Misadventure in the kitchen

 

Picture from Honest Cooking
note the charred lemon

My friend Phil Green loves anchovies. I somehow got the impression he would not eat them, but Subie said, “Oh, no, he loves them.” So I suggested supper Sunday night—I’d make an anchovy entrée, if Subie would bring a salad. I had in mind a New York Times recipe I’d saved for smashed potatoes with anchovy and tuna.

But the more I looked at that recipe, the less sure I was. What if Phil doesn’t eat tuna? Several men in my family refuse to have anything to do with even the really good stuff I buy from the cannery in Oregon (Colin on the other hand loves it, so it’s a frequent birthday gift for him). I wasn’t sure about potatoes, and then I looked at the fingerlings that Central Market sent with my order. They are, at the least, thumb potatoes. When I wanted delicate Yukon Gold fingerlings, I got fat, odd-shaped red potatoes. I lay awake in the night worrying about this dinner until it dawned on me that I’d cook an anchovy pasta. Problem solved. I slept.

This morning I searched for anchovy pasta recipes—you have no idea how many there are online, many of them identical and many calling for capers. I did that once several years ago, and the capers overshadowed the anchovies. So I settled on a recipe that suggested artichoke hearts, chopped, as a substitute for the capers, and all of it in a brown butter sauce. And charred lemon cheeks—I who dislike the current fad for charring everything in sight, charred some lemons by putting them briefly, cut side down in a hot skillet. If you don’t know what a lemon cheek is, it’s the half lemon you get when you slice the fruit vertically instead of horizontally. I couldn’t see that charring affected the taste of the lemons or the sauce, but it sure made the skillet hard to clean. I laid out ingredients and dishes and went off to take a nap.

A deep but not comforting sleep, in which I dreamt my mom and I were cooking, and she kept cleaning up where I was cooking, causing me to spill everything. I swear I went through two pounds of butter in that dream! And somehow carrots got into the sauce but when I tried to cook them, they shriveled into tiny, charred lumps (that must have been Christian’s influence because he won’t eat cooked carrots). I decided reality was better than my dream and woke up.

Dinner turned out better than I could have, should have hoped. Instead of cooking right up to the last moment, I chopped the parsley and artichokes, made the brown butter sauce, laid out the pasta plates. After the Greens had settled in with some wine and brie on crackers, I turned up the pasta water that I’d had simmering and cooked the pasta. Subie helped me with draining the pasta—some things are awkward to do from a wheelchair—and I stirred in chopped parsley, topped each pasta bowl with grated pecorino—and forgot to take a picture. But it was good, and my guests raved. For dessert? Those mini chocolate ice cream cones Jordan gets at Trader Joe’s.

It was a pleasant evening visiting with old friends. We talked about politics, but we also talked about old times and people we know—and the talk took me away momentarily from the world crisis. For me, the day started with uncertainty—the news that Putin had put his nuclear detection force on alert was alarming to say the least. That he would even put the “nuclear” word into play. And tonight news followed that Belarus has declared it is no longer a nuclear-free territory. I’m uncertain about that. Does it mean they’ve had nuclear capabilities all along and have been hiding them?

Balancing that was a bit of news that didn’t get much play—Ukraine officials have agreed to meet with Russian representatives on the border between Ukraine and Belarus. At this critical point, any meeting seems to me to hold out hope. Putin is not finding the invasion as easy as he thought, but still Ukraine is being devastated. Pray that they can come to some mutual ground over the negotiation table. Disconcerting rumors about Putin’s mental status are another scary factor—he wants to rebuild the Soviet Union and none of Europe can let him do that. Terrible times.

There’s a distance—I don’t know how to describe it. Maybe a disconnect between the destruction and suffering and amazing heroism in Ukraine and my life as I sit here in my cottage, visiting with good friends, eating a good supper. This morning in church Dr. Peterman talked about what Celtic cultures call the “thin places,” those places where heaven and earth seem to meet for rare moments. This is not a thin place. It’s like those supposed-fingerling potatoes—at thick place like a clumsy thumb. For me, it’s prayer time. For you there may be another answer. For all of us, I urge you to support President Biden and his heroic efforts to curb Russia. And cheer and pray for President Zelensky, the hero who is leading Ukraine and who does not appear to flinch. Mask mandates, truck convoys, “freeduhms,”—pfft!

How my garden grows

 

Okay, ignore the picture. Me in my work-day outfit, which means pajamas, no make-up, hair barely combed. But a happy smile on my face. I’m digging into the dirt and planting herbs in my new portable garden. It’s exactly what I wanted, because I can sit on my rollator and work in it. It’s taken us a while to get to this point—Christian wanted to varnish the outside, but with the rainy weather we’ve had that didn’t go as quickly as he wanted.

Then I had to buy some gravel to put in the bottom. As usual, I overthought the whole thing. At first, I thought there was a gravel company really close to us, but then I discovered it had closed. Then I tried to call gravel companies to ask what kind I needed and could they deliver. It was obvious they weren’t interested in a tiny job like mine, and most had no phone contact. Finally, I did what I should have done all along: I called the nice young man whose crews maintain our yard. He said to get it from the local hardware. Duh! Always glad to patronize a local small business.

