The legend of tuna noodle casserole...and other maternity advice.

Just entered Week 24! (App 1 tells me she's an ear of corn, and App 2 tells me she's a "demi-baguette.") The cutesy pregnancy literature out there calls the second trimester the "smooth second" because it's the most comfortable time...after the exhausting first trimester and before I become too big to bend over and buckle my sandals. I wouldn't have noticed that I'm nearly done with Part II of III except that Nick had to help me unbuckle a sandal yesterday, so I figured I'd better savor the next couple weeks and commemorate with another post.

As I mentioned in the reveal, I was pretty lucky as far as eating goes in the first trimester -- apart from a brief period of nausea and sometimes-debilitating smell-sensitivity, I didn't have terrible morning sickness nor insatiable, guilty cravings (with the exception of mac and cheese...miraculously I mostly craved fresh fruit). There was one minor meltdown circa Week 12 during which I sobbed into a previously-beloved bowl of ramen that tasted like a cast-iron pan, so filled with fear was I that food would never taste the same again. My older sisters -- one with a five-year-old and two-year-old, and the other with a nearly five-month-old -- reassured me relief was near.

That's been the most wonderful thing about being pregnant...your world becomes this loving melting pot of other people's advice (the most consistent piece being that you will get a lot of inconsistent advice), stuff (thank goodness for the generous collections of rotating maternity clothes, gender-neutral baby onesies and toys and gear) and traditions.

Around Week 16, I was getting pretty fed up (pun intended) with metallic-tasting food when my mom told me that while she was pregnant, she had had basically no appetite and awful morning sickness until a family friend brought over an unlikely meal: tuna noodle casserole and peach pie. She ate both with gusto and was apparently cured.

Regular readers may raise an eyebrow...Campbell's soup and canned tuna? I had grown up eating "tuna bake" with some regularity, and I assure you, it's delicious...but it had been probably over a decade since I had last eaten it. I got the recipe from my mom and gave it a try. It tasted like home, and I ate two giant pieces. Was I cured?? As it turned out, later that week I was back to metal-mouth -- my mom astutely pointed out it was probably because I hadn't made the peach pie -- but it didn't last much beyond that.

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Gretchen's Tuna Bake
Makes one 9x13" Pyrex (serves 8, or 2.5 pregnant women)

12 oz wide egg noodles
1 can Campbell's Cream of Mushroom Soup
1/2 can volume of milk
8-10 oz canned tuna (look for a brand/grade with low mercury, for Ms. Expecting)
1-2 c frozen green peas
1 c breadcrumbs
2 c shredded mozzarella cheese

Preheat oven to 400*F. Cook egg noodles in boiling, salted water, according to package instructions. Toss cooked noodles with drained tuna (flaked with a fork) and frozen peas. Add soup plus one half can of milk, topping off the rest with water (= 1 full can of liquid once the soup has been emptied). Top with shredded mozzarella and breadcrumbs. Bake 30 min. or until golden brown and bubbly.

Oooooh-mami!

I'll never forget this particular lesson in flavor-power my mom taught me when I was little: we were making a traditional Chinese dish of stir fried vegetables, meat, and mushrooms sitting over a bed of crispy, pan-fried noodles. The night before, my mom soaked a handful of wrinkled, dried mushrooms in hot water, and the next day pulled them out of the microwave all puffed up and reconstituted. Dried shiitakes have so much more flavor than fresh -- something about the drying concentrates all the flavor and seems to multiply. Helping to prepare the dish, I squeezed out the mushrooms so they could be sliced, and then tossed the bowl of soaking water.

"Wait!" my mom said as I dumped the water into the sink. She smiled and said, "I was going to use that." Evidently, the good flavor from the mushroom water serves as a flavor boost, though not specifically called for in the recipe. Lesson learned!

As many of you probably know, there are five recognized tastes: sweet, salty, sour, bitter, and umami -- umami is that savory, meaty flavor that's making your mouth water right now. Got it? Mushroom happens to be one of those foods that -- while not a meat itself -- can create an umami-richness of its own, which helps explain why the mushroom-water is so tasty.

