Latch-Key Mac and Cheese

Posted on March 25, 2015 by | Leave a comment

IMG_0036 Packaged macaroni and cheese is the first meal she was allowed to cook. It was an after-school snack when she got home before her parents did. She wonders sometimes that her parents let her come home to an empty house, but it was a simpler time back then, and she was a very smart kid. Boil and drain the noodles, add a lump of butter and some milk, stir in the packet of bright-orange powder, stir and enjoy. A pot of boiling water might be risky, but at least there are no sharp knives involved, and there’s no possibility of undercooking meat. As after-school snacks go, it’s probably better than a bowl of ice cream or an entire sleeve of Girl Scout cookies. She knows it’s not gourmet cuisine, but it is comforting and friendly and nothing in the world is going to change her mind on that subject. Well, maybe a recall of packaged macaroni-and-cheese. Even without a recall because they accidentally added metal shavings, there’s a lot of stuff in that orange powder that you wouldn’t put in if you were making it from scratch.  All you need, really, is macaroni. And cheese. We joke about the “extras” I try to put in M&C, like a pile of sautéed kale or a handful of pan-roasted tomatoes, but even I recognize that they are accompaniments rather than ingredients. We both laughed out loud when I saw this recipe: Fundamentalist Macaroni and Cheese The humor of The Awl’s essay, from which this is adapted, is lost in this simplification. Read the original for fun. Boil 1/2 pound of elbow macaroni until it is not quite al dente. Grate a pound of cheddar cheese–half mild, half sharp. Drain the macaroni. Wipe out the pot and rub with butter. Add the macaroni back into the pot, then stir in the cheese a handful at a time. Add about 1/2 cup milk. Bake at 350F until top is slightly brown and crunchy, probably about 40 minutes. That’s it. I made a batch. And it was really quite good. Not at all elaborate, not complicated, but very good. The cheese was neither too mild nor too sharp; the noodles were nicely sturdy. I thought it could use some kale, but that’s another story. She got home and was thrilled to see what I’d done, but since I’d also made tomato soup–it was a batch-cooking Sunday night–she opted for a grilled cheese sandwich with the soup for her supper. Turns out it doesn’t reheat all that well, though. The cheese separates a little in the microwave. Maybe it would be better if it were reheated in a pan on the stovetop, or maybe at a lower power level. Or maybe this is a recipe we use when we don’t want leftovers. My grandmother lived with my parents and me, so I hardly ever came home to an empty house.  I don’t remember the first meal I was allowed to cook.  It was probably something like Spaghetti-o’s, which are arguably no healthier than the Blue Box. Maybe I just had a cookie. Or three.

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When Life Gives You Lemons, Make Pasta

Posted on March 23, 2015 by | 2 comments

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It had been a whirlwind week, followed by a busy weekend leading into another week that’ll be more of the same. Major events are kicking up in her organization, and rehearsals and performances fill my evenings. Dinners together will be the exception rather than the rule. It’s easy to get focused on what has to be done at work and then discover a load of clothes put in the washer on Tuesday hasn’t been moved to the dryer until Friday. Or that we’ve driven past the market while holding the shopping list.

We remembered lunch, though. She had it nearly ready by the time I got home. All that was left was to grate the cheese I’d just brought–after I remembered where I was going and circled back for it. Pasta was bubbling. Cream simmered in a saucepan, flecked with perky strands of lemon zest and dark green rosemary. I squeezed the lemons for her before she realized that the recipe called for zest but not juice. That’s okay; I’ll make lemon soda sometime soon. She stirred in the cheese, steamed some asparagus to add, and brought everything together. The sauce was beautifully balanced between tart citrus, rich cream, and salty-sharp parmesan. A sprinkle of cayenne and a few grinds of black pepper contributed a little warmth, and the asparagus brought its unique earthiness. Nothing overwhelmed another–which is good, since we were both a little overwhelmed by life.

The recipe she was following didn’t include the asparagus, but I’m glad we did. Vegetables are always welcome. I’m sure we’ll try this again someday, perhaps with a little less cream and many more vegetables, as a pasta primavera. It’s time for that sort of thing, even if the thermometer doesn’t quite agree and there’s still snow on the ground. It might even be pleasant enough to linger over lunch on the deck. Not today, though, but that’s just as well; we had only enough time to clean up after lunch before going our separate ways for evening events.

