Documenting A Weekend (Or A Lack Thereof)

Alexandria's Opening Night 11/18/2011

My dear friend and co-star of Spatula Sarah says where you find a foodie, you find a camera in hand and guests at the dinner table rolling their eyes.  It's true. Almost any time I go out to eat, I take my camera. I never know when I will need to capture a meal in a photograph.

This weekend while I had my camera on me at all times, I only took the photograph you see here. And it doesn't even capture the deliciousness of the meal. If anything, it documents a food memory I always want to remember.

During the fall and early winter, often I find myself as a hunter's widow. At first I wasn't a big fan of that new role. But as the seasons have come and gone, I've learned to enjoy the time in our quiet house when I grade, cook, write, work on projects, and/or catch up on Jersey Shore. I've realized alone time really nurtures my interior life. But after 36 hours I really start to miss FD.

This weekend was not so quiet as most, though. It began with a family dinner at my house with my in-laws and my sister-in-law on Thursday night. Then us ladies departed around 10 p.m. to get seats for the midnight showing of the epic Twilight Saga's Breaking Dawn (which was fucking awesome, despite what any haters would say.) Friday afternoon after Big F and FD got back from the marsh, FD took off for the island, and Sarah came over to run through our Winter Wheat presentation entitled "Food Writing: Subgenre or Multigenre?" Then, joined by her hubs, we headed to Findlay for the opening of Alexandria's, where Michael from Revolver is the head chef. (The mole is the die for. An in-depth review is forthcoming.) We met up with G and E there and had a great time; the only thing missing for me was FD. Saturday morning Sarah and I gave our presentation, which went exceptionally well, and then Saturday night I had a date with my sis SEM at Revolver.

What's funny is I had imagined taking lots of pictures at family dinner, at Alexandria's, at Winter Wheat, and at Revolver. It was weekend full of a lot of my favorite people and my favorite food. But the lighting wasn't all that great at Alexandria's. And at Revolver, the opportunity never presented itself for SEM and I to "snap" some pics of us. To force a photographic moment is way worse than not taking any at all. The chicken meatballs that SEM ordered at Revolver were gorgeous; the perfectly cut pieces of toast with an even spread of cream cheese and herbs standing like small pyramids on SEM's dish are embedded in my mind. And seeing her in a pretty dress and feeling all girly in my Odd Molly dress was the perfect way to eat a meal celebrating her moving on in her life and going to LA.  I can't help to wonder, though, if sometimes the best meals are better honored as memories.

In an age where Facebook has made us all feel like celebrities with our need to post every last picture of our comings and goings, it was nice to have a weekend with some of my family and best friends that I can cherish as vivid memories, without photographs. And being surrounded my the ones I loved, especially after FD left for his trip, made my weekend feel a lot less lonely. Great friends truly are one of the best parts of life.

Though a part of me does wish I would have taken just a few more pics, at least for my journal...

Fry 'Em Up

Local Fish photo by AMR

The story starts here. With a family tradition.

Fishing.

FD and his dad go fishing every spring and summer. I went one time last summer. There's not a lot of talking unless it's about the weather and how the fish are biting, which was fine by me. I love weather, and I love talking about bites. And as weird as it sounds I appreciated silence, the quiet rock of the boat. In fact I welcomed it, and when I achieve it with loved ones I hold it like a new kitten, a small gift from above. Sometimes talking clouds the purest truth of the activity, the act that is shared. Truth be told, as much as I'm a hip-hop/dance junkie, I'm happiest cooking when I'm in the kitchen without music and Bleu is at feet.

I pretty sure in our attempt to eat local meats our families decided we should eat what they can't. In addition to what we've procured.

Early this June FD and I realized we had a deep freezer half full of Ohio/Pennsylvania-caught fish. The only way to eat over 100 fillets/5 lbs of fish is to have a fish fry, right?

Other photos by SEKL, FDR, ASC

We like alliteration. We decide a Fish Fry on the 4th.

Sarah L. & I, over several Clover Clubs (okay, really it was over lunch at Naslada, we had water, there's no drama in that) craved Southern. We needed fish, corn on the cob, greens, coleslaw, shredded beef, cucumber salad, sweet potatoes, and pimento cheese.

At 5 Sarah arrived with 5 lbs of greens. We stemmed, we washed, we rendered fat from bacon, we wilted, we simmered, we kept going.

As a hostess, I can tell you a fish fry isn't easy. There's soaking, breading, frying, draining, and several more batches. In addition to getting sides ready, making sure guests are happy, and coordinating timing. I had anticipated easy street. I was wrong.

At any given time, I was stressed, crazy, witty, bossy, meek, pissed, satisfied, jittery, relaxed, humble, loud, quiet, grateful, and, most importantly, thoughtful about food, where it comes from and who we share it with.

~

Sweet potato chips in the fryer

There are few people I am around where we don't talk and are cool. It's a weird thing to be around people in silence. Besides movie theaters and doctor offices when really don't humans speak to each other except when they are alone?

I'm loud.

Many people have told me I remind them of a cartoon character (perhaps because of my love of Hello Kitty???) and that I'm intense, animated, intimidating, etc.


I'm just passionate, honest, and enthusiastic.

Even though fishing is a quiet act, frying is not. There's oohhhing, aaahhhing, yelling for more flour, worrying about bubbling over, etc. etc.

At one point, though, we got in our assembly line rhythm, and the four of us battered and fried the last batch with almost no verbal communication. Our hands dredged fish, shook off the extra batter, placed fillets in the fryer and did it again, as if we all shared one mind.

It reminded me of the rock of the boat, the fishing poles in our hands, and dawn breaking over the lake.

~

All hands on deck

We fried 'em up on the 4th.

Sarah L., G, E.H., and I took charge. It was clear we were the food obsessed.