The weather has been appropriately wintery the last few days, inspiring one of my favorite soups. Heidi Swanson's mixed mushroom soup is the most umami-goodness I've ever experienced, packed into one little bowl. The amazing thing is that there's no meat in it. I used to think that soy sauce and sesame oil could only lead to "Asian"-flavored food, but not in this case. The mushrooms, soy, and sesame created a satisfying, warm-tummy feeling for hours. I've made the recipe with chicken stock before, but the vegetable stock (with some of the dried mushroom-soaking liquid, of course) goes a long way. If you're looking for a hearty winter soup (err...and you like mushrooms), this one's for you. The chewy mushroom chunks and toothsome barley make it ultra-satisfying, and the little bright chive bite balances the richness.

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Mixed Mushroom Soup
(from Heidi Swenson)


1 lb assorted mushrooms, cut into bite-sized pieces (I used some reconstituted dried shiitakes as well as fresh creminis)

fine grain sea salt & freshly ground pepper

1 medium yellow onion, finely chopped

1 medium red onion, finely chopped

2-3 T soy sauce

1 1/2 c cooked pearled barley

5 c vegetable broth, plus 1 c soaking liquid from dried mushrooms

1/4 t toasted sesame oil

finely chopped chives or scallions

Heat two tablespoons of olive oil over medium-high heat in a large soup pot. Add mushrooms and season with salt and pepper. Cook until mushrooms are browned, stirring a few times (5-8 min). Remove mushrooms and set aside.

Using the same pot, heat the remaining tablespoon of oil, still over medium-high heat. Cook onions until soft (4-5 min.). Add two tablespoons of soy sauce, barley, and then the vegetable broth. Bring to a simmer, then reduce the heat a bit. Add the mushrooms and cook another 10 minutes. Stir in the toasted sesame oil and taste. Feel free to add more soy or sesame to your liking (the salt level will depend on how salty your broth was). Sprinkle with chives and serve.

'Tis the seasoning.

This fall has been so busy -- one moment it was apple-picking season, and then suddenly, the holidays were upon us! After a long day of grocery shopping (for baking ingredients) and last-minute Christmas shopping (those cards aren't going to send themselves), I cranked my "White Christmas" Pandora station and decided to make hot chocolate.

When I was little, my mom made hot chocolate every morning for breakfast. Mix up a little cocoa, a little sugar, and heat up a mug of milk -- not a bad way (if a bit decadent, in retrospect) to get your morning calcium. On Christmas morning, we drank hot chocolate in special mugs from Disney World, stirred with a mini candy cane and topped with puffy marshmallows.

Among the baking groceries brought home today was a little bottle of peppermint extract. Inspired by the season, I added a dash of mint to the usual recipe.

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Peppermint Hot Chocolate

Serves 2 (giant mugs)

3 c milk (I took some festive liberty and used part 1% milk, part whole milk, and a splash of heavy cream)
2-3 t peppermint extract (depending on how minty you like it)
2 T cocoa
1 T sugar
4 large marshmallows

Whisk milk together in a saucepan over medium heat. Keep the milk moving to prevent a skin from forming on top. You don't want to boil the milk -- just scald it until steam comes off the top. Whisking has the added benefit of making the milk frothy.

Meanwhile, in the bottom of two mugs, add a little less than a tablespoon of water. Heat for 30 seconds in the microwave -- it takes just a few seconds to heat such a small splash of water. Dissolve the cocoa and sugar (divided in half) in the bottom of each mug.

When the milk is scalded, pour into the mugs to mix with the cocoa mixture. Add a splash of peppermint extract and marshmallows, and dust with more cocoa for a festive look.

Just plum delicious.

Some of the best finds (in the kitchen and otherwise) are unintentional. One of my favorite childhood books was Mistakes that Worked, a book about everyday objects created by accident: Post-It Note adhesive was intended to be a super-strong glue that ended up being a perfectly weak one that was cleanly removable. At the unusually warm 1904 World's Fair, the ice cream cone was born because the frozen confectioner ran out of serving dishes, and his entrepreneurial waffle-maker neighbor rolled up a cone-shaped cup. Probably my favorite, chocolate chip cookies were the result of a baker not having enough chocolate for chocolate cookies and hoping the dispersed chunks would melt and permeate the cookie while baking (thank goodness they didn't).

My dessert discovery tonight was hardly genius, but it was certainly the product of using what I had on hand and rescuing about a dozen over-ripe plums. Feeling too lazy to make a pastry crust but still wanting a crunchy, buttery hat for my baked fruit, I opted for a crumble topping. I was able to use up a random handful of rolled oats and some nearly-stale sliced almonds that had both been haunting my pantry for a couple months. Mixing up my topping, I spied a bottle of Port I had left on my counter after making this chicken for dinner, so I added a dash to the plums for an even richer flavor.

