Happy Thanksgiving!

Hi all,

The clock just turned 2:00 a.m..

And I set here, curled up on the sofa, watching Bridget Jones's Diary with my daughter, waiting for a pie to come out of the oven.

I am only running about twelve hours behind.

John Lennon said, life is what happens while you're busy making other plans.

Well, for me, life is what happened while I was making Thanksgiving plans.

Nothing went right today.

I won't bore you with the sordid details. But all is well after one trip to the emergency care clinic, two hours spent in traffic, and four trips to the nearby Walmart Neighborhood Market, only two of those for food.

I had such high hopes ...

I planned my menu in advance. I read through all my recipes and drove to several different grocery stores earlier in the week, just to get all the right ingredients. I was making everything from scratch and we were going to have the hap, happiest Thanksgiving since Bing Crosby danced with ... well, you know the movie quote.

That was mistake number one, Over Ambition, one of the seven disastrous sins of the holidays, it'll bite you every time.

Mistake number two was refusing to accept that I was in the weeds and move on to plan B.

Mistake number three was the most abnormal looking pecan pie you have ever laid eyes on. More on that in a minute.

It all began with my son, who's a bit of a neurotic, like myself. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. He's been watching these food movies lately: Food, Inc., King Corn, Fast Food Nation ... and well, he refuses to eat anything with corn syrup, saturated fat, Yellow number 5, pesticides, hormones, or preservatives in it, which pretty much cancels out everything except Kashi cereal and dried beans, and that doesn't make a very good Thanksgiving dinner. So this year, I set out to make everything from scratch - homemade pickles, homemade chicken stock for the dressing and gravy, homemade rolls - and that most dreadful and difficult of culinary tasks, homemade pies.

Pies are hard.

Me and pie don't get along.

And it just so happens that my husbands favorite Thanksgiving dessert is Pecan Pie. And the poor guy went to bed tonight with me cursing in the kitchen, trying to bake a pie. It felt like that furnace cursing dad in A Christmas Story. Tonight there is a cloud of obscenity hovering over my house, all in the name of pie.

And well, to make a long story short, and to spare you more of the sordid details, after two different tries, and a huge mess in my tiny apartment kitchen, and dirtying a half dozen bowls and pans, and spending three hours on my feet, I admitted defeat. And with no makeup on, and flour all over my brown suede house shoes, dazed and delirious, just before midnight, I grabbed my daughter, slipped into a coat and snuck out of the house while my husband was sleeping and traipsed into a nearby Walmart Neighborhood Market and bought a bleeping Pecan Pie.

It was so surreal. Like a scene from a movie. My daughter, myself, and a band of Mexicans oblivious to the holiday, strolling the lucent isles of the deserted Walmart just before midnight on Thanksgiving Eve.

We had a blast. There was something bracing and invigorating about the cold night air that seemed to wash all my pie worries away. Our serendipitous jaunt made it a Thanksgiving we'll never forget.

It is getting late now.
I just took the pumpkin (pie) out of the oven and it looks pretty good.

Must get some rest for the big day.

I never thought I would be saying this, but I am thankful for Walmart that stays open all night.

Happy Thanksgiving All!


Update:

It is 5:30 p.m.
A messy kitchen.
Turkey half eaten.
Family stuffed.
I never discarded the Ugly Pecan Pie. I decided it was best to save it and let my husband be the judge - because he's the true connoisseur - traditional Walmart corn syrup laden pecan pie? Or my version of Mark Bittman's Pecan Pie with no corn syrup, from his cookbook How To Cook Everything?
And guess who won?
Mine was best.
Err, Bitty's was best.
The pie was not that ugly, just different, as it was more of a custard style pie. The pecans have to be suspended in something, so custard makes a good solution, and the custard is not so cloyingly sweet. Much better.
But to Bitty's defense, I did goof a bit -
After whipping the eggs and sugar until foamy in the blender, the recipe calls for heating the mixture on the stove, then adding the toasted pecans. But I have a cheap, electric stove, and wasn't paying attention, and the mixture foamed and boiled and overflowed like Mt. St. Helen's. And when the pie came out of the oven, all one saw was a foamy, brown crust with no pecans on top.
A real mess, it didn't look like a traditional pecan pie at all.
Now the Walmart pie will probably wind up in the trash.
And I am thankful for this cookbook. The pie wasn't pretty, but it sure did taste good.
Hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving!

Getting Small

Remember that Steve Martin comedy routine from the seventies, Let's Get Small?

Well, I thought of this today as I was cleaning out my closet, ridding myself of old clothes and getting organized.

