrange 3 shallot halves on top of each serving of soup. Place an asparagus bundle on top of each shallot cluster.

It's always summer in Malaysia

by Lisa

Three and a half weeks and 16,000 miles later, I'm back. And way to go, Steph--posting twice in a month (and consecutively, at that!). Hmm, maybe we need to make it one of our resolutions to have a combined total of more than three posts per month...

With limited internet access overseas, I worked on this post offline. Jetlag is a good excuse to tidy up and upload this little guy.

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Oh, Malaysia. You are full of tasty food. I have stuffed myself on your laksa, curry, roti, wonton noodles, cendol, pulut, and gwei. (And even as I write this I haven't yet had Hainanese Chicken Rice or Hokkein Mee. Poor me, I know.)

Our family goes back every few years; my parents were born and raised here and all their family is still here. And even though I'm somewhat familiar with this place and sometimes even call it home, I have certainly spent only a small percentage of my life here. Yet now I see how deeply ingrained in me is the culture. In fact, I imagine it's quite possible that my love for food comes from my Malaysian blood. When someone asks where the post office is, my aunt responds, "Oh, it's by that good wonton noodle place." I laugh, because this is the place where locations that are stationary (the post office, the market, the travel agency) are posited in relation to tiny little food stands.

It's unfortunate that most of the things I've eaten or helped to cook here can't be reproduced the same back in California. I could tell you to ask your uncle to cut down some sugarcane in his backyard for you to chew on--but I'm afraid that would be less fruitful(!) for you than it was for me.

After cutting down some sugarcane and its purple cousin bamboo cane (used in teas), my uncle also uprooted a few cassava plants so that we could boil the roots to eat. This is the plant from which we get tapioca; it's similar to sweet potato (but chewier), and can be eaten savory (with soy sauce) or sweet (steamed with sugar and served with coconut milk).

Talk about do-it-yourself. Growing up, my mom--an excellent cook, I might add--often made nasi lemak (coconut rice) for us, and I knew I enjoyed the stuff. But what I didn't know was that coconut milk she used from the can was a substitute for the real stuff we couldn't get at home--the stuff that came squeezed through a cheesecloth straight from--well, almost straight from--the coconut. So, here, with a pandan leaf picked from the garden, tied into a knot, and thrown into the rice pot with a pinch of salt to bring the flavors out we were set.

But really, despite all this good food people here make, no one can beat the nonmanmade stuff. (God, you rule.) It is so much easier to bear the heat and humidity when you realize that if it weren't for the tropical weather, you would be without such delicious fruits. Soursop, mangostein (my favorite), durian (not exactly my favorite), custard apples, jackfruit and chempedak, water apples (as I call them, but in Malay they are jambu air - which means, literally, "guava water"). Sweet, juicy, flavorful, crunchy, different. I love them all. One that I tried for the first time is pink dragonfruit. The plant's flower blooms for only one night, and it almost comes to the size of a small soccer ball; they say the fruit will follow in about 30 days. My aunt has a plant in her garden and we were lucky to catch a whole bunch of them in bloom, right around nine in the evening.

The fruit inside is ridiculously hot pink; the unnatural color would probably give rise to hesitance to try it--the plant's mode of protection, probably, but don't believe it, because it is so divine. Almost like a cross between kiwi and papaya (a funny description, I admit), its mild, sweet taste that's not too sugary makes it dangerous: don't leave me in front of a plateful if you want some, too. (Sorry for all the run-ons, but, really, there's no place for pausing when I'm writing about pink dragonfruit.)

Lastly, I had my fill of kaya, a most amazing, heavenly coconut jam. Made from eggs, coconut milk, and sugar, it is slowly stirred for hours over low heat. My mom makes the best, but she never would give me the recipe, claiming that I didn't have time to do so much stirring. (It makes me wonder if she just wants to keep the family secrets from me.) Years ago, I had resolved to learn how to make it when I had the time. And after a few weeks of unwinding in Malaysia, new graduate that I am, it donned on me that this is the time! Being school- and jobless can't be too bad if it means I have time to make kaya! I'm not yet back at my own kitchen, but please, please, please don't let me get through the spring without finishing at least one pot. I promise to share.

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While on the trip, I thought long and hard about what recipes I could share. But it's difficult, really a challenge. You have to come here yourself. So here's my best: --But first, for the non-food related item of this post. My adorable little niece. (Well, cousin's daughter, but it's all the same.)




Finally, the recipe--it's cheesy, I know. (First the sonnet, now this, you'll be thinking.)

Authentic Malaysian Food
Time: 2-4 weeks, more if you have it.

wonderful friends and/or family
less than a thousand U.S. dollars (for airfare)
a few ringgit (for food)

Take a flight to Kuala Lumpur and make sure you have wonderful people on the other end to take care of you. Add a few ringgit for meals at the best hawker centers. Enjoy!



Okay, okay, I'll throw in a real, albeit imprecise, recipe.

