Ice Box Cookies

At the end of October I went home to Colorado for the first time since I was married there last September. It is the only time I can remember a whole year passing in between visits, and I will not let it happen again. I need my Colorado time!

Even if the weather throws a curveball…you see within 30 minutes of landing at the Denver airport it started to snow. And it didn’t stop for 48 hours. This all would have been fine and good had I not been talking weather smack to my husband and touting Colorado’s 300+ days of sunshine. I extolled the virtues of a state with abundant sunshine and warm days thrown in for good measure in the middle of January. I reminisced about Christmas vacations spent sitting outside on my mother’s patio because it was 65 degrees. So two feet of snow at the end of October may be the meteorological equivalent of getting my due.

I did not mind the snow at all. It was lovely, fluffy dry snow. It gave me time to enjoy cable TV without excuse or guilt, bond with the dog, and peruse my mother’s treasure trove of a recipe file.

She handed me a badly damaged index card, water-stained and brown from age. I had to decipher the amounts of ingredients and experiment a little, but it was worth it for these:


These are ice box cookies. Mom tells me the recipe came from Mrs. Jarvis whose family was and still is prominent in Durango, Colorado. Well, all I can say is I am grateful she shared this recipe, which is perfect for holiday baking as you can make the dough ahead of time, freeze it, and then bake it when time permits. Not only are they easy, but they are absolutely charming. They hail from a different era as they are thin, delicate and crispy. They are not steroid-induced cake masking as a cookie that we encounter all too frequently today. They have a nice touch of spice that seems to be the perfume of holiday baking and would be a nice addition to any cookie tray. These cookies would also make a nice homemade gift.

Keys to success:

• All ingredients should be room temperature, including and especially the butter.
• Don’t overmix. Once you add flour to the dough, mix just until incorporated. Stop. Scrape the mixer, including the bottom of the bowl, Mix just a couple more seconds and stop.
• If you have a warm kitchen, and the dough has gotten warm while mixing, stick in the freezer for 5 to 10 minutes before shaping it into a log/cylinder.
• To shape into a log take one fourth of the dough and roughly shape it like a log in the middle of a piece of parchment. Fold the parchment over the dough and grab a cookie sheet. Using the edge of the cookie sheet pressed against the log, pull firmly on the top piece of parchment and the dough will roll itself into a more uniform log. Like this:

It’s snowing here. The first real snow of the holiday season. It’s time. Let’s bake!

ICE BOX COOKIES
By Mrs. Jarvis of Durango, CO

1 cup brown sugar
1 cup sugar
1 cup butter, at room temp

2 each eggs, beaten
1 t vanilla
½ t salt

2 ½ to 3 cups all-purpose flour
1 t cinnamon
1 t cloves
1 t nutmeg
1 t baking soda

1 cup pecans, chopped

Oven: 325 F

Cream together the sugars and butter until fluffy (scrape!). Add the eggs and mix until incorporated, scraping the bowl as needed. Add vanilla and salt. Mix until incorporated.

In a separate bowl, whisk together flour, spices and baking soda. Add all at once to dough and mix just until incorporated. Add nuts and mix. Stop.

Roll one-fourth of the dough into a cylinder on parchment paper. Repeat until all the dough is in cylinder form (see "Keys to Success" above for instructions on how to successfully roll a log). Refrigerate at least 12 hours or overnight. Or freeze, then wrap in plastic wrap and freeze.

If dough has been frozen, let sit at room temperature for 20-30 minutes until sliceable.

Slice dough into ¼” cookies and place on a parchment lined baking sheet.

Bake at 325 F for 12 minutes or until the bottoms are lightly golden brown.

No-Fail Cranberry Sauce

In June, several of my beloved cookbooks met their demise. I have not recovered from the loss. Every time my darling husband says it could have been worse and we didn't lose much I get a stinging sensation in my chest. While he's accurate on both counts, those cookbooks are a loss I feel over and over again. They were my diaries. Every recipe I tried I wrote the date next to the recipe with notes in the margin about successes, challenges and improvements for the next time. Often I noted which wine we drank with it.



One of the cookbooks that died was titled, I believe, Barefoot Contessa Parties! This week I miss that book, a lot. It contained the best cranberry sauce recipe I'd ever produced. I'd forgotten about this loss until I went to look for it this morning in an attempt to be ahead of the curve for the Thanksgiving meal. It was missing from the shelf. There's no time to order it, and yet I must have sauce for Thursday. What's a girl to do but create her own?!



I have some biases that color my recipe. First, I don't think the sauce should be overly sweet. It should be a nice balance of sweet and tart and even a little bitter to balance the other flavors on the table from turkey to sweet potatoes to stuffing. Second, it should taste fresh, really fresh. Freshness is achieved with citrus.


Third, it should have texture. I can eat smooth sauce when I am in the nursing home.


Fourth, the recipe should double or even triple easily, and this one does. Here's what a double recipe looks like before it is simmered. You'll want to cook this in a 4 quart or 5 quart stock pan.


