A Skillet, a Spatula, and a Dream Read online

  1/4 cups celery, diced

  1/2 cups onions, diced

  1 can Rotel diced tomatoes (or Chi Chi's)

  3/4 teaspoon Kitchen Bouquet (or Gravy Master or skip this entirely)

  Black pepper

  One bag of frozen mixed vegetables (maybe 10 ounces? The amount is really up to you)

  1/2 pound ground beef

  Method

  In separate pan, brown the ground beef until fully cooked. Drain. (I even rinse away the fat but that's my own peculiarity.)

  Melt butter in medium soup pot. Don't brown! Add flour and stir to form a smooth roux. Cook mixture over medium heat, without browning for 3 minutes, stirring constantly. Add broth to the roux and stir until smooth and slightly thickened. Bring to a full boil. Add fresh vegetables, tomatoes, and seasonings and bring back to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer until vegetables are barely tender. Maybe 20 minutes? Add frozen vegetables and cooked ground beef. Simmer an additional 15 minutes.

  Of course you'll serve this in a hollowed-out bread bowl, right?

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  TEX-AMISH CHICKEN CORN CHOWDER

  Now you'll have to trust me on this one. I couldn't quite imagine Tex-Amish food until I made this phenomenal (and phenomenally low-fat!) soup myself and immediately elevated it to Super Keeper Status. Corn and chicken chowder with a splash of jalapeños. You'll love it. Trust me . . .

  Ingredients

  2 tablespoons butter

  1 small onion, finely chopped

  2 stalks celery, finely chopped

  1 jalapeno, finely chopped (discard seeds if you don't want it too hot; pre-sliced jalapeños in a jar work well if fresh are unavailable)

  2 tablespoons flour

  3 cups milk (1% or fat-free work great in this)

  1 large can creamed corn

  1 1/2 cups frozen corn

  2 cups cooked chicken (soup is equally delicious without this)

  Cayenne pepper

  Salt & pepper

  Method

  Melt butter in good-sized soup pot. Add onion, celery, and jalapeno. Saute for 3 or 4 minutes. Stir in flour. Cook 1 or 2 minutes to eliminate the raw taste of flour. Add milk, creamed corn, frozen corn, chicken. Bring to a boil (or a few degrees shy of a boil; I prefer this method) and keep stirring until mixture thickens. Lower heat and simmer for ten or fifteen minutes.

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  ATLANTIC CITY ZUPPA A LA WISEGUYS

  Tucked away on a dark and deserted side street in Atlantic City hides the most wonderful southern Italian restaurant on earth. We've eaten there at least a half dozen times and I still can't tell you the name of the place. It's not written on the window. It's not on the door. There are no matchbooks imprinted with the name, no identifying marks on the menu. It's just there. You'll have to trust me on that.

  Now I'm not exactly sure how to classify this dish. Is it an appetizer (all those glorious clams) (and what about that garlicky toasty bruschetta) or is it really a soup? You see, the heart of this dish is a red broth fragrant with clams, white wine, tons of finely-chopped garlic, and a blizzard of flat leaf Italian parsley. The tomatoes are sweet, the clam juice is pungent, the white wine adds biting dryness, the garlic makes your mouth water, while the parsley makes you think of Sicily in the spring.

  When we order this, Roy eats the clams and we split the two pieces of bruschetta, but the broth is all mine.

  I cobbled this recipe together from the chef's instructions, the Rao's Cookbook, and my friend Patti's mother.

  Ingredients

  36 fresh littleneck or cherrystone clams (Feel free to substitute 4 large cans of whole baby clams with juice. That's what I do.)

  1/4 cup olive oil

  6-8 garlic cloves, peeled and finely minced or pressed

  1 35 ounce can San Marzano tomatoes, drained and crushed (NOTE: San Marzano plum tomatoes are worth hunting down. You can find them on the Web and in many Italian delis or specialty stores. There were as common as ham and eggs in the old neighborhood but tougher to find here. Redpack makes a great substitute. You want a tomato-y tomato.)

  4 cups bottled clam juice

  1/2 cup dry white wine

  Oregano, dried or fresh (finely chopped)

  Crushed red pepper (knock yourself out!)

  4 or 5 leaves fresh basil

  Salt and pepper, to taste

  As much chopped Italian parsley as your palate demands

  Method

  Rinse the clams under cold water. Drain in colander. Or just open the cans. Heat olive oil in a large saucepan or skillet. Saute garlic for one minute until faintly golden. Do not burn the garlic or you'll ruin the broth.

  Add the clams, either fresh or canned.

  Add tomatoes, clam juice, white wine, oregano, crushed red pepper flakes.

  Raise heat and bring to a boil. Lower to a simmer and cook for 7 or 8 minutes or until liquid begins to reduce.

  Cover and cook an additional 5 minutes until clams open or would have opened if you hadn't used them straight from a can. Add basil, salt, and pepper. (Of course you know you should toss out any clams that don't open. Promise me you'll do this.)