The end result was deliciously tart and juicy. So juicy, in fact, that much of the crumble crust sank into a ruby-colored magma, which resulted in another delightful surprise -- the sunken crumble was pleasantly chewy, and the surface crumbs were still crunchy.

Just goes to show that you don't necessarily need to run to the grocery store to put together a bang-up dish. Don't be afraid of substitutions or not having a recipe...I'll often open up a recipe similar to what I'm trying to make, just so I have cook times and temperatures for reference, but for the most part, feel free to let your stomach be your guide.

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Plum Crumble
(I made two since I had about a cup and a half of plums, halved -- you can scale up to make a larger crumble, but I like the individual ones myself)

Amounts are all scant:
2 T unsalted butter, melted
1/4 c all-purpose flour
1/4 c rolled oats
2-3 T brown sugar
pinch of coarse salt
dash of cinnamon
1/2 c toasted sliced almonds

1 1/2 c mini plums, halved
zest from one lemon
2 T sugar (you may need more or less, depending on how sweet your fruit is)
1 T Port
1 t cornstarch

Preheat oven to 375*F. Butter two one-cup ramekins. Mix halved plums with lemon zest, sugar, and Port, and set aside. Meanwhile, mix flour, oats, brown sugar, almonds, salt, and cinnamon in a bowl. Mix with melted butter until clumps form, and refrigerate until ready to use.

After the fruit has had 5-10 minutes to marinate, add the cornstarch, then fill the buttered ramekins. Split crumble topping evenly between the two, and bake for 15 minutes or until bubbling juice looks thickened and topping is golden brown. Let cool for 10 minutes, then serve.

Bev's Place.

When I was little, I was the executive chef of a fabulous restaurant. I wrote the menus (my specials were always spaghetti or mac and cheese) and designed the decor (the finest plastic serveware I could get). While my mom would cook dinner, I would chop, saute, and braise in my Fisher Price kitchen. My restaurant was called "Bev's Place," and our clientele included A-list celebrities such as Winnie the Pooh, Piglet, and the rest of my army of stuffed animals...with an occasional guest appearance by a babysitter or an older sister's American Girl.It was my childhood dream to become a chef.

Two decades later, as you know, the chef thing didn't exactly happen, but I still love to cook for friends and family. Last weekend, I cooked my first "tasting menu," a thesis of sorts: it was the final result after years of being a sous chef to my mom, studying menus and flavors in great restaurants, and taking copious mental notes while watching the Food Network and Top Chef. Inspired by the special meals I've been fortunate to try as well as the favorite foods of a Special Someone, I presented my first degustation (and you'd better believe mac and cheese was on the menu).

I planned ahead quite a bit and managed to prepare many of the sauces and components (including a few ice creams) several days in advance. Still, the trouble with being the executive chef, sous chef, saucier, sommelier, waiter, and maitre d', is that these multiple roles make it nearly impossible to be your fellow diner's date...next time, perhaps I'll hire wait staff. The presentation was a little rough around the edges, but all things considered, I surprised myself and was thoroughly pleased with the final result (doneness, temperature, and flavors -- it was all there). I had so much fun creating the menu, and most importantly, Nick loved it all.

*

Amuse-bouche: Summer asparagus soup shooter with truffle-buttered brioche toasts and a fried quail egg with black truffle salt.
The inspiration: A bite-sized play on the classic asparagus-egg combo (asparagus being Nick's favorite vegetable).

First course: Shiitake dumplings in a ginger-bacon broth.
The inspiration: A play on a dumpling-dashi dish I once had, substituting smoky bacon (Nick's other true love) for smoky bonito.

Fish course: (apologies for the hasty photography -- you know how I feel about cold fish) a seed-and-nut-crusted halibut filet over a rosemary-lima bean puree drizzled with mushroom beurre-noisette, served with hand-rolled herb gnocchi.
The inspiration: A slight twist on a recipe from my new favorite cookbook, Jean-Georges' Simple to Spectacular, accompanied by Nick's favorite, gnocchi (here's a recipe for the base: I added fresh oregano and chives).

Palate cleanser: Meyer lemon sorbet.
The inspiration: A similar dish (I swapped Meyer lemons for the original oranges), also from Simple to Spectacular.

Meat course: Seared filet mignon with a balsamic reduction, white truffle mac and cheese.
The inspiration: A twist on a classic steakhouse meal (since Nick and I both have a soft spot for mac and cheese, the old Bev's Place stand-by was right at home).