Or better put: we were devoted to the fish. Others were too. They would be present for start to finish of a batch, such as FD, CC, and AC, which I appreciate whole heartily. In fact, as as Gemini, I welcomed any attention. The other guests looked on like it was a train wreck. People like danger, potential fire, and drama. In a matter of two hours of this fish fry I had cooked several dishes cooked and ready, a fryer that wouldn't heat up and tripped the breaker, a severe mandolin (the knife, not the instrument) injury, and realized I was two hours behind eating time.

As an OCD hostess I was fucked.

But inviting the perfect people dissolved my need to obsess and surrender to defeat.

Several dishes were ready: right on; Jersey helped me figure out my breakers and turn shit off to turn on the fryer; my mom's hospital office job where I became friends with nurses gave me the know-how to aid a cut wound into remission (we thought we needed stitches but really only what we needed was to lay down on the bathroom floor [see being OCD does pay off; the floor was sparkling clean] with the finger in the air, some Solarcaine, a bandage, and some Sherry), and for the most part our friends like to eat between 8-9 p.m.

I was in luck.

~

Fishes in the fryer

My Pops was specific, "Fry away from the house. Put it between the house and the garage on the edge of the patio. And assign one fryer attendant. It should be you. It's our fryer. You'll know how to work it."

I was in bare feet.

That wasn't in the manual, but my Pops said, "Wear shoes."

I followed my Pops' advice. And didn't. We do that as kids. We're allowed.

This was the first meal I made that potentially risked my home, my loved ones, my clothing (which I love a lot), and my bare feet.

And I think others felt that way.

They stood and watched.

What would happen?

For the first time ever I saw concern on Sarah L.'s face. I don't know about this, her expression read in one photo. When she showed me the pic, I thought, That's my look. What are you doing???

Then she said, "That's the look you make every time I make a souffle or marshmallows. I guess I didn't realize how freaked out I was."

Deep frying is scary.

And lots of fun.

~

I had a lot of help, but I was ultimately guardian of the fryer, as my Pops had advised.

I dropped the basket in. We all watched the oil bubble up and engulf the fish, though. And G would give the basket a shake so the fish wouldn't stick too much together while I was running around organizing other things. But when the fishies were fried, it was I who pulled the basket out with its little coat-hanger-pulley-thingy. I put the lid on, let the temperature come back up to 400, assembled the assembly line and started again.

My Pops would have been proud.

~

At 9, the crew went through the buffet line and piled their plates with cuke salads, braised greens, baked beans, grilled corn, crisp coleslaw, shredded beef, and fried fish.

There was one moment of silence at the beginning as folks chewed the first bites. But then there were outbursts over flavors or new conversations.

Dessert (s'mores with homemade marshmallows, chocolate, and pralines) was just as big of a hit.

And while I made future notes to buy more Nut Thins and lemons (thanks L & S for the run to Kroger!), to put butter, salt and pepper on the table for corn, and to put out as many chairs as we have, what sticks with me more is how a family tradition became a gathering.

 There were writers and teachers, a print media-ist, a composer of music, a medical assistant, an archivist, a webmaster, a construction guru/visual artist, a dancer, and a bio-chemist. A talented motley crew with a love of fried food.  What I love about parties is sometimes these talents are brought up and other times we get to escape them for a few moments under the silent canopy of holiday lights.

Weeknight Meals, Comfort Foods, and Perfection (or Not)

 

 

Nom nom nom

It's no surprise that I usually spend a whole day cooking, especially in the summer. Whereas most people hate cooking or "being tied to the kitchen," I feel most peaceful, happy, fulfilled, and sane when I'm in the kitchen.

At the same time, I have writing projects, syllabus planning, organization projects, and lots of reading and writing I want to do this summer.

So some evenings I see what's in the fridge/freezer and cook up what we have. And it's these meals that are probably my favorites. I know the recipes like the back of my hand, and I have the cooking down to a science.

Such as was the pictured meal. I wasn't really anticipating guests, even though we had more than enough, but I was more than happy find out two of our all-time favorite people could stay for dinner: flat iron steaks with chimichurri sauce, ex-wife potatoes roasted in duck fat and smoked on the grill, sauteed greens, grilled asparagus, and Sarah L.'s homemade roasted red pepper sauce I had scored earlier that day.

I'm quite critical of my own cooking. Every meal I figure out what flavor profiles need to be edited, what elements need to be added, and how a recipe should be revised. Most meals I'm only partially happy with the results. But this meal was almost flawless. The only revision: I would have braised the greens instead of sauteing them.

What I'm wondering is why these meals happen. I think about the ones where I cook elaborate dishes that take two to three days, the holiday ones that involve brining, marinating, intense butchering, fine chopping, etc. These meals are delicious but there never perfect. And then here comes this barely-planned, use-what-you-got, throw-it-together-flavor-combos of a meal that was simply divine. Was it the weather, the vibe of the day, the element of surprise, the delightful guests, the boxed wine? It was a meal that I ate slowly, that I savored, that I will remember. Lately these are the meals I live for, that sustain me. They are so few and far between.

Comfort level with the recipe has everything to do with it, though. Later in the week we invited good friends over last minute for dinner. I was trying four new recipes for one meal (totally crazy, I know): grilled chicken thighs, ginger cilantro rice, bok choy with braised Shiite sauce, and sesame broccoli salad. The broccoli salad was great, but I heeded the reviews to cut the dressing portion in half. I charred the thighs because I decided it was time to test out lump hardwood charcoal rather than use Match Light, which I have mastered. Thankfully, our guests were gracious and kind about having to bake the thighs because charring them didn't cook them all the way through. I suck at rice; period (more on that topic soon). And the bok choy was stringy, bitter, and droopy. I wasn't trying to impress our guests; it was a meal I planned to make even if it was just for me and FD. These were recipes I wanted to test and I wanted an Asian them. But I had hoped for more of a magical meal, like the one we had earlier in the week. But no. I think it's because I tried too many new things at one time. And experimented with new methods (new charcoal). I'm an adventurer as a cook, so I have to take it in stride that not every meal is perfect. But even in imperfection, my cooking is usually edible and above par. But I'm a perfectionist with OCD and an overactive palate. I always expect more.