  While everything is humming along, you should slice into some gorgeous crusty Italian bread, preferably the kind with sesame seeds. Brush both sides lightly with olive oil, and grill the slices until you have some beautiful char marks. (You can use a grill pan on top of the stove or your George Foreman. In a pinch, run them under the broiler. I won't tell.)

  Now here's how they serve it in the Unknown Italian Restaurant in Atlantic City. You want a nice big soup plate. Preferably white. Arrange the clams prettily in the center. Crisscross two slices of bruschetta and lean them up against the inside of the bowl. Maybe use a few clams to keep them standing upright. If you used the canned clams you can still make it look authentic. Many fancy cooking stores sell immaculately cleaned clam shells for just this sort of sneakiness. Anyway, you've arranged the clams in the bowl, you've leaned your bruschetta against the side, now ladle in a liberal amount of that gorgeous garlicky wine-y tomato-y basil-y broth. Enough to tease the clams but not drown them.

  Now raise a glass to Tony Soprano and you're in business.

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  Nothing on earth is more complicated than the mother-daughter relationship. My mother loved me. That’s a given. But occasionally we'd hit one of those bumps in the road that only another daughter could possibly understand.

  Roy came into the house that particular Friday night after checking to see if he needed to top off the oil in my Buick. He was carrying a plastic Shoprite bag containing a medium-sized Tupperware container. “What’s this?” he asked. “I found it in the back seat.”

  "The mashed turnips," I said and then groaned. " I didn’t know Mom left them back there for me." The truth is, I didn’t need or want the turnips. It was the week after Thanksgiving and I’d eaten enough mashed turnips in the last eight days to qualify for a farm subsidy. But now I had another bumper crop on my hands and all because the words “No, thank you,” were studded with landmines.

  Let me tell you how it happened. I had called my mother earlier that day to ask if she wanted to join me on a couple of quick errands. She said of course she would then added, “I made up another batch of turnips and set aside a Tupperware for you.” Now I knew we weren’t going to be eating any turnip-friendly meals over the next few days and my freezer was filled with the results of my crazed soup-making binges so I thanked her very much and said I would decline this time around and I told her why.

  Big mistake. You would have thought I’d told her to stick the turnips where the sun don’t shine. My words were met with silence. A huffy silence. A storm of hurt feelings transmitting themselves on that frequency only daughters can hear.

  "Thanks for the offer," I said carefully, "but we’ll be eating Italian for the next few days and my freezer’s overloaded. You and Daddy eat meat-and-potato meals. Maybe it's better if you enjoy
the turnips this time."

  I guess I don't have to tell you that it was all downhill from there. By the time we hung up I knew I’d be lucky to ever see another mashed turnip from her again as long as I live.

  So how did the plastic container of turnips end up in the back seat, you ask. Easy. I’m a wimp, that’s how. I caved. I folded. I rolled over and played dead all in the name of Daughterly Terror. I smiled and took that Tupperware and steeled myself for a week of mashed turnip breakfasts.

  Unfortunately I forgot they were in the car.

  My husband thought that was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. “You have to stand up for yourself and declare the Buick a Turnip Free Zone,” he said and I laughed even as I considered whacking him with a rutabaga.

  Kids who grew up in dysfunctional families have no idea how the dynamics in supposedly functional families play out. The games we all play in the name of love and power and turnips. There comes a time in the life of a daughter when it’s easier to say, “Bring on the turnips! Load me up with Spanish Rice and curry! And how about some of that cabbage soup while you’re at it?” than it is to say "Maybe next time."

  And you know what? I'm glad I took those turnips. I hope my mother knew that.

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  VEGGIE FARE

  PORTOBELLO BURGERS

  This recipe ushered us into the wide and wonderful world of the Portobello. I guarantee it's good enough to make you forget burgers...at least, for a little while. I discovered this one lunch time at the Marriott Marquis in Times Square. Who knew mushrooms could have so much personality?

  Marinade Ingredients

  2 tablespoons rice wine vinegar

  2 tablespoons lemon juice

  2 tablespoons olive oil

  1 clove garlic, minced

  2 teaspoons dried oregano

  Pinch kosher salt

  Pinch sugar

  Pinch black pepper, freshly grated (if at all possible)

  Remaining Ingredients

  1 large clove garlic

  2 tablespoons mayonnaise

  2 teaspoons chopped fresh thyme

  2 large Portobello mushrooms

  1 red bell pepper, roasted, seeded, and peeled

  2 teaspoons balsamic vinegar

  2 teaspoons minced shallots

  2 soft onion rolls, split and grilled

  2 thick slices Monterey Jack cheese

  Method

  Combine marinade ingredients. Marinate mushrooms in this mixture for 1-2 hours. Mash other garlic clove into a fine paste. Stir into mayonnaise and add thyme. On barbecue grill or under broiler, cook mushrooms 5 minutes on each side, or until soft. Sprinkle red bell pepper with balsamic vinegar and shallots. Grill or lightly toast onion rolls. Spread mayonnaise on each half of rolls. Place grilled mushrooms on two onion roll halves, cover with roasted bell pepper, cheese and top half of rolls. Cut in half and serve hot. Makes two servings.