So we got the gravel and dirt, and today Jordan put in the liner, pea gravel, dirt, and potting soil. I sat in my rollator and helped spread gravel and dirt evenly. This may sound insignificant, but so much is done for me that I can’t help with that it was a delight to be able to be part of this. And doing it with Jordan—and some laughter and giggles—made it special.

We planted the herbs we had. Tomorrow’s errand list includes a trip to the nursery where fall herbs are on sale—we have thyme, oregano, basil, and chives. Those are my basics, but I’d like to add cilantro, parsley, and dill (I’ve never had luck with dill because caterpillars eat it). Jordan pointed out some trailing plants would look good on the bottom shelf, so I want to look at trailing rosemary. Though I suspect that shelf should be reserved for tools, etc. Anyway, I’m delighted to have plants in the soil.

A good day in other ways. I wrote 600 words on an article—or what I hope will be an article. The first words are always the hardest, and this struck me as a longish introduction and perhaps too personal for the market I’m targeting. But I’m a believer in writing it the way you hear it in your head.

Tonight we planned salmon for dinner, but when dinnertime came Jordan and I found ourselves staring at each other. Jacob had a high school football game, and Christian had an event. I thought a pound and a half of salmon was extravagant for the two of us. But then, just before we were to eat, Christian came home. I made a vinegar/oil herb sauce for the fish—really good. But then we had very lemony salads with avocado and blue cheese, and hearts of palm angel hair pasta with lemon butter. Jordan loved it, but it was too much acid in one meal for me.

The pasta is interesting. It felt soft in the package (not cellophane so we couldn’t see it) and the directions said nothing about cooking it. Just pour on sauce and heat. So she did—and it was pretty al dente. Next time, Jordan says she’ll cook it. But it is carb free, gluten free, etc. That always makes me nervous, because I want to know what they added to compensate for what they took out. (I would never make a good vegan.) I did not taste hearts of palm in it at all, which was to me a disappointment and to Christian a benefit.

Tomorrow Megan comes from Austin for the weekend. So excited to have her here. The girls will go to the football game, but then tomorrow night Christian will grill and we’ll have a big family dinner. Sunday, brunch at Pacific Table and take-out dinner from Joe T.’s. I’m so looking forward to all of this, but mostly to having my Megan here.

A Fishy Weekend

Smoked salmon, potato salad, and crème fraiche

My friend Linda from Granbury was my houseguest last night--she had an afternoon class at TCU yesterday and a make-up class this afternoon, so she spent the night. I warned her she was in for a fishy weekend--and a cooking weekend for me. Last night we had a smoked salmon/cream cheese/sour cream/anchovy appetizer, followed by pasta in an anchovy sauce--one of those where you make a sauce of olive oil and whatever, dump in the cooked spaghetti and then add egg yolks beaten with water. I love watching that watery mess thicken up to a golden sauce that coats the noodles perfectly. This was particularly good. Jacob dumped his green peas into his pasta (sans sauce) at Linda's suggestion and declared it delicious.
For breakfast Jacob ate two waffles and two scrambled eggs, while Linda and I had cinnamon raisin English muffins. Jacob went home with his dad after church, and Linda and I had Tonino's tuna marinated in olive oil and oregano, on cottage cheese. If you have not discovered Tonino's, and you like tuna, I urge you to look in the canned meat department at Central Market. It comes in small, expensive jars but is so good!
The best thing about the evening was Jacob. When he and I are here alone, we eat in my office and don't talk much. Last night, he ate at the table, didn't ask to be excused early, carried on a great conversation with Linda, and then while I did dishes, they went for a long walk. This morning, first words out of his mouth were, "Where's Linda?" She was in the sunroom reading, so he went back and had a great conversation. When I asked what they wanted for breakfast, he said something about Alexander the Great. I asked what that had to do with breakfast, and he said condescendingly, "We were talking about history." After breakfast, they went for another long walk. Then we went to church, which was particularly inspiring this morning.
Tonight friends Subie and Phil came for supper--more fish. We finished the salmon dip left from last night, and the entrée was a platter of smoked salmon ringing a mound of potato salad (tiny new potatoes), drizzled with crème fraiche seasoned with horseradish, and garnished with liberal sprinklings of chopped dill. Subie pronounced it a very Scandinavian dish--and of course it was: fish, potatoes, and berries (she brought a wonderful fruit dish of raspberries and blueberries). Designed to serve six--we ate every bite. Cocktails on the deck, where it was most pleasant--I hadn't thought about cleaning the table because it was supposed to rain but no rain so far.
So it was a lovely cooking weekend. My back didn't hurt as much as it has, and I enjoyed fixing food--I always do. But maybe the best part was the interaction between Jacob and Linda--he was so grown-up, so gentlemanly, and so polite.
When he was perhaps three, he took Linda on a walk across the street to see Lily B. Clayton Elementary and assured her this was where he was going to school. She asked if he'd talked to his parents about that, but she said he was absolutely sure that was where he would go. And guess what? He's finishing third grade there. I think every child needs a non-family adult who dotes on him--I had that luxury as a child, and Jacob has several, but Linda is special. For her, it fulfills a need to touch and be close to a grandchild--hers live in Cleveland and Philadelphia.
A thoroughly satisfying weekend. No, I didn't write my thousand words today, but I did yesterday.