The time it takes to make a simple meal is always well-spent, and most certainly healthier than speaking into an intercom and having someone hand a sack of burgers to us through a window. Even when the meal is a bowl of pasta and cheese.

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Late Night Granola

Posted on March 20, 2015 by | Leave a comment

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She’s working at an event tonight where young professionals will sleep outdoors in New York City to raise awareness of the plight of homeless children. (They’re also raising funds to support the work of the terrific organization that gives those children a safe home.)

And, of course, it’s going to snow.

I worry about the event staff and supporters who are going to sleep outdoors in the snow, but I worry more about the children who didn’t have a safe place to sleep last night. And might not tomorrow night, either.

I sent her off with a big cup of tea and a bagel this morning. She’ll have a late lunch with her colleagues and the participants as part of the event. For dinner, or breakfast, or whatever she calls it when she finally gets to sit down again, there are hard-boiled eggs, a bowl of fruit–and, at her request, a container of granola.

Country House Granola

Preheat oven to 250F.
Combine in a big bowl all of the following:
4 cups rolled oats (not quick-cooking, and certainly not instant)
1/2 cup each:
cashews, pecans, walnuts, shelled sunflower seeds, slivered almonds, flaked coconut
1/4 cup each:
vegetable oil, maple syrup, brown sugar
2 tsp vanilla extract
3 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon

Spread the mixture onto a sheet pan and bake for 75 minutes, stirring every 15 minutes. Allow to cool completely before storing in an airtight container.

Note—omit any nuts, or substitute others, based on preference or dietary restrictions. I’ll mix it up sometimes and use peanuts instead of cashews.

Another Note on Nuts—whole pecans and walnuts are extravagant and pretty, but completely unnecessary. Pecan and walnut halves or pieces taste just as good and are more economical.

Nut-note III: Shells Revenge—all of the nuts should be unsalted, and raw if possible; otherwise, reduce the salt slightly and add the nuts partway through the baking time.

I wish there were more I could do. I wish I could make breakfast (or dinner) for everyone. I wish there was no reason to ask for support of an organization to help homeless children. Mostly, I wish that everyone could have a warm, dry and safe place to sleep tonight.

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It Doesn’t Take Much

Posted on March 19, 2015 by | Leave a comment

A friend of mine used to work in the food business–by which I mean he was an owner of some restaurants in Philadelphia, and had helped Julia Child publish one of her cookbooks. On matters of food I trust his views. When we were working on a dinner theatre project once, and I was trying to wrap my head around the per-customer price of napkins, and getting schooled in why green beans made more economic sense than tossed salad, he said something I’d never thought of: “If dessert is satisfying, they’ll forgive anything.”

Obviously we were hoping never to serve a bad meal, but I took that advice to heart. Something luscious can save the day. And if the day doesn’t need saving–if things are already going well–it’s the metaphorical cherry on top of the seven-layer cake.

But it doesn’t take seven layers, or a gigantic bowl of ice cream, to make a good last impression. When the ingredients are good, a spoon will do.

An inch-square piece of brownie, cut into two triangles. A strawberry, hulled and thinly sliced. Two dabs of vanilla ice cream. A few drops of mulled-wine syrup drizzled overtop. One luscious mouthful. One bit of sweetness to end the meal.

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We never opened the dinner theatre, as it turned out. That town was far more interested in another bar and another supermarket than in what we had to offer. Just as well. I’d rather make One-Spoon Sundaes for a small gathering than a big crowd.

Mulled-Wine Syrup

This recipe can be scaled up, but it’s perfect for using some leftover wine. 

1-1/2 cups red wine
1 tbsp mulling spice (packaged, or a combination of dried spices: cinnamon stick,  clove, orange peel, allspice)
1 tsp sugar (or to taste)

Put the wine in a saucepan over low heat. Put the spices in a tea strainer (metal or ceramic, not plastic) or tied up in a small piece of cheesecloth or tea bag and add to the saucepan.
When the wine is warm, add the sugar and stir to dissolve.
Continue to simmer 20-30 minutes or until the wine is reduced to 1/3 or less.

Use the syrup to top ice cream or cake, or add a small drizzle to a glass of seltzer, ginger ale, or sparkling wine.