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  THE CAPTAIN AND TENNILLE'S MUSKRAT LOVE CASSEROLE

  I watched Toni Tennille make this dish on the Mike Douglas Show (anyone out there remember Mike Douglas?) back in 1978 and I fell instantly in love with it. I'd never heard of Spike before so I didn't know what to expect but I wasn't disappointed. This is a vegetarian's delight. Wildly flavorful, stick-to-your-ribs fare at a bargain price. Enjoy!

  Ingredients

  2 onions, sliced

  2 green peppers, sliced

  2 red peppers, sliced

  4 cloves garlic, minced

  4 - 6 tomatoes, chopped very roughly

  Spike (a seasoning found in supermarkets and health food stores)

  Oregano

  Basil

  Cayenne pepper

  Olive oil

  Brown rice - I use the long, slow-cooking type but there's no reason why you can't take advantage of some of the quick-cooking varieties available

  16 ounce can tomato sauce (maybe more, maybe less)

  Mozzarella cheese (or cheddar or whatever you like)

  Method

  Fair warning: this is more a series of suggestions than an actual step-by-step recipe. Brown rice has a mind of its own as you'll quickly find out when you make this.

  Take out a heavy dutch oven and splash in some olive oil. When it's heated, toss in the onions and slowly sauté them until they're a deep gold. Add the green and red peppers and cook until soft. Add the garlic and cook for one minute, enjoying the wonderful aroma that's filling the room.

  Now it's time to add a cup or two of brown rice to the mix. I usually go with two cups of the slow-cooking variety. Let it soak up the flavors in the pan.

  Toss in the tomatoes and pop a lid on the dutch oven. Cook down the concoction until the tomatoes release their juices. Season liberally with Spike (be careful: it's salty), oregano, basil, and cayenne pepper.

  Lower the heat to a simmer and add a can of tomato sauce. Cook low and slow, stirring occasionally and making sure nothing sticks or burns. You may need to add more tomato sauce along the way. Your brown rice will definitely tell you what it needs.

  The whole process will take an hour or longer. Brown rice doesn't care if you're in a hurry. Brown rice marches to its own drummer. You'll need to taste from time to time to see where you are in the brown rice time-space continuum.

  Once you have it where you want it, layer some delicious mozzarella on top of the mixture, slap that lid back on, and let the cheese melt into the rice.

  Welcome back to the 70s!

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  Let me set the scene: I'm a few days away from finishing my latest novel. I don't know what day of the week it is. I'm pretty sure it's still March but I wouldn't bet money on it. My hair is pulled back in a scraggly ponytail. I'm wearing pajama bottoms, one of my husband's old t-shirts, a fifteen year old red sweater, and bunny slippers. (Yes, bunny slippers.) My eyes haven't seen mascara in months. In fact I haven't seen daylight in months. In an attempt to keep temptation at bay I've flipped day for night and am currently living the life of a middle-aged vampire whose highlights seriously need refreshing.

  Last year I wrote a book about a baker and turned to knitting for relaxation. This year I'm writing about a knitter and I've turned to baking. If I'm not knitting my way through a knotty book problem, I'm baking my way toward a solution.

  This past Saturday I wrote myself into a corner. Sometimes the strangest things will stop a writer cold. Once I actually had a character trapped on the third step from the top for two weeks once because I couldn’t come up with the simple words, "She climbed the stairs."

  Anyway I was stumbling my way around the house Saturday afternoon muttering plot points under my breath when my husband turned the oven on to preheat and said, "Go bake something."

  So I did. For some reason I have always wanted to make my own bagels. Which is probably crazy since we have three perfectly fine bagel shops within a two-mile radius of our house. I dug out my recipe from the wonderful blog Baking and Books, assembled my ingredients, started a pot of water boiling, plugged in my beloved nineteen year old Kitchen Aid stand mixer, and got to work. By the time I set the dough to rise I could feel the book knots starting to untie themselves.

  I worked a little on the book while the dough did its thing. I let my mind wander while I punched it down and formed it into circles. One bagel, two bagels, eight bagels, twelve bagels all ready to be dropped into a pot of boiling water, drained, then covered with poppy seeds or sesame seeds or kosher salt or whatever struck my fancy. Pop into a 500 degree oven for sixteen minutes or so (remember to turn them; you'll see by the photo that I forgot one and it got a little scorched) and start gathering compliments.

  And guess what? By the time my husband and I gobbled up some fresh-from-the-oven bagels with cream cheese, I had figured my way out of the book problem and was back at work again.

  Some writers go shoe shopping when they hit the wall. Some writers go for a run. Some writers even throw in the towel. Me? I bake. Not great for t
he waistline but it's wonderful for the imagination!

  So here I am, maybe seventy-two hours away from typing The End. In my fictional world I have a knitter in danger, a cop trapped in a cemetery, and magic breaking out all over the place. In my real world, I have an oven preheating and the ingredients for a sour cream coffee cake on the counter.