Molly's No-Fail Cranberry Sauce
Serves 4

1 twelve ounce bag fresh cranberries (if desperate, frozen is fine).
1/2 to 2/3 cup sugar (sweetness is personal, add more if you like a sweet sauce)
1 lemon, zested and juiced
1 orange, zested and juiced
1 cup water

Combine all ingredients in a 2 quart saucepan. Bring to a boil and then immediately turn down the heat to low so that it softly simmers. If you don't do this step, the sauce will boil over in fairly short order. And no, that has never happened to me. Ever. Seriously. Simmer for 10-15 minutes. Time depends on thickness desired. Simmer it longer for a thicker sauce. Also, remember it will thicken as it cools. Once cooled, it can be stored in the refrigerator for up to a week.

If you want to take the sauce to the next level, add:

• 1 tablespoon grated fresh ginger or 1/2 tablespoon ground ginger
• pinch of nutmeg
• right before serving, stir in 1/2 cup toasted pecans
• 1/2 cup diced Granny Smith or Fuji apple

Happy Thanksgiving!

RIBS!

Sometimes Brian and I run around the house, fists pumping, yelling "meat" over and over again. Yes, we really are that mature. We have a couple of recipes in the queue that cause us to do this jubilant shouting and high-fiving about meat. The one we use for ribs causes a ridiculous amount of euphoria, and perhaps, it is because the sauce is laced with bourbon.


Or maybe it is the rub infused with brown sugar, paprika and celery seed...

Before you gasp in horror and report us for putting our meat in a cage, know that it is my inability to have my act together that caused the above photo to be our best one of the ribs, raw and covered with rub before we grilled them. The ribs are caged because we put them in our grill rotisserie basket and slow-roasted them for an hour. By we, I mean Brian. Tangentially, I've noticed if you want to make a man happy give him a grill.

This cooking method produces a very tender product, perfect for slathering with the bourbon-laced barbecue sauce.

Are you hungry yet? Good...here's the recipe.

Once you've printed out the recipe and given it due consideration, here are a couple of suggestions:

• RIBS: You can use any type of pork ribs, including country style or baby back.
• RUB: The rub has A LOT of salt. This is fine if you are only leaving it on the ribs for two hours before grilling. However, if you are letting the ribs absorb the rub overnight, then reduce the salt to 1 1/2 tablespoons.
  
• RUB: Think of the amount rub as perfect for that amount of ribs. If you use a smaller amount of ribs, then reduce the amount of rub accordingly. For example, if you use only 2 pounds of ribs, then make only a half batch of rub.
  
• SAUCE: Strained tomatoes, really Martha? To me, this is just extra work. Use crushed tomatoes...same amount.
• SAUCE: You do not need to put the sauce in the blender if you don't want. It's lovely chunky.
  

Now, some of you are wondering why I would post a rib recipe in late October. It's 74 degrees today. If it were not, though, and if you enjoy grilling then weather is no object. Thus, a rib recipe such as this is worth braving the elements.

The Bombs of Fall

When I refer to the bombs of fall, I am usually talking about color bombs. Autumn in the Hudson Valley is just as picturesque and breathtaking as you might imagine. One place to take in the fabulous color is at Kaaterskill Falls, New York State's highest waterfall:



Really, though, it doesn't matter where you are. The color is fabulous in front of a nearby gym:


And on the walking trail near our house:

We recently learned there is another bomb of fall. We moved into a new home this past June, a home graced with towering, yet lithe black walnut trees in the backyard. In mid-September, when the nuts were ready to separate from the trees, they had a nearly four-story fall onto our deck and into our yard. Boom! Boom! Boom! Over and over and over, for weeks on end.



At first, I would jump a little each time one of these suckers impacted. They break apart violently, and then immediately start to rot.



Look at this guy that hit our patio table at such a high rate of speed he has the table markings imprinted on his husk!


So I say get out there, enjoy the rich fall color, and wear a helmet!

Figs

All hail the fig! Um, yes, the under-appreciated fruit you'll find in the section of the grocery store with all the other produce they didn't know how to classify and therefore shoved in some random remote corner. The fig is adorable...just a little purple or green ball, like this one:

And internally, well, the color is gorgeous, like this fig we ate last month while visiting northeastern Spain:

Apparently, it is fig season. As figs don't grow well in the Northeast, if at all, this is news to me. When I see them at Adams, our beloved local grocery store, I usually treat myself to a few, despite their usually having a high price tag (sometimes upwards of a dollar per fig). Figs are terrific fruits because they can play for both teams.

You can use them in a chutney or in a salad. They pair well with chicken, duck and pork. I'd dare say that the little fig can uplift any savory undertaking. Oh, and don't forget cheese. Figs pair well with cheese.

On the sweet side, they provide an earthy nuance. A fig tart is a classic dessert. They are lovely paired with nuts. When I lived in Italy, a popular gelato flavor was fig and ricotta (see, it's all about the figs and cheese).

My favorite fig recipe comes from April Bloomfield, the chef at the Spotted Pig in New York. It is a fig salad with mozzarella cheese, lemon zest, thyme, olive oil and balsamic. It is the perfect combination of sweet and salty and tart. I've had fun playing with how to plate it.

I no longer use a recipe to make it. It was first published in Gourmet (R.I.P.) in 2006, but I've lost my copy and it is no longer posted on their website. However, you can find it here. I hope you have ripe figs where you live and are able to enjoy this simple, wonderful salad.