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Snap, Crackle, Mom

Posted on March 18, 2015 by | Leave a comment

Driving home from the first rehearsal for a new show, I wanted a snack.  I’d had a light supper on the way there, but it had been a long and tiring night. Something crunchy was in order, and maybe salty. Or possibly sweet.

I avoided several McDonald’s drive-throughs and a Wendy’s or two, though the idea of fries was sorely tempting. I thought about the peanut-butter filled pretzels and Cool Ranch Doritos in our pantry, but neither of those seemed right either. If I didn’t figure it out by the time I got home, I could easily enough just go to bed. I wasn’t starving; I was probably more tired than hungry.

Coming into the house from the garage, I noticed a canister of Rice Krispies we’d bought to make Kind-of Bars. (I should do that again sometime.) The canister was too tall for the kitchen cupboard, so we stored the rest of the cereal on the garage shelves along with the extra waxed paper, plastic bags, and Vitamin Water.

Mom worked late a few nights a week when she managed the credit department for a local department store. Dad might have taken her out for a bite when he picked her up after work, but more often I remember her having cereal at the kitchen table. Sometimes I sat with her and told her about school; probably, I had a cup of cocoa or a cookie, too. I never understood the coffee Mom drank with her bedtime snack, but I absolutely got the appeal of the cereal. Crunchy, a little sweet, a little salty, relatively healthful, and quick to prepare.

It was just what I wanted–and I had a bowlful of memory, too.

Okay, so I sliced a little fruit and sprinkled some homemade granola on top. It's still healthier than fries or chips.

Okay, so I sliced a little fruit and sprinkled some homemade granola on top.
It’s still healthier than fries or chips.

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Duck Duck Improvise

Posted on March 17, 2015 by | Leave a comment

We didn’t have long for dinner between train arrival and when we needed to leave to get to the theatre.  Grabbing sandwiches at a drive-through would have been perfectly justified, but I just didn’t want to do it.  There will be enough days coming when that really has to happen.  I stopped at the market to get half a pound of shrimp, which would take no time at all to steam (and in that no-time-at-all, I could mix ketchup, horseradish, and lemon juice to make better cocktail sauce than we’d find on any shelf). As for what else to serve, I figured I’d find something between the entrance and the fish counter.

The frozen section has a new line of international foods. A box of spring rolls presented itself.  These seemed worth a try. I’d much rather have made spring rolls, but this was a corner I was willing to cut. Cabbage, carrot, bean sprout–the vegetable course was covered.

I didn’t think about the appropriate condiments for the rolls, though. They weren’t packaged with duck sauce and hot mustard–which is just as well, considering the packaged stuff probably would have been full of ethylene this and glycol that.  She looked up a duck sauce recipe for me.

Apricot preserves, orange marmalade, fresh ginger…it was a festival of things I’d like to say were in our fridge, but they weren’t.

But we weren’t bereft.

A-Few-Days-Before-Spring Roll Sauce
2 tbsp ginger marmalade, warmed in a microwave for 30 seconds or so.
Stir in
2 tsp soy sauce
2 tsp orange juice, fresh-squeezed if you have it.
1 tsp Dijon mustard. This terrific mustard is the best I know, but whatever you have.
Sauce will thicken a little as it cools.

The result was not duck sauce, but something that went perfectly well with the spring rolls. It was a little like mixing duck sauce and hot mustard, which is what I would have done anyway. The shrimp probably would have been good dipped in the faux-duck, too.

We ate well, stowed the leftovers, started the dishwasher, and were on our way to a lovely production of a sweet, funny, romantic musical at a theatre built from converted barn. We love New York theatre, but there is something to be said for being able to have dinner at home and still make curtain. Especially when dinner was this good.

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Shoots and Leaves (and Two Forks)

Posted on March 16, 2015 by | Leave a comment

“Honestly, I won’t eat that at work.” I figured as much, but thought a little salad might go nicely with two slices of leftover pizza. “Let’s have it with dinner,” she said, handing me back the package as she packed the rest of her lunch. (I don’t so much pack her lunch as leave it on the kitchen counter; she puts it in whatever bag she’s carrying. Sometimes, as with the salad, she’ll pass on an item–“Yesterday’s yogurt is still in the office fridge,” for instance.)