Chocolate dessert: Homemade ice cream duo: peanut butter ice cream in an edible chocolate cup with honey roasted peanuts; salted caramel-bacon ice cream.
The inspiration: Nick's all-time favorite dessert combination (chocolate and peanut butter) and his latest flavor-fav, salted caramel (which obviously called for bacon as well).

Fruit dessert: Meringue-berry "pizza."

The inspiration: It's not an homage to Nick's favorites unless there's pizza involved; a white meringue disk with fresh raspberry coulis and blackberries.

Stay cool, my friends.

If you've been following the weather lately, you've heard the daily reports of record-breaking heat and storm-ravaged regions without power. Both headlines happen to be overlap in my Mid-Atlantic home.

In the three years I've lived in the greater DC area, I have witnessed Snowpocalypse, earthquakes, record-breaking heat, and storms of all types. Last year's hurriquake inspired my pantry survival tips post, and I had to check my stock of bottled water again during last week's events. Fortunately, I was one of the Northern Virginians spared by the inopportune power outages which coincided with the hottest week of the year. Besides the obvious reasons, I was lucky to keep power because it allowed me to make a few batches of ice cream inspired by the heat.

I love ice cream. Sorbets, custards, gelati, Dove bars, Klondike bars, mix-ins, smush-ins -- I love it all. I love ice cream so much that when I was nine years old on a trip to France, my sister tricked me into asking our dad for a biere froid (cold beer), thinking it was French for "ice cream." I had a Barbie ice cream parlor set (which, Mom, we should have kept, as it appears to be fetching quite the price on Amazon) complete with a tiny ice cream freezer we could never quite get to work. Before this weekend, I had never made ice cream.

Last week, I borrowed my friend's machine to test out a few recipes I had in mind. It's really quite simple; you deep-freeze a bowl with thick, gel-filled sides (it makes a great sloshing sound when unfrozen). The gel freezes cold enough to stay relatively frozen for a good half-hour or more as an electric paddle turns 'round and 'round your ice cream base. The ice cream chills from the thick, frozen walls of the bowl toward the center, slowly freezing the liquid into a luxurious, soft-serve consistency which you can then freeze harder if desired. It was fascinating to watch (I couldn't tear my eyes away for the first couple minutes), literally watching the ice cream solidify before you:

I made three kinds: Meyer lemon sorbet (unbelievably refreshing), peanut butter ice cream (unbelievably rich), and my crowning glory: salted caramel with bacon (unbelievably delicious). The last was the prettiest (and most complicated), with swirls of home-made caramel making beautiful patterns as I combined it with the creamy base:

But what did I do with three batches of ice cream, you ask? More on that later.

Southern comfort.

Hello, everyone -- another crazed week of travel (followed by a few days of getting back into the swing of things). Last week I went to Boston to celebrate Nick's birthday, and on my way home, I swung down to Savannah, GA for my dear middle-through-high-school friend's wedding. Kelli and I shared crushes, passed notes, participated in the same school activities, and dreamed of being wedding-planners-slash-interior-decorators together. When she brought Russell to DC visiting his family two years ago, you could see how happy they were together. (Congratulations, Kelli and Russell!)

Despite the four airports and nearly 2000 miles clocked, it was an amazing week of reunions: old friends, new friends, some folks I hadn't seen since high school graduation, and I even -- shockingly -- ran into a college friend during a layover in Charlotte. Amid the reminiscing, I was reminded of how seeing old friends gives you the same cozy, warm-tummy feeling as good comfort food.

Even though I live south of the Mason-Dixon Line, DC/Northern Virginia is still relatively far north. Having gone directly from Yankee country to the Deep South, it was truly like stepping into another country: people smiled at you, the airport restrooms had mints and other refreshments, and everywhere I turned, historic-looking buildings with gingerbread trim and white verandas looked as though they had come right off the set of Gone with the Wind.