Coconut Rice

a few cups long-grained white rice (make more than you would per person if you were making regular rice; it's just so good)
1 can coconut milk water needed to bring rice to the right level (after addition of milk)
1 teaspoon salt
pandan leaves, if you have them; pandan essence can do the trick, too (both are optional)

We use the rice cooker. You can soak the rice for 30 minutes prior to cooking but it's not absolutely necessary. Throw in the can of coconut milk. Add a teaspoon or so of salt. I usually don't add enough, so, I guess, don't be afraid to add too much. Basically, add more than your instincts tell you--err, if you have instincts are normally good. Add pandan if you have it. Push the start button. Fluff with serving spoon when finished. Serve traditionally as nasi lemak with sambal, hardboiled eggs, ikan bilis, roasted peanuts, fried chicken, beef rendang, cucumbers, etc. Or, of course, there's nothing wrong with just eating it on its own.

winter break shenanigans

by Stephanie

Confession: I used to absolutely hate macaroni and cheese. It sounds terrible, I know. There are lots more worthy things in the world to hate, but until about 4 years ago, I absolutely hated the almost-universally loved childhood classic, mac 'n cheese. My theory is that my former distate for it either has to do with (a) my phobia of creamy white substances (more on this later) or (b) my weird need to be differentiated from my brother's food palette.

Did any of you experience a similar tension in your household? My brother and I had this intense desire to be stark opposites: he was a white sauce, mac 'n cheese kind of kid, and I was the red sauce, spaghetti side of the spectrum. I would not touch his stuff, and he absolutely refused to go near anything that was red (this also excluded chili and all other tomato products in addition to spaghetti sauce). I think we lived a ridiculous childhood, and I'm sure my mother put up with a lot.

I had to preface this post with that background because the other night my brother and I were wandering around the kitchen, wondering what to do with our hungry stomachs, and I suggested making the very food I detested all throughout my younger years. "Steph, don't you hate that stuff?" questioned my brother. "Then again, I'm not going to argue." We searched around the fridge for some cheese to use, and then he remembered. Mom had just bought a giant brick of Dubliner cheese the other day...perfect! He cooked up the pasta; I thickened some milk and butter with a little flour, then melted cheese into the mixture, tossed it with fusilli and called it a night.


steph's mac 'n cheese
8 oz. macaroni (or similar pasta)
2 tbs butter
2 tbs flour
2 c milk
2 1/2-3 c shredded cheese (mix them if you've got multiple kinds!)

Cook pasta in well-salted boiling water. Melt butter in a medium saucepan, add milk and then flour, stir. Cook until slightly thickened and bubbly; add cheese and stir until melted. Add in cooked macaroni and toss to coat.

Other things I've been up to:

zebra cake!



Okay, this has nothing to do with food, but my family dog-sat for this adorable Cavalier King Charles Spaniel--his name is Basil.


How proud of me are you?! Two posts in a month?! Lisa's in Malaysia right now, but I'm sure there will be gads of fun photos and food tidbits to share when she returns.

frying everything

by Stephanie

Oh Lisa, your lovely writing always make me want to post. (And a sonnet?! Oh my gosh! Such untapped talent! Reader, you may be reading the work of a future Poet Laureate.) Yes, we will be joint posting soon. And yes, I also have food stories to tell (although admittedly less than Lisa because I don't have daily access to a kitchen this year).

Okay, so if you must know something about me, it's that I really like fried things. Can I emphasize this enough? Fried things are so good, so hot and crunchy and golden. I'm not sure where this affinity came from; I wouldn't say we ate a preponderance of fried things at home when I was little. That said, I've never been discouraged from eating lots of fried things (thanks for the everlasting search for the perfect fried chicken, Mom. I appreciate that a lot.) Sometimes it's hard being me in a health-crazed California. All the salad really gets to me sometimes.

Last night at my old apartment my friends Donna and Cindy decided to make samosas. They even made their own dough (courtesy of Manjula...you are awesome), and I was very proud. I didn't partake in the making of the little triangular pieces of goodness, but after dinner we were sitting around, eating cookies and I noticed that we had a lot of leftover oil from the samosas. What to do?

I decided in the spirit of my unabashed love for fried everything that we should fry the rest of the cookies. After I whipped up a quick batter, Donna also brought out all this candy she had been stashing, and so we fried that too. Basically, it was a mini-state fair in the Castle, and it was a very good night. Of particular note was the fried peanut butter cup...and the fried M&M's. Seriously!! Frying M&M's is such a joy. (A big plus is that some of the color starts to leak into the batter while coating them and then with the leftover batter you can make rainbow fritters/hush puppies! Am I obsessed?)


Fried things aren't particularly photogenic (probably the lack of color), but they are certainly tasty, especially with a scoop or two of vanilla ice cream. Moral of the story: don't be scared to fry things because otherwise you are just missing out on life. Moderation is key...every other day should do it. Kidding, maybe.

Fried dough batter*:
1 c. flour
2 tsp. baking powder
pinch of salt
1 egg
3/4 c. milk
oil for frying

Combine the dry ingredients in a large bowl. Combine the wet ingredients in a smaller bowl. Combine the milk mixture with the flour mixture and stir. Coat fryable items of your choosing (we used Sandies cookies, the shortbread with the chocolate in the middle and several kinds of chocolate candy. This gets as good as you want it to be.) Heat oil in a skillet on medium heat; you know it is ready for frying when little bubbles form around a wooden chopstick inserted in the middle of the pan (credit to Mom for that trick). Fry on one side until golden, then flip; drain on paper towels. Eat until your stomach threatens mutiny.

*funny thing about this recipe: I tried to research online for batter recipes, and Epicurious was giving me a lot of trouble (i.e. they do not approve of such things by the noticeable lack of recipes on this topic on their site.) So this is from Emeril...your television personality may be more than slightly annoying, but you are superior to Epicurious in my book right now!

**the photo is beyond craptastic, I know. I took it with my camera phone because I didn't have my digital camera on me, and I could not let this event of monumental historical significance pass undocumented. One day I will embrace the whole food photography movement but until then...go fry things!