Granola!

Sometimes I get a little foggy in the cerebral section of my body, and I have to search a bit for recipes worth sharing with you. It’s not for lack of inspiration or inventory. Like I said, I get a bit foggy. It is this fog that is my excuse for not sharing this wonderful recipe with you sooner because I make it quite often for many occasions. I give it to people as birthday presents, we put it in the welcome bags at our wedding, and my husband requests it with frequency. It should have been an obvious recipe to share.

It’s granola: really good honey-laced, loaded with fun stuff like coconut and sunflower seeds granola.

It’s the kind of granola you want to eat directly from the jar, or take on a hike, or top with blueberries and yogurt for breakfast. It’s sweet enough to satisfy a sugar craving in a pinch, but substantial enough to eat for a meal or after exercising. For me, the best part is each bite reminds me of childhood trips to Santa Fe, New Mexico where we would stay at the Grant Corner Inn. This granola was a regular part of their breakfast menu as was locally roasted coffee served in this cute mug:

The Grant Corner Inn no longer exists, I am sad to say. It was centrally located near the Plaza, had a wrap-around porch, charming and clean rooms, and delicious breakfasts. Lucky for me, and now you, the Inn published a cookbook which includes this granola recipe.

GRANT CORNER INN GRANOLA
Adapted from The Grant Corner Inn Breakfast & Brunch Cookbook by Louise Stewart. 1986.

Yield: 10 cups

Vegetable Oil ¾ cup
Honey ¼ cup
Brown Sugar, packed 1 cup
Vanilla 1 teaspoon
Kosher salt ½ teaspoon
Rolled oats (not quick) 8 cups
Almonds, slivered, toasted ¾ cup
Sunflower seeds, unsalted, roasted/toasted ½ cup
Coconut, flaked, dry ½ cup

Preheat oven: 325 F. Place rack on middle shelf.

Prepare two baking sheets: line with foil and then lightly grease with the same vegetable oil you are using for the recipe. I use just a tablespoon and spread it around with my hands.

Combine oil, honey, brown sugar, vanilla and salt in a medium (2 quart) saucepan. You can leave this on low to medium-low heat while you measure the other ingredients into a large bowl. Do NOT heat over high heat and walk away because you might overcook the sugar and have an undesirable clean-up situation on your hands. Stir occasionally until the sugar melts. This is not an emulsion so the oil and sugar will not combine.

While the sugar mixture is cooking, combine the other ingredients in a large bowl. Pour the sugar over and stir quickly for even distribution. Small clumps are fine, but large clumps should be broken up. At this point, the original recipe says you can use your hands to mix the sugar into the dry ingredients. DO NOT DO THIS if you value the skin on your hands. A large wooden spoon works fine. If the mixture sticks to the wooden spoon you can scrape it off with a regular silverware spoon.

Divide evenly the granola mixture between the two pans. I usually bake one at a time. Depending on your oven’s actual temperature (an oven thermometer is handy gadget) and even distribution of heat, it should take 10 to 15 minutes to bake. Every five minutes during baking, stir the granola by bringing all the mixture from the edges into the middle, incorporating it, and then leveling it off. The edges tend to cook faster than the middle section. Also, your oven may be hotter in back than in front, especially since you are opening the door every five minutes to stir, so rotate the pans once during baking. Once finished baking, place on a cooling rack to cool completely.

Once you have baked and cooled both batches, break up any large clumps, leave the little guys, and combine both batches together in an airtight container. Can be stored for up to 10 days.

Note: Do not make this on a humid day. You need the granola to completely dry out during the baking and cooling processes. When it is humid, this will not happen, and the granola ends up being sticky and a bit soft instead of crunchy. Further, it will not keep as long because of the undesired moisture content.

Zucchini Cake

If you live in the Hudson Valley, then you and I are survivors of the rainiest June in 113 years of weather record-keeping. It was so rainy and so gray for so long, I am certain I had Seasonal Affective Disorder (S.A.D.), the kind of malaise reserved only for winter and its lack of daylight. I was sad (and probably still just a touch so). Summer is a heady time for us, full of local fruits and vegetables with much anticipated trips to markets and farmstands that laid dormant through winter’s frost.

This rain, and even when not raining just general cloudiness, has been bad news for local crops. Strawberry season seemed to last just two days, 75% of New York’s cherry crop was destroyed, and corn is late. One item which seemed to do okay was zucchini. I thought if I couldn’t enjoy local fruit, at least I could make zucchini cake.

It was supposed to be so simple: I would make a zucchini cake similar to the zucchini bread my mother made when I was young. Unfortunately, it’s like going shoe shopping knowing exactly what you want without ever having seen anything like it before: it can’t be found. I wanted a not-too-sweet cake that I could eat for breakfast, dust with powdered sugar for afternoon tea, or cover in cream cheese frosting for dessert. I wanted it to at least pretend it was good for me. I wanted it to have a crumb structure and tenderness that would render it addictive.

I employed my usual research tack: I scoured the internet and pored over my many baking books. And I never learn: having set my demands for this cake so very high, I came up empty-handed. I did, however, notice a pattern among recipes for zucchini cake: they all called for the same amount of sugar, eggs, oil and flour. I played around, reduced the sugar, used both all-purpose and whole wheat flour, and added wheat germ.