Of course, the food at Russell and Kelli's wedding reception reflected the locale.
Instead of rolls in the bread basket, flaky biscuits with butter and orange marmalade:

Shrimp 'n' smoked cheddar grits with rosemary barbecue, smoked bacon, and arugula:

Unfortunately, immediately following the beautiful reception, I had to dash to the airport for my flight home. Pearls, high heels and all, I ended up stuck in Charlotte for a few hours due to mechanical failure. The silver lining was that I got to be reacquainted with another old friend: 

My sisters and I were born in Durham, NC. Every year (even after we moved to Illinois), my family would go to Atlantic Beach for summer vacation. Landmarks: a giant pier (most recently destroyed by Hurricane Irene), Jungle Land (a now-closed amusement park with putt-putt across the road from our usual hotel), and Sanitary (an unfortunately-named restaurant with famous hush puppies which we used to feed to the seagulls before the practice was outlawed). We knew we were almost there when we stopped at the Bojangles' for lunch. For those of you Northerners who don't know Bojangles' Chicken 'n Biscuits, you're missing out on some sweet goodness that is spicy fried chicken.

Naturally, as my parting reminder of Southern Hospitality, the gentleman at the fast food stand flashed me a big smile, read my name off the credit card and said, "Have a great flight, Beverly!" All-around good feelings for the weekend.

Strawberry fields forever.

May means warm weather, white shoes, linen, and rooftop happy hours. May means pools opening, sunny evening runs, and possibly my favorite, strawberry season at the farmer's market.

While my favorite preparation is washed and sun-warmed, I love strawberries in salads, tarts, my favorite cupcakes, and my most recent discovery, home-made strawberry lemonade.

When I was seven years old, my parents took us to Hong Kong, Singapore, and China for two weeks. Besides visiting family, I remember a few key things: gigantic exotic bugs, an epic pool at our Singapore hotel, drinking fresh coconut water out of coconuts, sightseeing, riding the longest escalator in the world, fresh shrimp (the only shrimp I'll ever really like), and above all, intense humidity and heat. One of the most refreshing memories from that trip was going to a sensationally air-conditioned restaurant in the afternoon and having ice-cold lemonade.

This was no ordinary lemonade: they brought out tall chilled glasses filled with ice, freshly squeezed lemon juice, a pitcher of cold water, and a little beaker of simple syrup. You stirred together the proportions you wanted and had perfect, thirst-quenching lemonade.

Last weekend hit the 90s in DC, appropriate poolside and lemonade weather. Remembering my vivid childhood experience, I mixed up some simple syrup and squeezed some lemons. My one addition -- in celebration of the season -- was pureed strawberry for a delightfully refreshing strawberry lemonade. I also used tonic water instead of regular water, because a little bubbly makes everything more festive.

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Sparkling Strawberry Lemonade
Makes 4 glasses

2 lemons, juiced
1 L cold club soda or tonic water (whatever you have on hand)
6-8 strawberries
1/4 c sugar
1/4 c water
ice cubes

NOTE: This recipe makes more simple syrup than necessary, and the proportions of everything can be adjusted to taste. I like mine slightly more tart, so feel free to make your own adjustments. Simple syrup is a must, as regular sugar does not dissolve easily in cold liquid. You can try using superfine sugar as some bartenders do, but proper bars (and coffee shops, in the case of iced coffee drinks) have simple syrup on hand.

Combine sugar and water in a small saucepan on the stove and heat until dissolved. Puree hulled strawberries in an immersion blender, or just smash really well with a fork.

Fill a chilled glass with ice cubes. Pour 1-2 T lemon juice in the bottom, along with 1-2 T simple syrup and 1 T strawberry puree. Fill with soda water and stir. Adjust ingredients to taste. Say, "Aaahhh."

* I tagged this post "cocktails," so you can spice this one up any way you'd like.

A tisket, a tasket, a random picnic basket.

Do you remember when we first met? I sure do.
It was sometime in early September....
I was crazy about you then and now

The craziest thing of all,

Over seven years have gone by

And you're still mine,

We're locked in time

Let's rewind.

-- Jack Johnson, "Do You Remember"

Most of you can figure logically that the best time to start a relationship is not the summer before college (particularly when you're about to head off to schools 1000 miles apart). But sometimes, perseverance, luck,  support from friends and family, and a solid foundation of random picnics can make it all work out in the end.

That summer, I worked for Cyd's, a lovely catering and carry-out store that has since grown into a fully fledged eat-in shop in my hometown. I worked from noon-6pm, so Nick would wake up and drive to my house by 8am. Our usual spot was Detweiller Park, home of expansive grounds, forest, and picnic shelters (also the host of the annual Illinois High School Association's state cross country meet -- any runners?). We would lay down a blanket and talk, read, listen to music, watch movies on a portable DVD player, nap, and fight off ants. On our way to the park most days we stopped at Kroger, where we would buy whatever we felt like eating for a "random picnic" -- a pint of raspberries, a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, grapes, ice cream sandwiches, string cheese -- often supplemented by goodies I had brought home from work.