Salads are tricky for lunch-at-your-desk, unless they’re the main course. There’s too much potential for dressing-spillage. Who wants to submit a report with vinaigrette on it–or, worse, requisition a new computer keyboard because Alt and Enter are gummed up with Thousand Island?

Also, she seldom eats salad alone. She “steals” it off a plate we share. It’s my salad; she’s just getting away with something. I’m not sure I understand, but it’s been this way for far too long for me to question it now. It makes things convenient when we’re out to eat, though: she’ll have the fries, I’ll have the salad, and we’ll split them both. (It’s not quite as stereotypically romantic as sharing a milkshake, but probably healthier.)

She brought home a bagged salad a week or so ago, and we agreed it was the best such we’d ever had: kale, cabbage, and carrot, topped with sunflower seeds, bacon bits, and a slightly-creamy citrus vinaigrette. The salad was tremendously crunchy and savory. The bitter greens were nicely balanced by the slightly-sweet dressing. My only complaint–and it wasn’t really one–was that the greens were shredded so finely the salad was more like a slaw. There’s nothing wrong with slaw, but it wasn’t what I was expecting. And maybe shredding the greens diminished their bitterness.

We met at a diner before going to the theatre last Wednesday. Diners with novel-sized menus can be intimidating, but I narrowed it down: since I’d had a sandwich for lunch, I restricted myself to the salad page. I wasn’t looking for meat or cheese. I didn’t read too closely, but the one with cranberries looked appealing.

Our meals came. We laughed. The cranberries were, of course, topping a bowl of kale, cabbage, and carrot. No sunflower seeds, though, and no bacon. Too many dried cranberries, maybe, and the oil-and-white-vinegar dressing was not so interesting as the bagged salad’s. The vegetables were in big pieces, almost the size you’d want for a stir-fry.

I wondered what it would be like to stir-fry that combination of vegetables and top them with fresh bacon, or maybe some sliced sausage. It would really be a main dish. She pointed out that greens become more bitter when heated. She’s right, which doesn’t bother me a bit, since I like bitter greens (and I like it when she is right). We’d want sweetness to balance, like the dressing that came in the bag–or, better yet, one just like it that is made only from ingredients we can pronounce.

I’ll try it some night, and serve it in a big bowl. With two forks.

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Chore, Sweetened

Posted on March 14, 2015 by | Leave a comment

We rented a storage unit when we combined households. It’s been enormously useful during renovations. We haven’t been there recently, though. She had suggested that we spend a couple of hours there this morning–taking stock, photographing items that we want to sell, and removing anything we know now that we don’t want to keep. Saturday morning arrived, rainy and cold. I really just wanted to stay in bed, but that wasn’t going to get the job done.

I went to the kitchen to brew coffee and tea while she got dressed. Waiting for the kettle to boil, I looked around for something to snack on–I figured we’d have brunch later. I sliced a banana and peeled a clementine. The latter did not become part of our shared snack, though; I gobbled it down in no time flat. Seeing a partial loaf of banana bread, I had an idea and changed course. Maybe I would cook a little after all.

Banana Bread Foster

Put a small non-stick skillet over medium heat.
Toast 4 slices banana bread.
Melt 4 tbsp butter.
Add one banana, sliced into thick rounds.
Sprinkle with 2 tbsp brown sugar and 1/4 tsp vanilla extract.
Toss occasionally until the sugar is melted and syrupy and the bananas are caramelized and slightly softened.
Mix together 1/2 cup ricotta cheese and 1 tsp sugar.
Spread sweetened cheese over the toasted banana bread.
Spoon bananas over the cheese.
Top, if you have some, with a little whipped cream.

There are still boxes and boxes of books and CDs and files and some small pieces of furniture that we love but aren’t in current use, but the unit is well-organized now, and a trunk-load of items have been sent away. We’ll face the rest another day, but we did good work. It wasn’t such a daunting task as we’d feared–or perhaps we were just well-fortified.

The sliced apples are on the plate to suggest that this was a healthy, nutritious breakfast. They are fooling no one. It was, however, delicious.

The sliced apples are on the plate to suggest that this was a healthy, nutritious breakfast.
They are fooling no one.
It was, however, delicious.