So does it all boil down to the comfort level we have with recipes? And does that comfort level equal comfort foods? I cook and eat ex-wife potatoes almost every night in my dreams (for real); I've grilled asparagus eight million times; I've sauteed greens for all three meals in a day and did it again the very next day; and I can indirect grill with Match Light almost better than any BBQ joint in Ohio. Give me comfort foods and I can crank out an amazing meal.

But...

I feel like my comfort meals wouldn't be comforting if I didn't have nights where I test four new recipes and fail a little (or a lot). I think most people cycle their comfort foods or the foods they think they cook well each and every week. I remember when I was a kid my mom recycled a lot of the same meals: mac and cheese with green beans; burgers and Ore-Ida fries; bubble and squeak; etc. At some point, though, these comfort foods became some of my least favorite meals. "We're having bubble and squeak AGAIN?!?!"

I use true comfort foods sparingly. For those days when I would rather read or write then cook. And trying new recipes (4-6 a week) allows me to console myself with my favorite dishes after a dinner-disaster. But it also allows me to find new favorite recipes, maybe even new comfort foods.

And it keeps my voyage as foodie ever evolving...

On Turning 34

I'm an asshole. I forget to write down the title & artist.

 I was born the year of the snake, which it's description paints me as saint and sinner.

And I'm a Gemini.

This could mean my good qualities outweigh my bad qualities. My bad qualities outweigh my good qualities.

Or that I'm a duel-minded, tortured soul.

Then again, maybe I'm the happiest person you've ever met.

Most days are a little bit of everything. Which is why this year, like every year, I vow to grow, blossom, and maybe even transcend. (Okay, I admit "transcend" is lofty.)

Lately I've been practicing intentional awareness (aka reflecting) as I'm observing my relationships with family, friends, work, hobbies, and self move into new stages and transform into something new things. Honoring my place/not place in those relationships is probably what's most challenging. From a friendship that flourishes immediately to one that fizzles out, I'm beginning to see that we all have our places and times with one another, and that each moment should be cherished, and that sometimes respecting someone else's needs before my own is/is not beneficial.

The snake and Gemini in me is skeptical of all this hippie bullshit.

But I can't deny how food is molding who I'm becoming as I step into a new year.

Food offers me sustenance, but beyond the basics it challenges me, comforts me, eases my worries, creates worries, motivates me, and provides me with connections to others.

Sarah L.'s Hello Kitty Birthday Cake

Take for instance Hello Kitty birthday cakes.

Last year practically-my-sister SEM made me a kick ass Hello Kitty cake.

And this year Sarah made a gluten-free version with all of my FAVORITE flavors: rhubarb, strawberries, pistachios, meringue, lavender, and chocolate. Thoughtful and fucking delicious.

It's a blessing to me that both Sara(h)s meshed my ultimate icon with my number #1 passion: food.

Being surrounded by love only proves to me that good food is a form of good love. 

[OK, so here's a blogging moment where I don't feel I'm communicating what I want to communicate. Or that it sounds more "out there" than is my intention. Sure, I feel good food means pure, local ingredients from local farmers, butchers and gardeners. But more so, I just love how food brings people together, and how those who love me know my stomach and heart are the same organ. And I fully appreciate that. From the-what's-left-in-the-fridge-becomes-amazing dinners with FD to Kiderowski Bakery's cupcakes to Sally's seven-layer salad to Babine's simple syrup to Sarah's Ex-Wife potatoes to Revolver's Polenta to Tator Tots after a very gourmet meal to Better Made BBQ Chips to all the meals I've had and shared with my peeps far and wide, my post-birthday wish is that food continues to nourish my relationships and continues to draw me closer my passions and callings. I appreciate every food moment in the present and past moments. As tacky as it is, it's truly how I feel. Food is similar to spirituality, at least in my forever-clashing brain. And I hope it gives me enough sustenance for another 34 or more years.]

In the next year I wish to make even more good food to show some good love.

And So It Goes...

The semester is drawing to an end.

For some that means graduation is right around the corner. All the excitement of the future is ahead of them. Along with the wonder, frustration, hope, and possibility.

And while I'm excited with them, I'm sad because it means some very good friends will be moving away.

I don't take good-byes well. I never have. I prefer the "see you later" approach. But year after year of friends leaving is making my heart feel just a bit more heavy.

Last year was Babs, and this year is Amy, Chris, Alex, Nikki, and Ian.

The hardest part for me is that I happen to make friends with folks who love food, who love to eat, and who are frequent dinner guests at our house. Come this summer, Sundays will just be a little quieter. Picnics at the quarry will be a little smaller.

I'm not sure how I feel about this.

Right now we're trying to get in as many games of Blokus and rounds of The Game of Things as possible. We're trying to eat as many kale salads and tofu bites as possible. We're spending as much time together as possible. FD's beer cellar is slimming down a bit, and the liquor cabinet is almost empty.

Of course the greater parts of my days are spent grading, presenting, student conferencing, food writing, editing, and cooking because I have to but mostly out of avoidance. I just don't want to see our good friends leave. But so it goes...

In the meantime, there's a polenta tarte in the oven, pork tenderloin to roast, and glasses to clink before the formal good-byes begin.

"Thank You, Baby Jesus..." I'm Cooking Again. But, First, Check Out My Tree.