The perks of working for a food shop is that by a certain day, you no longer sell certain items to customers but give them away for staff to enjoy. Our random picnics often featured Bonnie's fabulous frosted cookies (in seasonal cutout shapes), my favorite lemon scones, and countless boxes of pita chips. I would also buy and bring home food the night before, such as cold noodle salads or my favorite: Cyd's apricot chicken salad.

To this day, her chicken salad is my favorite. The creamy chicken is studded with crunchy celery and sweet morsels of dried apricot, best served on lettuce and a buttery croissant. I couldn't really remember the dressing recipe, which is all for the best since I wouldn't want to divulge her secrets. But one weekend recently I had a hankering for chicken salad and attempted to reproduce it. Though it was not a perfect replica, the first bite skyrocketed me back in time to that summer and some of my favorite memories to date.

As much as I love coordinated picnics, there will always be a special place in my heart for the spur-of-the-moment, grab-and-go kind.

(Happy anniversary, Nick <3)


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Apricot Chicken Salad
Adapted from Cyd's
Serves 4

2 roasted chicken breasts (bone-in, skin on for best flavor)
1/2 c small-chopped celery
1/2 c diced dried apricots

Dressing: this makes quite a bit, you can dress as much as you want and save the rest
2 T sour cream
2 T mayo
2 t lemon juice or champagne vinegar
2 t sugar
salt and pepper to taste

Note: The great thing about this salad is you can adjust everything very easily. You can add more apricots, use less celery, adjust the dressing proportions for a creamier or tangier flavor (just don't put in so much vinegar/lemon juice that it gets too runny).

Remove skin and bones from chicken; cut into bite-sized chunks. Mix well with celery and apricots, then add dressing, about a tablespoon at a time, until dressed as desired.

To Serve: Slice fresh croissants (through the equator) and lay down a large lettuce leaf. Scoop on chicken salad, and serve.

Let's make a pancake!

When I was little, I loved Eric Carle books -- the vibrant colors of his illustrations captivated me (as did his whimsical representation of a caterpillar eating its way through a book). One of my very favorites was Pancakes, Pancakes (Photo from here), a story about a boy named Jack who wanted a pancake for breakfast. His mother agrees to teach him how to make it, but first Jack has to thresh wheat and grind the flour, milk a cow, churn butter, collect eggs from the henhouse, and go down into the cool cellar to get strawberry jam. To this day, I still think of this book whenever I make pancakes.

Last weekend I was craving a big, bang-up breakfast. It was just me at home, but pancakes seemed worth the trouble. I had recently seen oatmeal pancakes on a brunch menu and decided to look for a recipe. I returned to the genius of Smitten Kitchen for this recipe, which I only tweaked by changing the oatmeal to steel-cut oatmeal for a lovely, toothsome bite. The cast iron pan and butter gave these pancakes wonderfully crisp edges, and the whole grain flour made them hearty and sweet. Perhaps I didn't have to thresh my own wheat, but I did grind the oat flour and warmed up a little peach butter from my cool fridge.

In the end, the breakfast (and massive quantities of leftover pancakes) was totally worth the effort, even just for one.

(Note: these are good as new reheated in the oven; preheat the oven to 350ºF and bake in a single layer for 10 minutes.)

~

Oatmeal Pancakes
(Adapted from Smitten Kitchen)

3/4 c oat flour (you can make this by pulsing rolled oats into a food processor/immersion blender until finely ground; 1 c oats yielded 3/4 c oat flour for both SK and me)

1 c all-purpose flour

2 T sugar

2 t baking powder

3/4 t Kosher or coarse salt

3 T unsalted butter, melted and cooled slightly (plus extra for the pan)

1 1/4 c whole milk

1 c cooked, steel-cut oatmeal

1 T unsulphured molasses or honey

2 large eggs

Whisk dry ingredients together in a large bowl. In a smaller bowl, whisk the butter, milk, cooked oatmeal, molasses or honey, and eggs together until thoroughly combined. Gently fold the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients.

Heat a 10" cast-iron pan or griddle over medium heat until water droplets "dance" but don't disappear instantly. Lower to medium-low. Rub the pan generously with butter. Working quickly, dollop 1/4-c mounds of batter onto the pan, 2 or 3 at a time. Once bubbles have begun to form on the top side of the pancake, flip the pancake and cook until the bottom is golden-brown, about 5 minutes total. Repeat until batter is gone.