Flat Stanley and other tales

If you have children or grandchildren, you probably know about Flat Stanley of the book by that name (I keep wanting to call him Flat Freddy--rolls off the tongue so much more easily). Stanley woke up flat one day and has been sent all over by devoted schoolchildren, who each made their on version. Jacob sent his to Houston and New York relatives who obligingly toured him around and photographed him with all the sights. The New York cousins sent flat versions of two of their children--Ayla and William--so Jordan felt we should show these flat relatives Fort Worth. And one place we had to go was Angelo's BBQ because in his rare visits to Fort Worth from NYC Uncle Mark has eaten tons of Angelo's barbecue. He writes about it, longs for it--in fact, he might come back to FW sometime for the barbecue rather than to see us.
So the other night we took William and Ayla to Angelo's. I haven't been there in years, since a competitor opened up closer to home. But I remember the days when Angelo's had sawdust on the floor--fire department made them stop that. Nothing much had changed except that you no longer pick up your cole slaw and potato salad while waiting in line. The stuffed bear still greets you at the door. Jordan took a picture of William and Ayla with the bear and then the above one of me. (She had looked at me before we went to supper and said, "Colorful. Is that your dinner shirt?" I assured it was and protested, "We're only going to Angelo's.")
Last night's dining adventure was the Kona Grill, which I understand is a chain but new to Fort Worth. In a Hawaiian restaurant, I ordered meatloaf--okay it was called Big Island meatloaf. Good last night, much better cold at lunch today. Betty had a shrimp dish with what looked like glass noodles and declared it delicious. She loves shrimp and delights in eating it in front of me because I'm allergic. But as we went in, she said to me, "I suddenly feel ancient." I think it's a great singles bar, maybe not so cool for two old ladies having dinner.
And tonight's dinner was a bust. A friend who loves pasta came for what I assumed was just a casual weeknight dinner. Turns out today is her birthday, which she doesn't like to celebrate. My pasta dish was, to me, unsuccessful--sauce of butter, garlic, anchovies and fresh tomatoes cooked down. I couldn't taste the garlic or anchovies but sure could taste the fresh parsley--somehow my Italian parsley survived the past winter. Further, the dish was hard to serve and harder to eat, and I got it all over my shirt. One recipe that went into the recycle bin. And I'd so been looking forward to trying it. Oh well, we all have our kitchen mistakes.

A weekend vacation

No, I haven't been anywhere. I've been home, but it's felt like a vacation. Jacob with his grandparents, his parents in Cancun, and me at home--reading, editing, doing whatever I wanted at my own pace. I finished one book, started another, which keeps calling me back, read the edits on a manuscript, and made a brief stab at formatting an older manuscript I intend to re-invent.
But primarily it's been a weekend of my favorite foods. Friday night I made myself salmon croquettes--I've learned to do them a way that is a bit easier than my mom's way, which I've done for years. They're one of my favorite foods, not only because they're delicious when freshly made but because they make wonderful sandwiches the next day on rye bread with mayonnaise. And that, of course, was my lunch on Saturday.
Saturday evening my good friend Sue (Canadian daughter as I call her, after the dubbed me her Fort Worth mom) came for dinner, and I scrambled eggs with diced smoked salmon, chopped tomato, and sliced scallions. It's a one-dish meal and so easy, but so good.
Tonight good friends are coming for pasta--at least that's what they think. But I'm really going to make a family favorite--green noodles. This dish, which my kids love, has a history. When my brother was dating his first wife, she had little money. One night when he was coming for dinner and her cupboard was bare, she melted butter, added spaghetti and lemon juice. Over the years I've added to that bare-bones recipes, first substituting spinach tagliatelle for spaghetti and then adding sliced scallions, chopped artichoke hearts, and mushrooms. A few years ago when I had my first bumper crop of basil and made my own pesto, I added a frozen ice cube of pesto and topped the whole thing with parmesan. It's another one-dish meal, served with crusty bread. Comfort food that brings happy family memories.

Green noodles

1 16-0z. pkg. spinach egg noodles
1 stick butter
8 oz. mushrooms, sliced (I always buy whole and slice them myself)
4 scallions, chopped
1 can quartered artichoke hearts
1 ice-cube size piece of pesto, thawed (about one Tbsp.)
Juice of one lemon (more to taste)
Grated fresh Parmesan
Cook and drain noodles. Melt butter in the skillet. (Megan, weight-conscious in high school, used to insist that was too much butter, and it may be--use part olive oil.) Sauté the mushrooms and scallions in the butter. Add lemon juice to taste—I like lots; the mushrooms soak up the lemon and are delicious. Add artichokes and noodles and toss to coat. Heat briefly to warm. Top with Parmesan and serve.