To understand where I am going with this, you must first understand where I am coming from.

About a year ago my husband lost his job due to a corporate restructure.

And after we recovered from the initial shock, something strange came over us, we began to look at it as an opportunity.

Both our kids were in college and we were ready to downsize.

So in a matter of weeks we sold our home and half its furnishings and cleaned out the attic and had a giant garage sale.

We kept only those things of greatest necessity and extreme sentimental value. Everything else was out the door. Riding lawnmower - no longer needed. My daughter's Little Tikes dollhouse - sold. A couple of rusty bicycles - gone. Those afghans Grandma crocheted back in 1970 - I think those went to Goodwill.

Downsizing forces one to edit.

We no longer have space for that formal dining room table or a ten foot Christmas tree. Also, my closet space is one-third what it used to be.

But I don't mind.

What I lost in counter tops and closet space, I gained in free time.

Oh, I do get busy sometimes and let things pile up.

So once in a while I purge.

I go through closets and drawers and clean like mad. And when I experience a Feng Shui attack, watch out. My husband will never forgive me for tossing out that Sports Illustrated Kids magazine with the Tiger Woods card in it.

So this is how I found myself thinking of Steve Martin today and the way he said, Heeeyyy ... let's get small!

I have Gotten Small.

As a matter of fact, everything in my life is smaller than it used to be - from my home, to my wardrobe, and even my spice drawer - well, except maybe for the spice drawer.

I think getting small, or downsizing, is a good thing. It simplifies life.

As a society, I don't think we've stopped shopping and spending just because of the current economic crisis. I think we are craving a less hectic, less materialistic lifestyle. We want to enjoy the important things like food and family.

Wouldn't it be great if let's Get Small could become the new slogan?

Steve was on to something.

In honor of Steve and the seventies, and because I was craving it, I made Rotel Dip without the Velveeta. I am all for living a simpler life, but I'm not ready to go back to eating that stuff again.


Rotel Dip (Without the Velveeta)

1. Melt 2 Tablespoons butter in a heavy saucepan.

2. Add 1 diced onion, 1 chopped jalapeno pepper, and 1 chopped poblano pepper and cook until softened for about 5 minutes. Add a pinch of Ancho Chili Powder, a pinch of Cumin, and also a pinch of salt if you like.

3. Add 3 cloves chopped garlic and cook for another minute.

4. Next add 2 Tablespoons flour to pan and stir around and cook for a minute.

5. Then add 1 cup of milk, and cook until mixture thickens, about 4 minutes. Then plop in 1/2 cup chopped cilantro.

6. Now add whatever 16 ounces of shredded cheese you prefer. Monterey Jack is excellent! But a mixture of Monterey Jack and Cheddar is good too! Remember to add shredded cheese a little at a time - patience grasshopper - you want a smooth dip.

8. Lastly, add 1 can Rotel. Stir on low heat until mixture is melted, smooth and creamy.

Note: I used original Mild Rotel - so I added the jalapeno for a little extra heat - and this still wasn't too hot for me. So if you prefer a spicier dip, you could always use Hot Rotel tomatoes - or add more jalapenos instead.

Where Did The Time Go?

Halloween came and went and November is finally upon us and I just realized that yesterday was my second blogoversary.

Two years.

Where did the time go?

I began this blog on a whim, the day after my youngest child's birthday - who happened to be born on Halloween and had just began her first year at college.

Me and My Sister - Halloween - Late 1960's - I'm the Witch


It now seems rather appropriate to have begun a new venture on this day - the day after my favorite holiday - the day of which my whole kid year revolved.

I grew up in a small town in the 60's, in a small Wonder Years type of house, right next door to a funeral home on a tree-lined, brick street full of wonderful old, two-story homes, great for trick-or-treating. Fred Krueger ran the local newspaper. Really, his name was Fred Krueger. And every day I walked home from school, wading through ditches of fallen leaves, happy to find my mother ironing and watching Dark Shadows on TV. Then I would set down to watch The Adams Family and The Munsters. And in the evenings we watched the Twilight Zone and Bewitched. And on Saturday nights, a special, local show called Dimension 16 that played old, scary movies - most of them Japanese - where the lips never quite moved with the words. We had cats that prowled, and bats that flew around street lights eating bugs late at night, and even a rumored ghost or two at the local cemetery. And on warm, autumn nights we visited the Spook Light. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Spooklight

So I hope you can understand why I love Halloween so much.

It holds a special place in my autumnal heart. Not in a scary, devilish sort of way, but in a good, fun way.