And this is the result:

Look at the crumb! The moisture! The texture!

Delicious at breakfast and yet perfect for dessert.

Is there no higher calling for a zucchini than to sacrifice for this cake?!

As I want you to enjoy this cake as much as Brian and I and our dear friend Mark did, I have a couple of tips. First, scrape the bowl often, and especially after adding each egg. Scrape! Scrape! Scrape! Second, when baking a cake, make sure it is set up first before opening the oven door to rotate the cake 180 degrees. This will ensure that the cake does not fall. Third, most ovens do not bake evenly front to back which is why you have to rotate the cake in the first place. Fourth, some ovens bake slower/faster than others so that explains the disparity in baking times. A good oven thermometer will tell you if your oven is baking at the desired temperature. Fifth, as always, if you do bake this cake, I welcome your feedback especially if you have tips for improving the recipe!

MOLLY’S ZUCCHINI CAKE

Yield: 1 13x9 pan

Sugar 1 ¾ cups
Vegetable Oil 1 cup
Eggs 4 each
Vanilla extract 2 teaspoons

All-Purpose Flour 1 cup
Whole Wheat Flour 1 cup
Cinnamon 1 teaspoon
Ginger ½ teaspoon
Nutmeg ¼ teaspoon
Baking powder 2 teaspoons
Baking soda 1 teaspoon
Kosher salt ½ teaspoon

Zucchini, grated 2 ¼ cups
Pecans, chopped (optional) 1 cup
Wheat germ 2 tablespoons

Oven: 350 F

Pan: 13 x 9, buttered and floured.

In an electric mixer with a paddle attachment, mix together oil and sugar until homogenous. Be sure to scrape down the bowl a few times to make sure it is mixed properly. Add the eggs one at a time, mixing well after each addition and scraping down the bowl. Add the vanilla, mix, scrape.

Sift the flours, spices, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. In three (3) additions add the flour to the batter. Mix until incorporated. Scrape down the bowl. Repeat.

Last, add the zucchini, nuts and wheat germ. Mix just until incorporated. Stop.

Scrape the batter into the prepared pan and place in the oven. Bake for 45 to 60 minutes, rotating two-thirds of the way through baking if your oven does not bake evenly front to back. Cake is done when a toothpick comes out clean.

Cool cake on a rack. May be stored at room temperature, covered, for up to five days.

Zucchini Muffins: On September 22, 2009, I also used this recipe to make zucchini muffins. Everything stays the same until you are ready to bake the batter. Then line a 12-cup muffin tin with baking cup papers. Fill each one half to two-thirds full of batter. Bake 22-27 minutes at 350 F, rotating the pan halfway through for even baking. Muffins are done when a toothpick comes out clean and/or they spring to the touch. Cool completely. You can serve them as muffins for breakfast or ice them with cream cheese frosting and serve them as dessert. Yield is 30 muffins/cupcakes.

SERVICE PLEASE!

Lately, I have been giving service a lot of thought. My primary thought is how can there be bad service in a bad economy. On the simplest level, I believe organizations providing a service should be able to weed out their lackluster employees in favor of those who will get the job done, with a smile preferably. I believe that in these tough times everyone who is lucky enough to have a job, should be grateful for that job, and therefore should do that job well. It all comes back to what my paternal grandmother Hazel would often say, “Anything worth doing is worth doing well.”

I have been amazed by experiences this spring and summer punctuated by poor service. In April, at a large group dinner to celebrate the end of culinary school, I was brought the wrong drink. The waitress made the situation worse by asking me to try the drink I did not order. I did so, and then said I wanted the one I ordered, please. I’ve been a waitress. She had a big table. I had empathy, but I also simply wanted the drink I ordered. When I told her I wanted my original drink her response was, “Oh I understand, you’re picky. You want it the way you want it.” Excuse you? I am paying for a drink and heck yes I want the way I want it, and where do you come off calling me picky?!!

For my birthday this year, my dear husband bought me a kayaking lesson. As we stood at the counter to pay for the lesson, the two women behind the counter were trying on shoes. And despite the expense of the lesson, which was considerable, they could not pry themselves away from trying those shoes their outdoor store carried. So they rang up our hefty bill while still trying on shoes. I was amazed they did not have the good manners to focus on our transaction for two minutes and express gratitude that in this crummy economy we were contributing to their bottom line. To make matters worse, they could not be bothered to tell us where the kayak lesson started so we had to wander around the town a bit before finding it. I don’t want to frequent their business, but they do have a nice bathroom so whenever we go to that town on the Hudson River we always stop in to use the bathroom. It’s the least they can do.

This past April, I was the service provider. During the last three weeks of culinary school, I was both a dining room attendant (DRA) and the savory expeditor in the student-run café. My primary responsibilities as DRA were to deliver food to tables, clear tables, and make sure customers were enjoying their experience. I liked it. I managed not to dump food or beverage on anyone (my worst fear during this time). Our customers liked asking us questions about our future plans to become world-famous pastry chefs, and kept their disappointment in check when I responded my big plan was to be Brian’s wife and teach yoga.