Serve the pancakes hot, straight from the skillet or keep them warm in a low oven. These are so rich and delicious you could eat the plain, but jam or syrup are always welcome in my house.

New year's institutions.

Happy new year!!

Chinese, that is. Yesterday marked the beginning of the year of the dragon. Having been born in the United States, my grasp of Chinese history, culture, and chopsticks are all pretty bad. My Cantonese is also quite rusty (it started out looking promising as a child, quickly declined as soon as I started school, and is now getting better but still mostly limited to household phrases such as, "Go brush your teeth")...all not for lack of trying on my parents' part. Yes, most of my friends would classify me as a Twinkie.

The part of me that feels the most Chinese is, of course, in food and cooking. In his book, In Defense of Food, Michael Pollan states, "The last place to look for signs of assimilation in an immigrant's home is the pantry." While faithful blog followers will note that most of my culinary adventures are of a more Continental variety, my comfort food is undoubtedly more closely linked to my heritage: chewy noodles, hot dumplings, and cozy soups. On Chinese New Year, I go all-out, observing some fairly sacred traditions:

Food Traditions:

• Crisp, fried golden spring rolls symbolize gold bars of good fortune for the year
• Dumplings are yet another symbol of wealth and prosperity (traditionally shaped as coins)
• Long noodles represent longevity
• Fresh fruit symbolizes new beginnings
• Rice cakes (nian gao) are a homophone for "every year higher/a promotion" (and rice represents all kinds of good things)
• Vegetables (choy) are a homophone for "wealth" and "prosperity," also symbolizing harmony
• Fish (yu) is a homophone for "surplus"

Non-Food Traditions:

• Cleaning your WHOLE house (every corner) -- this must be done BEFORE the new year (because vacuuming on or after new year's day is just vacuuming up all the good luck, silly).
• Settling all your debts (it's not very auspicious to enter the new year owing someone money) 
• Wearing red
• Wearing new clothes
• (For married couples) Giving red envelopes of money to non-married family members

Over the years I have let go of some of the traditions (in my college dorm, for example, it wasn't practical to deep fry spring rolls), but some of them I try pretty hard to keep (that same year in college, I tracked down some instant ramen noodles and in the absence of fresh fish, Shark Bites and Goldfish crackers did just fine).

While in Boston last weekend, I celebrated Chinese New Year a day early with my sister, who so kindly opened up her kitchen for the cause. We cooked an enormous feast including the fairly mandatory spring rolls, nian gao, long noodles in soup with fresh vegetables, and fried pork dumplings. (On the actual day, I steamed myself some fish in traditional ginger, green onions, and soy sauce, and gorged myself on fresh fruit.)

Of course, as delicious and satisfying as the food itself is, there's something wonderful and comforting about fulfilling tradition.

~

Spring rolls (chicken, shiitake mushroom, carrot; deep fried golden and crispy):

Dumplings (pork, ginger, green onions, celery cabbage, garlic, and white pepper; pan fried and steamed, finished with sesame oil):

The process:

Seasons (gr)eatings.

When I was little, the approaching holidays always meant one afternoon of breaking out the cookie cutters, rolling pins, and sheet trays to make our stand-by Christmas treat: sugar cookies. My mom had this recipe from an old magazine that we used year after year, making chocolate and nut-covered logs, Christmas tree-shaped cutouts decorated with colorful ice cream toppings as ornaments, snowmen with chocolate-dipped top hats, angels, bells, stars, and teddy bears (that always took on a slightly frightening look because we used mini M&Ms for eyes that looked unnaturally large compared to the rest of the body -- I remember a particularly scary blue-eyed bear one year). My mom also made Swedish tea log, lemon squares, almond crescents, rum balls, and peppermint bark. We (or rather, she) would wrap them all up in colorful paper or cellophane bags and give them as gifts to friends, neighbors, bus drivers, homeroom teachers, music teachers, and coaches. (We would keep the other six dozen or so in tins that lasted until my mom would give up and freeze them sometime around February.) Over the years, our tastes matured away from our old sugar cookies, but I still find myself missing the making and decorating of cookies while drinking hot chocolate from my perch on a kitchen chair.