Thank you, Kaleidoscope Farms for an amazing tree.

Loveliest tree ever.

Will eventually have a live tree in my office or kitchen that only has food/food-relate ornaments on it.

One of my favs I got from FD's parents the year FD and I married.

Food Columnist to the Falcons!

This past summer I was invited to be the food columnist for our campus paper BG NEWS.

My good friend, summer editor-in-chief, and former student AMB  hooked me up with this amazing gig, and I'm staying on staff this fall and, if Pulse editor Matt L. will have me, for a long while.

While I'm still learning AP style (I'm an MLA geek), each week I'm even more energized by food and food writing because of the work I do for the Pulse.

Matt's favorite piece might be the one about Twilight, but I'm quite the fan of my piece this week about competitive eating.

In a sense I feel like a brand new writer. I keep remember the days back in undergrad when I decided that poetry was my life. I started emulating all of my favorite poets--Jane Kenyon, Daisy Fried, Campbell McGrath. Only now I feel like I'm imitating Jim Harrison, Molly Wizenberg, and Steve Almond while trying to hold steady my own voice and be the ever-charming me.

I'm not sure I'm worth a damn as a food writer, but I sure enjoy it. And I'd sure be delighted if you subscribed to my BG NEWS food column here.

Goodbye Summer & Picnics at the Quarry

Tomorrow  the semester starts and summer ends.

While I really excited to get back in the classroom with my students, I'm a little sad too. It means I'm going to have a lot less time to cook.

One of my favorite summer activities has been going to the Portage Quarry with our friends N & I. They are as food obsessed as me.

So really, while swimming was totally fun, what was even more fun were our picnics. All of us brought A game to every meal. We're talking spreads that would shame wedding buffets. And what a better way to use up all that fresh produce that was overtaking our refrigerators' crisper drawers?

Also, what picnic days taught me was how to think outside the box of what was picnic food, and they forced me to experiment more with grains, chilled salads, and sides, most of which could easily become main dishes.

I had a blast spending the whole day before our outings scouring through online and magazine and cookbook recipes, creating various flavor simple syrups, testing adult lemonades, finding plastic containers with tight fitting lids, and cooking.

Thanks to our picnics I've learned to love lentils even more, and I feel much closer to N & I (and our friend J who joined us once too!), who were rad to begin with but who are even more rad after I got a chance to chill, swim, and eat with them.

As homage to the last of our picnic days (and summer, in general), here are photos from our summer of good eating, good swimming, and good friends.

Homemade grape leaves, homemade hummus, egg salad, chicken salad, coleslaw with beets, beet salad, etc.

N & I made their own pickles. True love at first bite.

A lot of our produce came from the community garden and farmers markets.

N's baking is divine. This is her cupcake with mint (or basil?) frosting. It's hard to remember everything...

Lentil wraps, fried chicken, bbq chicken & tofu, pasta salad, kale salad, roasted potatoes, peach crisp, etc.

Green bean and cherry tomato salad with onion--produce from my friend Sarah's garden.

Birthday Love Made From Scratch

Turtle!

A good birthday includes great food.

At least that's how I was brought up.

You should choose your own meal or pick your favorite restaurant. And, without a doubt, the day should end with a special cake. (Or pie or cupcakes or cheese platter--whatever you prefer.)

When it's a family member or friend's birthday I always want to make sure their food wishes come true along with his/her birthday wishes.

A great birthday dessert  is a sign that you're loved. Take, for instance, my Hello Kitty cake from SEM.

This past weekend it was her birthday, so I wanted to share the love and ensure her food wishes came true.

But that I meant I had to get over my fear of baking...

Ever since I've started cooking seriously I've proclaimed to be the worst baker ever.

Baking is a combo of science and genetics. You're good at it or not.

At least that's what I used to think until I made a two layer white cake with orange whipped cream and fresh strawberry filling with orange butter cream frosting. Let me rephrase: I made all of that from scratch, even the whipped cream.

I think that wins me some bragging rights, especially when every batch of sugar cookies I make come out of the oven charred and smoking.

I do have to give Alice Waters props. She's the one who walked me through my first made-from-scratch cake. Her 1-2-3-4 Cake recipe in The Art of Simple Food is so easy to follow it make Easy Oven look difficult. Her variation suggestions are spot on and her whipped cream and frosting recipes were a snap.  The cake came out perfectly moist and crumbly. The frosting wasn't too sweet or too hard. And the filling didn't drench the cake. It was such a breeze, I could hardly believe it.

The most difficult part was making the sprinkle turtle look like a turtle. That took a little work on mine and FD's behalves.

Thank you, Alice Waters, for giving me some baking confidence.

More importantly, Happy Birthday, McGuire! If I didn't love you so much and want to make you something special, I would have never known that I can bake.

Stuffed, Part I

"Turn your back on the little zucchini for just a few minutes and they grow into baseball bats," said Epicurious recipe review A Cook From NH.

I couldn't have said it better myself.

This growing season there so many summer squash I can barely grate it and freeze it enough before some more finds its way into our kitchen again. Be it from the community garden, a friend's garden, the farmers market, or the local farmer we order produce from, zucchini has aimed its target at me. And like a good cook, I'm up for the challenge.

On the Epicurious website, I found this recipe for Cabbage Stuffed with Beef, Zucchini and Herbs. While all the ingredients sounded like a perfect fit for my crisper drawers, the recipe reviews were something left to be desired.

But I braved it and tweaked this so-called bland recipe into a keeper. At least I feel confident saying that after getting the approval from our gracious neighbors and friends A & J who dedicated their Saturday night as taste testers.

What follows is the very revised version of the recipe from Self magazine using quite a bit of the comments from A Cook from California. I also must thank my mum-in-law Sally for giving her original pigs-in-a-blanket recipe that I used as a foundation.