Customers, or guests as the industry calls them, traveled from far and wide to experience our food and see us at work. I thought they deserved to have a wonderful time. I made sure their tables were clean, avoided sticking my thumb in their food when I delivered it, and met their needs outside of the ordering process. This was my responsibility. Therefore, when the older gentleman argued at me about the tuna salad offerings on our menu and accused me of not knowing my own menu, I smiled and I listened. I was even gracious when he physically got up and marched me over to the menu board so he could “yell” his point at me. This must have been a sight given he was on the frail side and my body readout is: “100% butter.” I refrained from saying “I told you so” when upon yelling the menu at me he realized his point was moot.

Guests, though, have responsibilities too. To be frank, the main one is to not be a pain in the ass. One gentleman summoned me over because his table needed more sugar packets. I brought him sugar packets only to have him tell me that the reason he needed sugar was for his coffee and now he wanted more coffee, even though his cup was nearly full. I brought him coffee only to have him request cream for his coffee even though I had asked about cream when he dismissed me to get his coffee. Dude, bundle your thoughts and ask for everything at once. While I was serving him, our dining room was packed, the line to order was out the door and around the corner, and there were not enough tables to accommodate people who had already ordered. In other words, I did not have time for this. When dining, depending on the environment, be aware of what is going on around you.

Kids. Actually, kids are fine. It’s the parents that left me dumbfounded. I saw kids spill food and drink and the parents would sit there and do nothing. I would come with rags, mops and hazmat crews, and the parents did not lift one finger to help, did not apologize. I figure what that kid learned from his parent during this episode is you never have to clean up your own mess. I understand the parent is somewhat helpless to clean up the mess, but, at least in my mind, social norms dictate acknowledgement of the mess and the inconvenience.

I also witnessed a lot of non-parenting. Just a heads up that waitress does not equal babysitter. Your kid is your responsibility. More than once, kids interfered with my ability to do my job because the parent had let their kid loose. Three years ago during my first restaurant job, I had the same kid wander behind the prepared food counter over and over again and touch stuff, grab stuff, and move it around. It’s a little hard to make a cappuccino or ring an order when your co-worker is a curious 6 year old. I would march him back to his mother and kindly explain due to hot surfaces, glass items and such it was dangerous for him to be back there. Sure enough, five minutes later he was back because his mother couldn’t be bothered to keep her kid in check.

Having written this post about poor service, it is then ironic that I have provided such bad service to you my readers. I have not shown gratitude, and I should because I am so lucky you choose to take time out of your busy lives to read this blog, and even sometimes try the recipes I post here, or to comment about something of interest. I apologize for the outage. I am happy to say, though, that I am back, and will be so on a weekly basis once again. I hope to see you here.

Buried

Aaaackkkkk...nearly the whole month of March escaped without a post, without an update. I meant to write, really I did, but the inspiration was lacking because it's been such a busy month.

Our trip to Florida was great. While there was a snowstorm here in New York, Brian and I lounged by the pool for eight straight hours. We took pictures of flowers to sustain us until spring arrives here. Somehow we got lots of free upgrades from the car to the hotel room (and this in spite of the fact that we used Hotwire to get a rate at less than half the daily rate for room!).

Since arriving home from Florida, school has swallowed me whole. I do plan to write at length about my Culinary experience, but after I've graduated, when I am less cranky, and when my main thought about the CIA is not that it's a school where mommy and daddy park kids who couldn't make it at a regular college.

The good news for March is that we bought a house and plan to move in May so more details to come on that front.

More details to come on everything, but for now it is 4:20 a.m. and I am off to school.

I'VE LOST MY MARBLES

Or WHY WE ARE GOING TO FLORIDA TOMORROW.

See this dirty pile of snow. It has snow in it from December, December 19 to be exact. And since then it has been nothing but months of snowstorms and ice-storms and misery. In fact, so much snow piled up that I came home one afternoon to see the snow being removed by an earth mover and a dump truck. Then, the middle of this month brought the first day above 30 degrees in a long time and it was glorious, for about a minute, only to be followed by more ice and more snow and more cold. Since my schedule has been to leave the house before 5:00 a.m. most days, I am privy to unplowed, unsalted roads, car doors frozen shut, and the delightful thud as my tailbone connects with the asphalt having slipped once again on the ice.

Between my crazy school schedule and the weather, I am cranky (and also loony, but more about that later). Brian, being the super duper husband that he is, suggested a weekend getaway. He mentioned sunshine. He mentioned warmth. Bring it on!

So last week, he purchased two airplane tickets to Florida. Depart tomorrow. Return Monday. It's all I can squeeze in with my schedule, but it will do just fine. Keep in mind, that when we first moved to New York in 2006, we made fun of all the people who hightailed it to Florida in the winter. We thought they were meek to flee winter. This Colorado girl was not going to Florida, land of theme parks and strip malls.

I've changed my mind. I am ready for Florida now. I am sorry I made fun of you for fleeing the state. I get it. Let's go! Winters here are trying, and what is with all the ice!