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180

Posted on March 13, 2015 by | Leave a comment

We’re a little more than halfway through the year proposed in our About statement. It’s clear that we haven’t posted about dinner every day. There’ve been some days skipped because we did something we’ve done before the same way, or because nothing needs to be said about un-repurposed leftovers, or we grabbed some relatively-fast-but-still-decent food, or because dinner never happened.

We’re still here, many plates of eggs and grits later. We’ve eaten lots of macaroni and cheese, too; bunches of kale, and as many green beans as we could find. Rice. Burgers. Pot roast. Pizza. Festive dinners, fancy dinners, sandwiches on the run. Some were more spectacular than others.  Some were well planned; others were figured out as we went along. We read recipes and we improvised. We read articles about relationships and we felt our own way. We’ve celebrated a wedding and a funeral in our extended family, and our little family has grown closer. Whatever’s arisen, we’ve brushed the plaster dust off the counter and gone on.

We didn’t notice that six months had passed. It happened quietly, while we were doing other things. (That’s a lot like how we got together in the first place, but that story for another time.)

We’re too grown-up to celebrate half-birthdays, but this blog isn’t.  So, belatedly, here’s a little recap of where we’ve been.

One Perfect Burger – Moving Day. The first dinner.
Road Trip #1 – Celebrating the marriage of two friends, and visiting another.
Thinking Outside the Boxes – Not your basic packaged macaroni and cheese.
This Dinner Brought to You By iMessage – Perfect bagels.
When in Rome, Do as the Australians Do – A day of home renovation, a night of falling asleep on the couch.
Monkeying Around – Her first baking adventure.
Dinner and/or a Movie – Eggplant Parm and Pickles, but not together.
Very French, or Nearly So – Breakfast on the deck.
It’s Not the Heat, it’s the Humidity – Grilling in the rain.
Running out for Pizza – A satisfying run, a less-so customer service experience.
Crunch Time – Well-fried chicken
Just a Little Something – Dessert. For dinner. That happens sometimes.
One More Time – “Repurposing” is a nice way of saying “leftovers.”
DIY, Kind-of – Kind Bars and Salsa (again, not meant to be served together).
Manhattan Pancakes – A rough day leads to a very special Breakfast for Dinner.
Timing is Everything – It doesn’t take Rachael Ray to assemble a satisfying meal  in 30 minutes or less.
Very Meta – Our first theatre night of the “school year.”
Acquired Tastes – Who knew that could be good?
When Delays, Doubles, and Failed Plans are Just Right – Beef stew and houseguests
The Well-Traveled Salsa – Giving up on the CSA
Tag Team – We work well together.
To Be or Not to Bibimbap – A quick post-choir supper.
Spicy – Some bachelor dinners have hot strippers; this one had rites-of-passage Indian food.
What Price Convenience – A roasted chicken for Sunday dinner
Quiet Dinner for One – Simple as a bowl of pasta.
You Can Bet on It – Her favorite Thai dish, sort of.
A Side of Snobbishness – A trip to the theatre, and a detour for fabulous fries.
Attention Must Be Paid – Getting Breakfast Right
Our Weekend Condition – Lots of chores, and a fair number of brownies.
The Night Shift – What you can cook while you sleep.
Texture, Substance, and Taste – Japanese food isn’t for everyone.
The Best Medicine and the Bedtime Snack – Grumpiness can be derailed by laughter. Ice cream helps, too.
A Sense of Occasion – Because sometimes you have to get dressed up and go out. And pick up burgers.
Thermal Control – Sometimes when roasting a chicken, the only thing that overheats is the cook.
Confidence Gravy – Getting your mojo back.
A Tale of Three Soups – Spoiler: they’re all tomato.
Road Trip #2 – Sandwiches, running, and rain.
Columbus Day – A brave new world, and a decadent breakfast
Domestic Pas de Deux – Batch cooking in preparation for a week in a construction site–and a little dancing.
Breakfast Bolognese – It’s amazing what you can do with the rest of the water in the kettle.
I’m Going to Go Back There Someday – A story of favorite restaurants.
Clearing the Air – The only thing our kitchen needs is better ventilation.
Precisely My Cup of Tea (and Her Cup of Coffee) – Relationships and Beverages
Yes, And – Improvisation leads to semi-Chinese food–and butter.
The Second- or Third-Best-Laid Plans – A date night can lead you anywhere.
Babycakes – Baking for the new mom and dad.
The Best Sauce – Fish and rice and vegetables: simple and perfect.
Assembly Required – Building a desk, making a pot roast.
Divide and Encourage – Dinner and theatre, but not together.
A Night at the Not-Quite Disco – Her second-favorite restaurant serves the classiest bar food we know.
Accidental Soup – Why I needed new glasses.
A Dash of iPhone – A technological crisis averted, and some Mexican take-out.
Including Moderation – Because sometimes grown-ups don’t eat a balanced meal.
The Problem with Thanksgiving – Take the pressure off the stuffing.
OK, Eat – A pair of stressballs only explode in laughter.
Date Night Fish Tacos – Classy comfort food.
What Would Laura Do? – Preparation in the face of a Big Winter Storm.
Linen-White Christmas – Taking the pressure off another holiday.
Untraditional – Taking the pressure off three holidays in a row really would be too much to ask.
My Semi-Debauched Life – Not much of a drinker, huh?
Shelving It – Preparing for a smaller kitchen by decluttering this one.
In Transit – Dinners from, not at, the Country House.
Not Until Today – Pancakes, elevated.
Just a Sip – Not much of a drinker? How about a Very Small Cocktail or two.
Preparations – Another winter storm.
Breakfast During Hockey Season – Biscuits. Burgers. And talk about violence.
Scary Good – We haven’t watched much TV in these six months, have we?
By the Numbers – Baking really is better when you measure precisely.
Picture This – Yes, you eat with the eyes first–but not solely.
The Real Thing – Authenticity, Chinese food, and family.
Blended – The only appliance we need is a better vent-fan.  But this one makes great milkshakes.
Fancy – Valentine’s Day. No pressure.
In the Not-Completely Bleak Midwinter – Saturday breakfast.
It’s Mostly Greek to Me – Pizza before surgery.
Bonus – What I find on a teacup.
Fruit Filling – A reasonably healthy snack idea.
How Firm a Foundation – Batch cooking for a wildly-busy week.
A Sure Thing – Some days, it’s best not to experiment in the kitchen.
No Day So Grim – Waffles make everything better.
Separate Checks – Supporting friends and seeing plays. Just not with each other.
A Different Story – Spring is springing. And so is a leak in the ceiling.
Taking Turns – Cooking, just not together.
Festive Enough – Burgers and Big Theatre Events seem to go together.
Endings Are Hard – Dramaturgy and dessert.