Note: The baking instructions are clearly for summer. Being this last week Bowling Green only saw temps in the higher 90s, there was NO way I was going to turn on the oven. So I turned to my grill. I baked the cabbage rolls over indirect medium heat for 50 minutes. To get indirect heat on a charcoal grill, place a disposal aluminum pan in the middle of the charcoal tray. Fill the open space around the pan with 2 layers of charcoal. Bake the rolls in another disposable pan. (After cooking you can either recycle the pans or wash them for re-use. It's up to you.)

Hot Pigs in a Couture Summer Wrap (aka Pigs in a Blanket--Summer Style)

Suggested albums while cooking: The Beatles White Album, especially "Piggies" and Jay Farrar and Ben Gibbard's One Fast Move Or I'm Gone.  (Thanks, Jenn!)

1 large head of local cabbage
1 medium local zucchini
1 medium local summer squash
1 small local eggplant
1/2 bunch of kale
1 can diced tomatoes (local), drained (reserve juice)
2 medium local onions (red or white or mix)
3 local garlic gloves, minced
1 lb local, grass-fed ground beef
1 T each fresh local basil, parsely, thyme, & oregano
2 T organic olive oil, divided
1 c cooked rice
pinch of cloves
pinch of nutmeg

Sauce:
1 can zesty tomato soup (local) with 1/2 water, mixed well, and all of the herbs with some leftover for sprinkling.

Begin by cooking rice. Use wild grain rice, jasmine, minute brown rice, etc. Whatever you have on hand that floats your boat.

While rice is cooking, blanch cabbage. From the top of the head cut a straight incision that goes through the head (so surgical, I know) but that does not cut away any leaves. Blanch for 5 minutes or until bright green. If inner leaves aren't blanched enough, you can always re-submerge. Of course, you'll have ice cold water on hand to stop the cooking immediately after the head has been blanched. Set aside to drain and cool after ice bath. After cool, half and core cabbage, carefully tearing away leaves. Set leaves aside to dry and drain.

In an large non-stick skillet, brown ground beef with 1 T olive oil, salt, and pepper. Drain. Set Aside.

Saute onions and garlic until soft. Add squash, zucchini, eggplant, diced tomatoes, cloves, and nutmeg with a little of the diced tomato juice (I'm sorry I'm not technical like Cook's Illustrated). Cover and cook until soft. Add kale for last two minutes and cover again.

Stir in meat and cooked rice with veggie mixture.

Trim cabbage leaf veins so they are easier to fold. Be sure not to cut leaves.

Hold a leaf with the core side towards you. Add a bit of meat in its cup. Roll once, then fold in the sides and roll until it's covered. Place seam side down in a pan where the bottom is lightly covered with sauce.

Repeat until cabbage leaves are gone. (Recipe can be doubled and frozen, if you so wish.)

Pour remaining sauce over the rolls before covering with the pan with foil. 

Bake on the grill according to the above note. If baking in the house, preheat the over to 350F and bake for 45-60 minutes.

When done, as the French say, "Mange!"

For dessert, consider homemade brownies! Our friends made-from-scratch their brownies using a recipe from How to Boil Water.  As a brownie fanatic all I can say is that they were AWESOME, especially after they added whipped cream and Baileys to them.

Cheers to a fantastic dinner party!

I Can Sweat Duck Fat

This past weekend I visited my friend Jeannie in Hudson. It's kind of like our annual girls weekend. We go the Grey Colt Sidewalk Sale, then out to really AWESOME dinner. This year I threw on a brand new Odd Molly top and funky Free People skirt I got at the sale and Jeannie threw on her best pair of green heels and a sweet summer dress and we headed to Greenhouse Tavern on East 4th in Cleveland.

This post isn't going to review Greenhouse Tavern. That review, in addition to one about Lucky's Cafe, will be live in the BG News this coming Wednesday.

This post is an account of my sweating duck fat during a yoga class. (And, yes, it smelled awesome as well as gross.) It's the unedited version of our girls night out.

The ambiance of the Greenhouse Tavern is sophisticatedly "green." From its fancy toilets that offer two flush settings (one for liquid, two for solids) to recycling old un-used menus as fry cones, this restaurant is thoughtful in its sustainability and certified for it too. I felt proud that my eating that evening was totally eco-friendly.

Without a doubt, the best choice on the menu is the 4 Course Chef's Tasting Menu. You get to choose one appetizer, one "second" appetizer, one entree, and either a dessert or a side for $39. Jeannie and I played it smart by each ordering the tasting menu and sharing a side and a dessert. However, as the plates started arriving we realized we should have split the tasting menu.

I ordered the French Buttered Radishes as my first. If you've been keeping up with my BG News articles, I've taken a liking to radishes lately. And these were amazing. Jeannie had the fried hominy, and I had a bit of food envy. Fried should be my middle name; crispy, salty, crunchy--the hominy rocked.

For seconds Jeannie had a lamb patty (sorry I forgot...I was having a food orgasm and wasn't taking notes when I should have been) that was AMAZING. I had the Hand Ground Beef Tartare, which rocked my world. As a kid I would sneak crumbs of raw ground beef before it went into a meatloaf or goulash. I have a raw meat problem, and unfortunately most raw meat is not fit to eat. So when I see tartare, I'm on board. Accompanied with housemade condiments, pickles, crostini, and a two minute egg, it was DIVINE. MINDBLOWING. INSANE.

While waiting for our entrees I realized to my left was a table of douche bags who were clearly there to be seen and maybe score some pu-tang. Maybe they thought they were cute, but truthfully they were obnoxious. So much so--we found out from our totally friendly, attentive waitress after they left--that the older couple sitting at our table before us asked to be moved. Ha! Jeannie and I tuned out all of their degrading comments about every woman in the restaurant simply by discussing each frame of Eclipse in-depth. Quickly, we became some weird, obsessed nerd girls they definitely wouldn't "fuck, marry or kill," which meant they left us alone for the most part. Until Jeannie's Half Roasted Chicken in Brioche Bread arrived at our table.