So Brian and I are off to earn our New York street cred, if only for a weekend. And it turns out I need this getaway more than I thought I did. I am so sleep-deprived that not once, but twice this week on Sunday and Tuesday, I did the same stupid thing. I went to the grocery store. I had the list. I grabbed the cart. I perused the shelves. I filled the cart. I emptied the cart onto the belt at the cashier's station. I watched her ring up every single item. And when she finished, only then did I realize my wallet was in the car. Doing it once was bad enough, but I did it twice within 48 hours.

Wednesday, I vowed not to repeat my mistake. I drove to the store. I put my wallet in my coat pocket and zipped the pocket so it would not fall out. This is hard to admit, and a bit sad as well, I swelled with pride at my preparation. Then I sat there in the car a bit longer than necessary, and do you know why? I could not remember why I was at the grocery store. I had no list on me. I could not even remember if there was stuff on the list posted on the fridge. I was forced to call Brian, "Sweetie, just remember when you purchased me all sales were final. You cannot take me back to the store, trade me in, or return me for a full refund." And that is when I asked him why I was at the store.

My failings at the grocery store this week only reinforce why we need this trip. It's icing on the cake that while we are away, it is supposed to snow!!!

I would like to leave you with this little "only in New York" nugget I overheard the other day, "Oh, yeah, I know the guys here wear way too much jewelry. My dad only wears his pinky rings on special occasions."

SURREALISM AND BROWN RICE

I slept in until 4:21 a.m. today. Yes, you read that right. Now’s it 4:53 a.m., and I am enjoying my coffee and my current breakfast of choice: maple-flavored Brown Cow yogurt (low-fat) with Grape Nuts mixed in.

Yesterday, as we were finishing Breads class, my partner turned to me and said, “You know the last three weeks have been surreal, and I don’t mean in a good way.” I love breads, but I do understand what she means about surreal. It is one of the earliest classes in the baking program. Your start time fluctuates between 5:00 a.m. and 6:00 a.m., which would not be so bad, but that’s not when you actually start. Back up 15 minutes from those times, and you have the time you should arrive, put on your toque, your apron, your side towel, wash your hands, grab scaled ingredients, and basically hit the ground running. 5:00 a.m. or 6:00 a.m. is actually when your dough has to be on the mixer. But first, before you can even arrive at the bakeshop 15 minutes before scheduled, you need to meet with your group, go over your game plan for the day, your recipes, your survival strategy. Most days this group meeting took place at 4:30 a.m. I have a 20 minute drive to school so this means leaving the house at 4:10 a.m. Oh wait, no, it’s winter, and we’re on an ice- and snowstorm every three days schedule, so I need to be out at the car around 3:50 a.m. because too many mornings I discovered the roads are not plowed at 4:00 a.m. Allowing time to make myself hygienically presentable and partake in the yogurt and coffee breakfast has meant I have been awake at 3:00 a.m. most mornings these past three weeks.

Things have been wacky. One morning, I undressed in the bathroom, not to take a shower, no just to brush my teeth. What made it so odd is that I already was completely dressed for school, down to my chef’s jacket so it was a lot of clothes to take off just to brush my teeth.

Another morning, I walked into the campus dining hall only to unzip my winter coat and realize I was wearing only an undershirt and a neckerchief. Now, take note, my winter coat is made by a company called Betty Rides, which makes snowboarding gear for women. It was 6 degrees outside when I drove to school, and yet in just my undershirt, my torso never got cold. Perhaps if it had I would have realized I was missing my chef’s jacket. My mother will tell you school is really a military institution, and she’s right to a point. The chef’s jacket is our uniform, and you can’t just borrow one because our names our embroidered on our jackets. At 5:24 a.m. that day, I had no choice but to turn a 40-minute roundtrip drive to claim my jacket into something much shorter so I could be in the bakeshop by 6:00 a.m. As I was racing around on icy back country roads, hoping no deer would enter my path, I realized that I fear more a chef yelling at me for dress code violations than I fear a car accident. School messes with your head like that.

Yet another morning, I was in the bakeshop readying for the day, and searching for my cell phone. I always turn it off when class starts. I couldn’t find it, but I remembered putting it in my bag. So from 6:00 a.m. on, my lingering thought wasn’t I hope I scaled the water correctly for our sourdough or what ratios do I need for my grain soaker, no it was wondering where my cell phone was. When class ended, out to the parking lot went I in search of the phone in the car. No phone. Also, no water bottle. Shoot, I left it in class. Walked back down the length of the parking lot to the Baking building to claim my water bottle. As I was returning to the car, I put my hands in my pants pockets as it was darn cold outside. Sitting in my left pocket was my cell phone. Eeessh!

So this kind of schedule messes with your head and it messes with your biorhythms. I eat breakfast at 3:30 a.m., lunch at 9:15 a.m., and dinner around 4:30 p.m. Lunch is a gluten festival because really it’s the breads available for sampling in the bakeshop. My diet has been nothing but gluten, gluten, gluten with little protein or vegetable matter. I miss meals with Brian as by the time he arrives home in the evening I am ready for bed. We’ve taken to leaving each other Post-It notes and emailing, knowing that graduation is 12 weeks away and this crazy schedule cannot last indefinitely.