We hope you’ve enjoyed the journey so far.

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Endings Are Hard

Posted on March 12, 2015 by | 1 comment

Tanya Barfield’s Bright Half Life is the story of a 40-year-long relationship, from the day Erika and Vicky meet until what well be the last elevator ride they share. Its chronology is shuffled, though, shown in what might be an associative manner–one fragment of conversation leading to another that happened years earlier or later. It was enormously well performed by two strong actresses on a simple set, supported by light and sound design that helped us follow the action forward and back in time. The play was fascinating for 60 of its 65 minutes, but my attention flagged in the homestretch. Since it was clear from early in the play that the relationship ends, late-in-the-play flashes to much-earlier moments diminished in impact. If there was a Crucial Moment that those late moments were supposed to illuminate, I missed it. This particular elevator ride didn’t seem important enough to be the Big Finish–certainly not paralleled with the skydiving scene that was interspersed with it. Or maybe I missed it.

Or maybe the point was to provoke discussion, which it did.  We walked from City Center to Grand Central, considering the production and the play’s structure, the believability of the fictional characters’ relationship, and comparing them to couples we knew, and to us. (We came out favorably ahead, I am pleased to say.)

The last play we’d seen in that theatre was similarly fascinating–funny, creative, and thoughtful–until its last five minutes, when the writer or the director or somebody decided what the play needed was a truly weird finish, like a perfect Thanksgiving dinner where the pumpkin pie crust is made from beach sand and Vaseline.

Endings are hard, we agreed. So are beginnings and middles, for that matter, but especially endings. It’s that last image that stays, the one that lingers as you leave the theatre. Or the table: you can get the appetizers wrong and foul up the main dish, but a terrific dessert will save the day. We weren’t grumpy about Bright Half Life, not even unsettled, but unsatisfied.

We turned down 43rd St., and found Baskin-Robbins still open. We ordered chocolate milkshakes. Nothing too complicated, nothing weird. We got the ending right.

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