Dear reader, maybe you imagine shredded chicken in a bowl topped with buttery, rich French bread. If so, you are wrong. Chef Sawyer and his crew serve the half chicken in a HUGE LOAF of Brioche Bread. It's so huge that the runner asks if you'd like to slice it or have the kitchen slice it for you. Of course, any person in their right mind would have the kitchen do it.

So when the chicken returned, the douche bags next to us tried to claim it. Funny and cute? No, we wanted to eat. Patrick Swayze says, "No one puts Baby in a corner." I say, "No one comes between me and my food." After we laughed off their idiocy, Jeannie tried to make a dent in the chicken dish. If my guess is right she's still eating it right now for dinner.

I had the Sea-2-Table Halibut, which was beautiful. But the only reason I got it was so I wouldn't feel so guilty sharing and quite frankly devouring Jeannie's fourth dish: Gravy Frites. I'm not sure I'm prepared to talk about how much I think I'm addicted to these hand-cut potato sticks deep-fried in duck fat and topped with brown gravy and mozzarella curd. I can see why Michael Symon of Lola (a couple doors down on East 4th) calls them his guilty pleasure on the tv show The Best Thing I Ever Ate.

I swore to Jeannie I'd only eat a couple. I ate 3/4 of the plate. Yes, on top of the Halibut, beef tartare, and radishes. Clearly, I have problems. If I lived in Cleveland, I would be there right now eating them. And tomorrow morning I would wake up and be at the gym for 4 hours--I'm not lying--so I could go back and eat them tomorrow night. I'm having Walleye and a Raw Veggie Salad for dinner tonight. I'm not happy, and both are quite good (not to brag). I should have written this post after I ate.

That's how much I love those fries.

And we shared dessert--Carmel Milk Chocolate Pot de Creme. It was salty and sweet and a perfect ending to our fantastic meal. But the whole time I was thinking about the fries in Jeannie's to-go box.

And we got home and attempted to watch Little Ashes, which was horrible, but I got through it because I was thinking about the fries. (I couldn't eat them because I was that full and not that drunk.)

And I went to sleep and would wake up at random times with only the words "duck fat" on my mind and lips.

And in the morning we got up at 7:30 and went to Yoga Lounge where Kevin had us going through all these crazy advanced poses, including side crow and headstand, in a 98 degree room and all the while I'm thinking about duck fat fries. And I'm sweating duck fat all over my yoga mat. Which is a blessing and a curse. Because I can sniff my mat and remember the fries, but I probably should clean my mat after all the sweat that dripped on it.

I can't believe I admitted that for all the world to see...

(Grey Colt picture courtesy of their website.)

Birthday Meals

Last week I turned 33.

I have no problem admitting my age. I'm happy to be in my thirties with several years separating me from my wild, crazy, dramatic 20's. Ugh.

The thirties are pretty mellow. I naturally wake up around 5 a.m. I crawl between my ever-so-soft 400 thread count sheets around 10 p.m. I catch a wine buzz pretty quickly.

If given a choice between going out and ironing laundry, I probably would pick ironing. And if you were to tell me in my 20's that by 33 I would pick laundry over going out, I would have probably slapped you. Just for the drama of it.

Of all my birthdays, though, this one was my most mellow, which I assume is a sign of maturity rather than getting old. I didn't expect anything. I didn't anticipate anything. I just went with the flow and kept a positive attitude. I was cool, almost zen-like.

I started the day with 6 a.m. yoga. I went to work where I was surprised with delicious Lemon Rosemary Cupcakes made by a very sweet friend and co-worker.

When I came home for lunch FD made me a cheese quesadilla with Canal Junction's Charloe (MY FAVORITE CHEESE RIGHT NOW! BUY SOME!) and Frontera Grill's Salsa with Roasted Garlic and Tomatillos. I figure if I can't eat at Rick Bayless' Frontera Grill I might as well pay the extra money and buy his stellar salsa at Kroger. The side dish was a small portion of the Santa Fe Quinoa Salad recipe I made from Food Wine. One of the best summer salads I've made it, the quinoa created a nutty flavor while the black beans, peppers and cocktail onions added some crunch and spice. Without a doubt this easy to make recipe is going to be a stand-by for us, especially because of how light and filling it was.

For dinner, FD was in Cleveland to support the prose poem anthology he co-edited. But our friends and neighbors A&J insisted that I not eat alone on my birthday and invited me over for wine, salad, Lettuce Wraps and dessert. It smelled so good and I was so hungry I forgot to take a picture and I didn't use my fork (for the lettuce wraps). Imagine PF Chang's Lettuce Wraps--only way better--with red romaine picked from the garden only an hour earlier. Now imagine a perfectly seasoned filling of ground turkey, peppers, and spices with a homemade peanut sauce with just the right amount of kick. My intention was to eat two. I ate six. Okay, maybe eight. I'm sure A&J think I'm a some champion competitive eater. When something that good is placed in front of me, I don't have any control. Even with the help of Weight Watchers. God help me. A Lost Angel Chardonnay perfectly accompanied the heat of lettuce wraps and the Muscat paired nicely with the mini apple torte and mini carrot cake I bought that afternoon from Bella Cuisine at the BG Farmer's Market.