Last night, though, I was motivated. I could finally have dinner with my husband. I could have a balanced meal, something warm and comforting as it has been one cold, trying winter (did I mention all the snow and ice?). I prepared fish with a simple mustard sauce, a salad of lettuce and tomatoes, and brown rice. Brown rice is a staple for us and we’ve experimented with different ways to make it, but here is our favorite way.

Molly’s Brown Rice
1 cup short-grained brown rice
2 ½ cups chicken broth (we prefer low sodium)
1 T olive oil

Equipment: 2-quart saucepan with lid, large wooden spoon for stirring.

Measure each item and have it ready to go at the stove. You can measure the oil right into the saucepan.

Heat the olive oil in a 2-quart saucepan over medium heat. Do not get it smoking as it will impart off flavors. Just heat it until it slides around very easily. Add the rice and start stirring. You do not want to stop stirring or you will burn the rice and then you’ll have to throw it out which is a bummer. Stir the rice to toast it and really notice how the kernels get a nice caramel-colored edge. You should hear a slight sizzle sound throughout this process. Now, you only need to toast it about 2 minutes, just long enough to coat all the grains with the oil and get them toasted.


Next, add the broth, stir for even distribution of rice in the broth and cover with a lid. Bring to a boil, and then reduce the heat to low and simmer for 40-45 minutes. The rice, when finished, should still have body to it and yet be creamy. If the rice is finished, but there is still broth, take the lid off, increase the heat a little and boil off the extra broth.



We do not normally season the rice until we are at the table. Sometimes, like when we roast chicken thighs, the rice stands on its own and needs some salt and pepper. Other times, though, it will be mopping up sauce and does not need any seasoning. Either way, it’s up to you.
Enjoy!

Sundays

Last week I would have told you that I had three weeks worth of Sunday New York Times to catch up on. The first Sunday, January 11, I had class. The second Sunday, January 18, I was drafting my paper for Chocolates class and studying for the final exam. Last weekend, well, I had math homework for Breads class, brunch with friends, and we went to open houses. Include today, and now I have four editions to read.

Reading the newspaper is Sunday to me. I hit the Travel section first because it allows me to daydream of the great traveling future Brian and I have the potential to create. Then, I peruse the Real Estate section. I have always done this, but now that we are house-hunting, the stories are more real and I pay attention to mortgage rates and things I find quirky about rural New York living, including oil heat, septic systems, and well water.

As an aside, we were driving around south Poughkeepsie yesterday as part of a house-hunting reconnaissance mission. Poughkeepsie is our most urban environment here in the mid-Hudson Valley, and we became excited by the thought of a backyard garden, a place to nurture Brian’s beloved tomato habit. I commented that at least in the city we won’t have to worry about deer eating our garden, when, at that moment, we saw a deer. This is a bad photo of the deer running away.

The deer sighting slightly deflated my idea of home gardening, but I chalked it up to a random event. That is, until we turned the corner one block later to see a deer crossing sign, in the middle of the city!

After that, I read the Business section. There is usually a great piece written in the first person about a real-life situation. One week, the author was a woman who went from having a successful corporate career to being laid-off and becoming a dog walker. Another week, the author was a female manager discussing the workplace phenomenon of women breaking each other down rather than helping set each other up for success. I see this in the kitchen classrooms all the time since the majority of baking majors are women. One Friday, for example, when my group needed help, and I sought it from a group of girls who were in the middle of a fierce game of Paddycake, they stopped, but rather than helping me, they dispersed.

Today, I hope to dispense with the leftover sections from previous weekends as well as the current edition. Brian is off skiing, I will attend a yoga workshop later today, and we’ll reconvene at dinner over lasagna. We have an open floor plan so we look at our living room while sitting at the dining table. Hopefully, our view this evening will not be of random sections of the newspaper piled atop all available surfaces from the coffee table to the couch.

Happy Sunday and Happy February to one and all.

A Fishy Christmas Present

O that would have my act together. O that I would have posted before Christmas or even New Year’s a picture of these beauties:



They’re just so pretty! And I have Martha to thank. Or rather, I have whoever tests Martha’s recipes to thank. It’s her sugar cookie recipe and her royal icing recipe, and I would share them. Would, I say, but will not. I’ll find a more appropriate occasion like when you’ll actually feel like baking Christmas cookies, a year from now. Now, though, is not the time. Now, people are considering diets and resolutions (two things I just don’t touch – why set myself up for failure?). Now, is the month of meh. It’s unfair, I know, to ask you to stick with me for a year just so you can make these, but it will be worth it!

Instead, let’s talk about gifts as I hope you still are enjoying yours. In November 2001, I found myself, along with my aunt and uncle, finishing the last stages of cleaning out my deceased paternal grandmother’s apartment. Lest you think, “Oh sad,” know that it was her time and she knew it was her time, and her passing was both sad and a relief and her positive attitude about death made the event okay. My grandmother knew she was about to go, and got rid of a lot of stuff before her passing. That said, there was still a lot of stuff. Stuff. Remember George Carlin’s famous monologue about stuff, acquiring stuff, and how the size of your house is a reflection on the amount of stuff you have? If you don’t, seek it out – funny as anything! Well, in that moment of cleaning, I realized that if I went over to the other side, my friends and family would be stuck cleaning a lot of stuff, and really what was the point of all my stuff (except for the kitchen stuff which is all very important and necessary, mind you). I am not perfect so therefore I still have a lot of stuff and have acquired more stuff since this realization seven years ago, and in fact, I got married and so I have A LOT more stuff. And what are gifts? Gifts are treasured stuff, but stuff nonetheless. Focus Molly, what about gifts? Ah yes, well cleaning Grandma Hazel’s apartment informed my attitudes about gifts and stuff in that I try to give experience gifts whenever possible (sometimes inspiration lacks and we’re off to the store). I also try to request experience gifts when asked.

