Piquant

I'll Do A Grilled Cheese, Please

Years ago when I was a waitering fool at McFeely's bar and bistro in Park Slope, my fellow servers and I used to get a good chuckle out of a couple who used to Do their food.

The Do-Me couple ordering style went something like this: "Let's see, I'll do the grilled portobello mushroom sandwich and my wife will do the endive and walnut salad with bleu cheese vinaigrette."

It was all we waiters could do, to not roll on the floor laughing our fannies off. 

I don't know why it was so funny, maybe because said couple was so eponymously New York fabulous or maybe just the notion of doing one's food.  Or maybe we were just young and fabulous ourselves and loved life and laughter.

Whatever the reason, last night my stomach was growling and I thought I'd do me an old-fashioned grilled cheese sandwich, the perennial favorite of my son and his best friend forever.  It was round about midnight when I pulled out the Kraft deli select singles, the Hellman's, the butter and a loaf of potato bread. 

I did me a midnight snack and with a full belly and a satisfied grin, I went to bed.

Make Mine Meat Loaf

When I was a teenager, just learning my way around the kitchen, I grew disgruntled with the meals my mom dished up nightly.  My mother's solution was to put me in charge of grocery shopping and cooking. 

Until Mom handed over her wooden spoons and sauce pans, I'd had relatively little culinary experience.  My skills were limited to fried bologna sandwiches and to Home Economics classes where students were not trusted with recipes more complicated than packaged blueberry muffins.

But, I'd been exposed to loads of good, home-style Southern cooking and what I lacked in skill, I made up for in enthusiasm.  One of the first meals I learned to make was meatloaf with boiled potatoes and green beans (frozen, of course).  It's still a favorite, although my preference these days is for fresh string beans or haricot verts.

A few years back when comfort food began finding its way into New York City restaurants (and I was a waiter in one of these bistros while I put myself through graduate school), I was amused to see meat loaf and mashed potatoes and macaroni pie elbowing their way onto menus. That lowly meat loaf, a working class meal if ever there was one, should be plated up, enrobed in lush mushroom sauces and sold at astronomical prices to the denizens of fine dining was pleasantly droll to a country girl such as myself.

This past week I had a hankering for old-fashioned meatloaf, the kind Mom used to make, complete with ketchup glaze.  Good eating, even if I didn't pay $19 for the privilege of eating it.

Meat Loaf Sort of Like Mom Used to Make

serves 6-8 people

1 pound ground beef
1 pound ground pork
1 egg
1/2 cup Italian bread crumbs (fine)
1/2 cup finely diced Vidalia onion
4 cloves of garlic, finely minced
1/2 cup ketchup
1 teaspoon of herbs of Provence

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

In a mixing bowl combine all ingredients. I mix by hand after scrupulously washing my hands and nails, but wear gloves if you must.  Either hand-shape a loaf (my preference as I like its rustic appearance) or use a lightly oiled 10-inch loaf pan as a mold and place on a lightly oiled rimmed cooking sheet.  Brush the top surface of your meat loaf with ketchup.  Bake for 45 minutes to an hour. Adjust the baking time down if your oven runs hot. Allow the meat loaf to sit for about 5-10 minutes before slicing.

Eating Our Way Through Chinatown

Eating our way through a neighborhood is one of our favorite ways to spend a Sunday afternoon.

Just this weekend we went to snack and wander idly through the colorful rabbit warren that is Chinatown. Our first stop is always to pick up a box of  baked humbow, roast pork buns, which we have to dig into immediately.  Some day we'll try whipping up a batch ourselves, just not toay. My son recently tried sticky rice steamed buns and is now completely addicted.

After grabbing our goods, we headed over to Columbus Park to people watch and listen to street musicians play the erhu, a two-stringed violin or fiddle. Clusters of older women sit at the entrance of the park, taking in the sun and offering to tell your fortune -- but only if you can bridge the language gap. Bounded by Baxter, Worth, Bayard and Mulberry, Columbus Park is situated at what was once the center of Five Points, the infamous 19th century immigrant slum chronicled in Martin Scorcese's film Gangs of New York. 

We are never too cold for an ice cream, so we sauntered up Bayard Street to the Chinatown Ice Cream Factory where I order the very same flavor every time.  I just can't get enough of lychee ice cream.  My son is a bit more adventurous as long as that adventure is limited to variations on the theme of chocolate. 

Cones in hand, we make our way back over to Canal Street, dipping into various shops selling traditional Chinese herbs and herbal remedies, cheap and shiny souvenirs, housewares and beauty products.  I pick up some seasoned rice vinegar, a bag of Thai sticky rice, a couple of bars of scented soaps -- rose, jasmine and sandalwood.`

Back on Canal, we look for fish, checking the eyes to make sure they are bright and the flesh to make sure it is resilient.  We buy a nice whole snapper to steam, then stop at the mini-pancake man for quarter-sized griddle cakes. At $1 a bag, it's a perfect snack size.