So it seemed perfectly appropriate that I gave birth on Halloween to the sweetest baby girl that ever lived. We called her our baby ghoul and dressed her up in pumpkin and bunny costumes. And all was fun and games for many, many years until the scary part came.

When my daughter was in grade school, we saw on the local evening news where the doctor who had been on call the night she was born, and had delivered her, was accused of murder. A very violent murder. He is in prison now. And now my daughter, the sweetest angel in the world, gets a perverse thrill out of telling her friends how she was delivered on Halloween by a murderer.

True story.

Quick Autumn Supper

Isn't autumn the most glorious time of year?

The weather has been cool, the leaves are beginning to turn, and I have about a million recipes on standby, just waiting for the perfect autumn day.

I didn't mean to stay away for so long. As usual, things have been busy. And the nasty flu bug caught up with me. Oh, I'm not cool enough for that flu that has been in the news lately. The doctor said it was just your ordinary strain, and now I get the thrill of explaining this to everyone I know, as if it is some type of consolation prize. But let me tell you, it didn't feel ordinary at the time. I ate jello for two days, and I don't even like Jello, but for some reason it was the only thing that sounded good. Weird.





Here is something a lot better than Jello. Giada's Rigatoni with Creamy Mushroom Sauce. And so easy. Just the type of meal I was craving on a cool early autumn evening.

A guy at our local farmers market sells fresh mushrooms, and I always want to buy some of these beautiful specimens, but I'm afraid I'll screw 'em up. So, as I was sorting through my autumnal cooking list, I came across this recipe from an old Everyday Italian show and remembered the fresh mushrooms at the market. I like buying from this guy - as I understand - when the gas prices went sky high, he decided to start his own business, and runs a delivery truck on used cooking oil that he collects from local restaurants, and then delivers fresh, local produce to the restaurants and farmers markets around town. Pretty cool!

You can use pretty much any mushrooms you like - cremini, shitake, and button - or pasta for that matter - I didn't have rigatoni on hand, so I substituted small penne.

A glass of wine, a quick green salad, some crusty bread, and you're in business.


Rigatoni with Creamy Mushroom Sauce
Recipe courtesy Giada De Laurentiis, 2008


1 pound rigatoni pasta
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 shallots, minced
1 clove garlic, minced
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 pound assorted mushrooms, (such as cremini, shiitake and button), cleaned and sliced
1/2 cup white wine
1/2 cup chicken stock
1 cup (8 ounces) mascarpone cheese, at room temperature
1/2 cup grated Parmesan
1/4 cup chopped fresh chives
Directions
Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil over high heat. Add the pasta and cook until tender but still firm to the bite, stirring occasionally, about 8 to 10 minutes.

While the pasta is cooking:
Heat the oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the shallots and garlic to the pan. Season with salt and pepper. Cook until soft, about 2 minutes. Add the mushrooms to the pan and season with salt and pepper. Cook until mushrooms are tender, stirring occasionally, about 5 to 7 minutes. Turn the heat to high. Add the wine and cook for 3 minutes until all the liquid evaporates. Add the stock and simmer until liquid is slightly reduced. Remove the pan from the heat. Add the mascarpone cheese. Stir until creamy. Drain the pasta, reserving about 1 cup of the pasta water, and transfer to a serving bowl. Add the mushroom mixture and the Parmesan. Season with salt and pepper, to taste. Toss well to coat pasta, adding the reserved pasta water, if needed, to loosen the pasta. Garnish with the chopped chives. Serve immediately.

Note: The recipe originally called for vegetable stock, which I was out of, so substituted chicken stock instead. You could use a little more leftover cooking water from the pasta and this would work just fine.

Pizza Van Gogh

Anyone still there?

I didn't mean to stay away for so long.

I am still cooking a lot. I wanted to take a picture of a meal I prepared the other night, but as soon as the dish came out of the oven, my bunch dug in like ravenous hounds.

I said Wait! I need a picture! And my son eagerly informed me that food was for eating and not photographing. And then it all disappeared before my eyes.

The days come and go and supper is always a highlight. I've been preparing more vegetarian meals and discovered that I really do enjoy coming up with new ideas and don't miss the meat one bit.

I guess it goes without saying that I am looking forward to fall. Today is the first day! Hurray! I've flagged recipes for autumn minestrone and pumpkin soup.

The kids and I visited the art museum the other day. There were some famous paintings on loan from a famous European collection and my two oddball kids were dying to see them. The stuffy museum people wouldn't allow us to take pictures of their priceless Monet's and Renoir's. So I took pics of the giant glass art sculpture that stands three stories high, just inside the entrance to the museum. It was quite impressive.