But out of all my birthday foods possibly the most fun was delivered today by the baker herself. One of my all-time favorite people, SEM, baked me up a fierce chocolate cake with Hello Kitty's picture in icing. I love eating. But I adore eating something cute that is made of chocolate. While SEM was worried her cake wouldn't be all that tasty, after she left I devoured 1/4 of it with a glass of Happy Badger milk. All birthday long I had been craving chocolate cake. For some cosmic reason, I couldn't find it. So when I opened the door to SEM holding out a Hello Kitty chocolate cake, I almost cried. (Okay, maybe I am as dramatic as I was in my 20's...but at least now it's only over food.) What really got me was SEM coupled my two favorite things: food and Hello Kitty.

I've had many good birthday meals prepared by my family, my in-laws, my husband, my friends, and Revolver. And all of them are dear to me. I might not exactly remember every dish, but I always remember the love put into every meal.

Revolver Restaurant: A Benefit for Sister Rita and the Franciscan Earth Literacy Center

For me a good meal is like a good mix tape. There's a wide range of different styles with a calculated pace and subtle threads create connections and an umbrella of thoughtful themes.

The benefit for Sister Rita and the Franciscan Earth Literacy at Revolver this week reminded me of a perfect mix tape. The kind you listen to so much the tape becomes worn and warped with each re-play.

In a sense, though, the event was a culinary mix tape. Revolver's Chef Bulkowski brought in four talented chefs from around the country: Top Chef cheftestant Valerie Bolon from Chicago; Andrew Maykuth, executive chef at The Admiral in Asheville, North Carolina; James Lohse, executive chef at The Watermark in Nashville; and Pastry Chef Erin Mooney from BLT Steak in Atlanta.

And each chef brought with him/her their styles and music selection.

Yes, in the tradition of Revolver, the music of the evening set the tone for the menu. And the music became an actual mix tape. Chef Bulkowski chose Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. Chef Bolon selected Gomez. To pair with his Halibut, Chef Maykuth picked The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou soundtrack, and Chef Mooney and Chef Lohse requested Roky Erickson and the Avett Brothers.

As a music lover, I derive much joy from obsessing about the connections between the dishes and music pairings. And as food lover, I delight in obsessing about flavor combinations and wine pairings.

In other words, during this event I was in heaven.

For the first time we choose to eat during the late service (8:30) because we wanted to end the night listening to Revolver co-owner Debi Bulkowski's band, and we wanted an opportunity to chat with the chefs and friends.

What I loved about the late service was I didn't feel alone in my food obsession. After each course was served I could hear the click of camera shutters before the restaurant came alive with flavor dissections and discussions. It was intoxicating to feel part of a culinary community rather than a lone foodie in a room of here-to-be-seen-ers.

Later this week my review of the food will be published in the BG News, so I'm saving the in-depth commentary on each dish for that venue. However, as I obsess about the meal and re-play it again and again in my head, I'm realizing more about it.

(Trust me, with a wine pairing for each dish, it's hard to remember everything. Unless you take notes. Which I did do. Thank God.)

The amuse-bouche: Chef Lohse's creation. English peas with serrano ham puree and lemon confit. Gorgeous and fresh. The initial crunch made the first bite of the meal so special. And when the puree hit, I started doing my orgasmic eye-roll. Pure awesomeness.

1st course: Chicken consomme with goat cheese ravioli, chicken meatballs, fava beans, and chanterelle mushrooms. For me the fava beans with the little itty-bitty mushrooms were the stars. And I fought--hard--not to tip my bowl and slurp down those last few sips.

2nd course: Wild Alaskan halibut with vidalia onion, anson mills farro piccolo, maitake mushrooms, English peas and benton's bacon. I've heard parents say again and again "I love all my kids equally." If anyone were to ask me, I felt that way about this meal; I loved all the dishes equally. That's the diplomatic answer, right? What parents don't want to confess is that they always have a favorite. Always. And I had a favorite course of this meal. It was Chef Maykuth's halibut. This surprises me because I wanted it to be the consomme or the pork belly or the venison. But no it was the halibut. The first hint that this dish was going to be my favorite was when I saw the night's playlist. I knew Chef Maykuth had to have picked the Life Aquatic soundtrack to go with the halibut. Why pick something so dedicated to the sea unless you were cooking fish? Immediately, I found that funny. And I'm a HUGE Wes Anderson fan. To the point I bought three copies of Wes Anderson's brother's book Chuck Dugan is AWOL. One copy to read, one copy to give as a gift, and one copy to cut pictures out with an exacto knife so I could frame and hang them in my office so I could feel like a Tenenbaum. While I wasn't exactly aware of it intentionally or in that moment, I guess I must have known that the halibut would be quirky, playful, and complex--just like a Wes Anderson film. So when Rachel poured the Anne Amie Pinot Blanco, which was provided by Adam Mahler at Ampelography Wines, with its killer notes of cinnamon and a touch of nutmeg, I had a feeling I would love the halibut. And when Chef Bulkowski let me in the kitchen to take pics of the halibut being plated, I think that was yet another hint. But when I sat down, set down the camera, and picked up the fork, I never imagined how much the dish would affect me. I'm a loud person. I'm dramatic. I love to exclaim my feelings. After my first bite, I was still. I sipped the wine. Then I wrote in my notebook. "Halibut: Fucking amazing. Flavor explodes with the wine. Fuck." I didn't say a word to FD or anyone. I stayed in a moment of personal zen, that space that only happens to me during yoga class. I felt divine. I felt like a Tenenbaum. How Chef Maykuth took ingredients that remind me of beef stew and made a perfect spring dish with halibut, I will never know. I'm a writer, not a chef. But I will spend my life thinking about it. In short, never believe a parent (or foodie) who says they don't have a favorite; they are lying.

3rd course: Local citrus braised pork belly with radish puree and smoked pak choi. I told FD that Chef Lohse's dish made me feel like I was at home. It was soulful, comforting, and rich. It truly melted in my mouth. What I loved during this course was the woman who sat behind me kept repeating over and over, "This is so special." I had a moment where I wanted to turn around and hug her. I restrained myself. But it made me joyful to hear someone who "got it."