A bag of navel oranges in the ubiquitous red plastic bag finished our stroll and then we were off to the subway to head home. 

    

Failed Locavore Eats Vegetable Lasagna

Friday I bought a bag of vegetables -- zucchini, eggplant, spinach, green beans, Holland tomatoes -- without giving any real thought to what I would do with them. They just looked good and while I love the idea of eating only what is local, of being a locavore, I can't  practice what I preach during the vegetable-lean winter months. 

I am a failed locavore. 

But I am having a fabulous vegetable lasagna for dinner tonight, served with baby mixed greens and a bleu cheese vinaigrette.

Vegetable Lasagna

1 large eggplant (1 1/2 pounds)
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 medium zucchini, trimmed and cut lengthwise into 1/4-inch-thick slices
1 pack of spinach, cleaned and stemmed
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1 3/4 teaspoons salt
1 cup Italian bread crumbs
1 egg
1/4 cup milk
1 teaspoon herbs of Provence
2 T balsamic vinegar
3 cups of marinara sauce (you can substitute a good store bought)
3 garlic cloves, minced
8 oz mozarella, sliced
16 ounces ricotta
1 ounces finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano (1/2 cup)
3 tablespoons finely chopped fresh basil
1 box no-boil lasagne noodles    

               

Put oven racks in upper and lower thirds of oven and preheat oven to 425°F.

Cut 3 (1/3-inch-thick) lengthwise slices from center of eggplant and reserve remainder for another use. Put in a colander, sprinkle with sea slat and let sit for a half hour.

Meanwhile brush 2 large shallow baking pans with 1 tablespoon oil total, then arrange zucchini in 1 layer in pans. Brush vegetables with remaining 2 tablespoons oil and sprinkle with pepper, herbs of Provence, minced garlic and 1 1/4 teaspoons salt. Roast, switching position of pans and sprinkling with balsamic vinegar halfway through roasting, until eggplant and zucchini are browned and tender, 15 to 20 minutes total.

While vegetables roast, whisk egg and milk together.  Rinse and drain eggplant.  Dip eggplant into egg-milk mixture, then dredge in bread crumbs.  Heat olive oil in a sautee pan, browning eggplant until tender. Drain sauteed eggplant on paper towels and set aside.

Sautee spinach in olive oil, with a pinch of salt. Cool, then drain in a colander.

Soak noodles in hot water just until pliable, 8 to 10 minutes. Drain noodles on a clean kitchen towel.

In a lightly oiled 9 x 13 baking dish, layer noodles, ricotta, sauce, vegetables, using all of one vegetable for each layer.

Top with remaining sauce, dollops of ricotta and sliced mozzarella.

Bake until golden and bubbling, 25 to 30 minutes. Let stand in pan on a rack 20 minutes.

 

The Perfect Cup of Hot Chocolate

Real winter has truly arrived and with it, the quest for the perfect cup of hot chocolate.

I usually make my cocoa using a combination of melted semi-sweet dark chocolate, Dutch-processed cocoa, a dash of cinnamon, a sprinkle of sugar, and whole milk.  In a pinch, if I don't have any dark chocolate, I'll make it with just cocoa which works just fine, but isn't quite so rich.

I've used some really wonderful bar chocolates to make hot chocolate too.  I love Abuelita and I get a delicious Italian brand, whose name unfortunately escapes me, at Fairway for Cioccolata Calda.  My absent-mindedness now warrants a curative pilgrimage to the gourmet grocer.

Some folks enjoy adding a little extra kick to their cocoa -- vanilla, chili pepper, licorice, cardamom, etc.  I get by just fine with cinnamon. Although I may try the chili pepper and cardamom -- perhaps together.

Since giving up my nightly glass of red wine, I've substituted the other heart healthy beverage -- chocolate.  I say this with a great deal of cheek as I am doubtful of the much-publicized health benefits of chocolate, particularly when paired with a little high fat whole milk.  I think you, my gentle readers, may guess which cheek I proffer.  And in parting, I suggest moderation in all things.

House Special Hot Chocolate

1 cup of whole milk
1 Tbs Dutch processed cocoa
2 squares of semi-sweet dark chocolate
1 Tbs sugar
1/4 tsp of ground cinnamon

Mix all ingredients in a saucepan.  Heat on low setting, whisking until the bar chocolate is melted. Pour into a pre-warmed mug. Top with a marshmallow and serve.

It is indeed a marshmallow world.