This Christmas marked my first with the in-laws, lovely people who live in the suburbs of Houston, Texas. In fact, it was my first time visiting Texas outside of an airport so lots of firsts this Christmas. They inquired as to what we might like to receive for Christmas and Brian told them that a nice dinner is always appreciated. Boy oh boy, did they ever deliver.

Reef.

At this point I should insert a photo of the outside of the restaurant, but I don’t have one. I was so focused on the menu and the food and the deliciousness of it all that I forgot that perhaps you would like to see the outside of the place. So here’s a picture of the menu, taken in our kitchen in the Hudson Valley:

Reef is a restaurant parked in a former car dealership on the edge of downtown Houston. It’s new, it’s hip, it’s edgy. It has cement floors and modern tables, and lots of blue. A huge glass-enclosed wine cellar sits on the far edge of the restaurant floor which provides lots of entertainment as you watch the beverage stewards ascend and descend the ladder in the cellar retrieving that perfect bottle of wine for your fish dinner. Oh, and the kitchen is open and even has viewing windows from the reception area in case you’re bored and desire to learn how to shuck an oyster.

Reef is fairly new but has received lots of accolades. Bon Appetit magazine called it the best seafood restaurant in America in its December 2008 edition. The bar was set very high. Luckily, it did not disappoint.

We all ordered appetizers.


Brian had the blue crab ceviche served in a coconut-lime reduction with blood oranges. Ceviche is basically fish that is “cooked” through exposure to citric acid. As the fish is not heated, the highest quality, freshest fish is most appropriate in a ceviche preparation. Ceviche should taste fresh and the flavor notes should not smother the actual fresh flavor the fish delivers. The ceviche at Reef was spot on!


Brian’s mother ordered the jumbo crab cake which came with a spicy vinaigrette. The pairing of crab with chiles may seem on the surface like an unlikely pairing. However, the sweetness of the shellfish, which is augmented by the sweetness of the coconut milk, is tempered by the spiciness of the chiles leading to harmony on the plate.


Brian’s dad had baked oysters with swiss chard and bread crumbs with Asiago cheese. The luscious oysters and the crunchy bread crumbs were a lot of fun in the mouth.


I decided to test the restaurant. I ordered the market salad wondering before it arrived if it would contain out-of-season vegetables with a dressing the salad station cook didn’t love. Happily, the market salad contained veggies currently available at the market, including different types of squash, with a lilting vinaigrette which made the whole dish sing.

Our main dishes were even better.


Salmon, so ubiquitous it suffers often from lackluster preparation and presentation, was melt-in-the-mouth fabulous! Slow-baked, it was served with a not overly creamy Meyer lemon risotto and chili oil. I love hot sauce so I appreciated the brightening power of the chili oil.


The pan-sauteed redfish was spicy and yet paired nicely with a Spanish inspired side dish of broccolini, golden raisins and pine nuts. The grilled Amberjack, a fish native to the Gulf, was firm, meaty, and sweet. A new play on meat and potatoes, it was served with plantains and long beans and a pomegranate jus. A roasted grouper screamed Southern with its collard greens and pecan-shallot cracklins. The chefs and cooks at Reef must really appreciate how fun textural contrast can be for the diner because this was yet another case of the soft flesh of the fish meeting something wonderfully crunchy.

You can imagine after consuming this delicious food that a debate about dessert ensued. I was the guest so I tried to defer to the hosts, but they knew, Brian knew, and I knew that given my new profession I would have to try something, anything off the dessert menu. All parties participated in the decision-making. We settled on a chocolate lava cake. Overdone? Perhaps, but for a reason. It’s a crowd-pleaser and it’s one of those desserts that the restaurant either phones in or actually cares about. I was hoping Reef would prepare something demonstrative of the latter.

By the time the waiter approached to take our dessert order, we had debated at length the if, and then the what, so we were firm in our decision. Yet, we folded like a deck of cards when he suggested we should also have the adult milkshake. We bounced our heads in the affirmative while muttering “Well, sure,” and, “If you suggest it,” and “Thanks for the recommendation.”


The cake hit the spot. It had nice crumb and the chocolate filling provided a pleasant mouthfeel. The adult milkshake was good: vanilla ice cream with Kahlua. For those of you who know me and my family, it was no brandy milk punch. The chocolate cigarette that garnished it looked as if it was made in-house which impressed me now that I know how difficult they are to produce.

Overall, Reef deserves its accolades. Service never lacked. The wine list was comprehensive and fairly priced. The food was fabulous. The only drawback was those darn cement floors as they did nothing to absorb the noise and at times we had to shout at each other over our well-plated food.

Reef
2600 Travis
Houston, TX 77006
713.526.8282