I wasn't excited about visiting the museum at first, but it turned out to be a nice day. We saw a Van Gogh. You know, the guy who chopped off his own ear, then practically died of hunger as a starving artist, and then decided to end it all by walking into a field and shooting himself in the chest and suffering miserably before dying a few days later. Talk about a glutton for punishment(!). Anyway, a bunch of dumb Okies stared mindlessly at his dabbling's for about an hour the other day - so the guy can rest in peace knowing he wasn't a complete failure.

We've come to enjoy pizza night around our house. I make my own dough and everyone chooses their favorite toppings. My son likes to brush his crust with a garlic infused olive oil, then tops it with crumbled feta, fresh spinach, and mushrooms. This is excellent(!). My daughter enjoys a fresh Pizza Margherita. The sauce recipe from Cook's Illustrated is the best we've found. And there's my hubby, the meat guy, I have to put some sweet Italian sausage and mushrooms on his pizza. He seems content.

Me? I'm like Van Gogh, artistically applying all types of colorful toppings - and up close, it looks like a big oh mess - but the end result is quite good.

I think I'll keep my ear, though, it keeps my glasses on so I can read the recipes.

The Little Things

Is there anything more wonderful than seeing a sign like this?



My daughter Kassie passed this sign on her walk to school. The giant pear tree sets in front of a beautiful, old, white Victorian home, not far from her college. And I can't think of a kinder, more pleasant act of generosity than allowing the kids to pick a pear on their way to school.



Last spring we left our barren, suburban landscape and moved to a town - a real town - with parks and sidewalks and old Victorian homes with bushes and flowers, and best of all, pear trees. I feel like I've been transported from a sterile spaceship in outer space to mother-earth in all her glory. The grass is greener, the birds are chirping, and the sky seems bluer. It's the little things, like picking a pear on a warm, late summer afternoon that make me happy.

There was a part of me, however, that felt a bit timid about picking fruit from a tree that didn't belong to me. But the tree was just standing there in all its glory, resplendent with fruit, and the sign was there, and I couldn't help myself - it would have been a serious test of will to not pick the fruit. Still yet, when gently tugging on a gnarly branch, the strangest feeling came over me, like I was Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, and the tree was about to reach down and slap me on the wrist and chastise me for stealing its fruit. It was such great fun.



The nice lady who I assume owns the house, came out onto her porch while we were there and said it would be okay to come back later with a ladder and pick more fruit, as all the lower branches had already been picked clean. And the tree was loaded. It would be a shame for the pears to waste.

So you know where I am headed tomorrow. Does anyone have a good recipe for fresh pears?



Perhaps I should take the nice lady a Phyllo Pear Tart.

Julie and Julia

So much has already been written about this movie, that I hesitate to add another word. I want to spout the usual things - It was great(!), Can't stop thinking about it(!), Meryl was fantastic(!) - but it all sounds so cliche. Similar to uttering the word delicious when you have a mouthful of yummy food, such trite explanations often fall short.

My daughter the French major was enamored with the scenes of Julia in France. I, of course, could relate to the cooking, the cubicle job, and the blog. And we both love Julia, Meryl, and Nora Ephron. We drank too much Coke Zero, nibbled on organic popcorn that I'd smuggled in my purse, and smiled and laughed so much that our faces and our bladders hurt.

Meryl is the star here, there is no doubt about that, but Stanley Tucci and Amy Adams both hold their own and are equally entertaining to watch. Jane Lynch, who plays Julia's sister, is a hoot.

It was a pleasant surprise to see marriage portrayed in such a positive way and refreshing to see two leading men as kind, supportive husbands.

The script touches on more serious subjects, such as politics, republicans, and McCarthyism - which was quite interesting to see in an Oklahoma theater - I found myself the only one laughing at one point. And this leads me to something I am curious about: in one particular scene of the movie, I saw what appeared to be a framed, embroidered map of Oklahoma - and a few other states including Louisiana - hanging over Julie and Eric's bed. I have seen enough DVD extras to know that little is left to chance - a lot of thought goes into those minute details we see on the silver screen - so I am curious and dying to know, what's up with that Oklahoma embroidery thing?

After the movie I came home to our tiny, triplex kitchen with the makeshift stainless steel shelving in the corner - filled to the brim with cookbooks, cutting boards, pot and pans - and immediately felt the urge to cook, but I was tired, and went to bed, and took comfort in knowing that these things would be there for me in the morning. And I guess that is what I liked best about this movie, the fact that it was so comforting. Just like Julia comforted us with her lolling voice in the past, Nora Ephron comforts us with her movies today. And I take solace in that.