The first Christmas I lived alone, I was feeling nostalgic and decided to make treats of my own to send to friends and to bring to the office (I have a slightly less personal relationship with DC bus drivers than the one who picked me up and dropped me off every day for four years of middle school). You could say I've continued the tradition on my own over the years, taking an early-December trip to the Container Store (my Mecca) to pick out tins, boxes, cellophane bags, and ribbon to package my goodies, and then spend a weekend baking and assembling packages to deliver and mail.

This year's boxes contained some familiar items: my mom's lemon squares, a modified rum ball, chocolate bark, and a few other items including mini versions of my Halloween Snickers cookies (back by popular demand). From the reviews, it was another successful year (aided significantly by the arrival of my new mixer, without which the homemade marshmallow would not have been possible).

Homemade graham crackers (surprisingly easy to make and surprisingly faithful to the original taste) for "S'more" cookies:

...Sandwiched with homemade marshmallow and drizzled with chocolate: 

Rum ball remix, three ways: 1) creme de cacao, 2) Grand Marnier, or 3) brandy, dipped in chocolate: 

Dark chocolate bark with toasted almonds and fleur de sel, inspired by these Ghirardelli morsels: 

Every year I get a little anxious -- that the chocolate won't set, the booze will ooze, the cookies will all shatter by the time they arrive at their destinations (I learned the hard way the virtues of careful packaging). But the phone calls and e-mails I get upon receipt reassure me they've arrived in one piece, as well as remind me of the reason my mom did it/why I do it today: to spread holiday cheer and thank the people we're grateful to have in our lives.

A few of my favorite things.

Every once in a while, it's nice to go back to your roots. Over Thanksgiving (while in the town where I grew up), I spent a good amount of time doing exactly that. Who knew, many of my nostalgic stops would be related to food? I made Nick promise that when we went back, we would make time to revisit some of my favorite places.


Visiting Kroger: (For those of you without the distinct privilege of having grown up in the flat middle of America, Kroger is a grocery chain.) I don't know many people who would consider grocery shopping to be "visiting," but perhaps you aren't familiar with how much I love it. Before I was old enough to go to a full day of school, I would sit in the top rack of my mom's grocery cart and "help" her shop. I would help pick green beans one by one, painstakingly open the plastic produce bags (darn static!), hold coupons, and say hello to my Kroger lady, Cheryl, who would give me a smiley sticker to put on the milk jug cap. To me, grocery shopping is a long-standing ritual. Produce soothes me. We averaged one trip per day while in town.


Getting take-out from Avanti's: If you ever meet someone who pronounces it "gon-DO-la" (instead of GON-do-la), chances are, he grew up in my hometown. Avanti's sells hero sandwiches on long baguettes of a fabulous sweet and airy bread, and they're called gon-DO-las. Only after I left home did I realize the rest of the world calls those Venetian boats and ski lifts GON-do-las. Besides sandwiches, Avanti's serves pizzas and pastas, and my favorite dish is their tortellini.

Having a scone at Cyd's: (Cranberry lemon-chip scone, pictured above.) The summer after my senior year of college, the internship I applied for fell through, and I panicked. No summer job? What will I do?? Will my college still want me if I do nothing all summer??? The perfect solution: I cooked and baked for three months. Cyd's started as a small catering business with a storefront shop selling cookies, brownies, soups, deli salads, and cold entrées you could buy and take home (kind of like at Dean and Deluca). Now, the operation has added a huge café area for in-store dining, and their selection and stock have probably quadrupled.

Cyd's is run by a sweet lady who stands maybe five feet tall but is a shrewd businesswoman with the eyes of a hawk. Once while gathering ingredients, I had to go to the walk-in fridge to get butter but forgot eggs. When I went back for the eggs, she looked up from the two or three recipes she had going while simultaneously handling customers up front and said, "Shouldn't you have gotten those eggs when you got the butter?" A lean, mean, efficiency machine, Cyd taught me that 4 T = 1/4 c, 3 t = 1 T, and other cooking and measuring shortcuts...and she wasn't afraid to point out better, faster ways I could work. My mother taught me everything I know about loving food, but I learned a lot from Cyd too (including the best apricot chicken salad recipe ever). Every Saturday, we were allowed to bring home whatever baked goods were still in the store since they would be stale the next week. I always made sure to get a scone (because hers are delicious).

They say that food and culture are inseparable, full of rituals and memories and history. It makes sense, then, that some of the best memories and landmarks from childhood revolve around food, and many of the local chains and mom-and-pop shops are the ones that best embody the values and local color we grew up with. "Fly-over land," "the Middle," "that space between California and New York"...whatever you call the Midwest, it will always be home to me.