4th course: Maple glazed broken arrow ranch axis venison with apple-beet-potato gratin and asparagus-fennel salad. Chef Bolon managed to get almost all of my favorite vegetables and fruit on one plate. If only kale had been there. The textures in this dish were spot on. The crunch of the asparagus with the velvety venison blew my mind. And the sharp cheese topping on the gratin did a lovely job of cutting the sweetness of the apples and beets.

5th course: Red Wine soaked strawberries with honey-almond tuiles. What I love about dessert courses is that they are their own entity. There's no competition when it comes to dessert. How could there be? Both of Chef Mooney's desserts slayed me through and through. The strawberries were those little perfect hearts that are only in season right now. Imagine how sweet and tart and juicy they were. Such a perfect transition between dinner and dessert. I saw them as that song on a mix tape gets you ready for a change in pace. Absolutely perfect. I wasn't crazy about wine pairing with this dish; it was a rose that didn't compliment the berries as much as I hoped it would have. But that's the challenge of cooking, right? You take a risk and sometimes it works and other times it doesn't. In my eyes it was a small hiccup, one that I feel I need to mention in order to show readers I'm not completely biased and just bragging about all the great food I had.

6th: Soft chocolate with tres leches cake and mole crunch. I've never had pure chocolate until I tasted this dish. Come to think of it, this dish was pure. Pure in heart and soul and love. Quite frankly, dear reader, if I could I would find some way to shoot it up, every day. But then again I wouldn't be able to taste it, and that's what made it so much fun. It was hot, salty, rich, smooth, sweet. Ugh, I wish I could be eating it right now. Literally right now. And what made it even better was listening to Debi Bulkowski sing "House of the Rising Sun" while I ate it. Talk about sexy and sultry. Two more adjectives that describe Chef Mooney's dish and the amazing Debi!

To say that FD and I had a great time is the understatement of 2010. We cherished this meal, the music and the company. Yet again Revolver delivered--on so many levels.

Food as Homage

Quite frankly I'm not good with good-byes.

I think it has to do with an unresolved issue from my childhood. (But that's another story for another blog.)

We've lived in BG for seven years collectively, and damn me, every year I become close to someone who leaves. My last heartbreak was RR.

And as much as I love RR, Babs leaving kills me.

~

brrrrringggg.brinnnggggg.

"Hello?"

"Babs, you want some kale with chicken and mashed potatoes? I don't think I got the consistency right on the taters. You need to let me know.”

“I’ll be there in 5.”

Babs lives one street over from us. Not only is she one of my best friends, she's my neighbor.

~

My all-time favorite movie is The Royal Tenanbaums.

It’s slogan is “Family is a sentence.”

What’s funny is when I think of Royal Tenanbaum I think of my Pops, who’s a very charming, go-getter, family guy.

And when I think of Royal, I think of Babs who is always ready to help, without question or hesitation.

And if anybody can make family a sentence, it’s her.

For crying out loud, she’s leaving a full-time teaching job to get her PhD in Non-Fiction.

This is a woman who knows a sentence.

~

I used to eat a lot of frozen, processed food. As a kid, I swore I would hate brussels sprouts and spinach for all my life.

I never even heard of kale until three years ago.

Most times I think I’m a foodie fraud. I just learned how to cook—pretty well. I just happen to have a good personality that let’s be “cool” with chefs, farmers, and marketers. (Thank God.) But basically, I think with my stomach. Does that make me foodie?

I wondered that until I started bringing samples to Babs. She’s the one who made me believe my cooking was worthy to blog about. When I’d take her something and the next day get an email/review that was 10 paragraphs long describing what was great and what it could use, I was inspired, motivated, and, more important, confident. I owe my decision to dedicate a blog about food to Babs.

~

“I’ll be over in 5 minutes.”

~

As many know I have a crazy black Lab named Bleu. But if you really knew him, he has his mellow moments. I swear. Even though most don’t believe me.

But Babs does.

She always has.

And no matter how high Bleu jumps on her or how inappropriate his sniffing gets, she always laughs and gives him a calm command.

As a dog owner who thinks her dog is a child, I can’t thank her enough for being so patient and calm. Most people find Bleu obnoxious, but not Babs. If anything, Babs sees how Bleu takes after his Mama, and I think she recognizes that sometimes the affection that Bleu and I express is awkward, enthusiastic, inappropriate, and just plain crazy.

I could go into detail but it’s just not necessary.

But every time I’ve called Babs to see if she wanted to go for a walk with me and Bleu at Wintergarden or Oak Openings, she’s always said, “I’ll be over in 5 minutes.”

And every time during our walks we get so wrapped up in our talks about food or family or just “stuff,” I think we’ve both forgotten that Bleu was with us, and unexpectedly Babs witnessed the craziest of black labs heeling and sniffing without any misbehaving or horrible misbehaving.

In other words, our walks have made me and Bleu better a better person/dog.

~

Quite frankly, I only like to go to Revolver Restaurant with FD. Alone.

When I tell people I think about food every minute of every day, I’m not lying. When I’m teaching, I’m thinking about food. When I’m grading, I’m thinking about food. When my boss is asking me to do something in the office, I’m thinking about food. When I’m doing yoga, I’m thinking about food. When I’m on Facebook, I’m thinking about food. When I’m writing about food, I’m thinking about food.

FD knows this. He lives it. For crying out loud, I cook for him. And I know he appreciates it. So when I have that moment of awe as I sip Butternut Squash and Apple soup at Revolver, most on-lookers think “orgasm” and FD just grins.

But it’s not sexual. It’s just foodie appreciation.

Babs gets that.

I texted her that a dish I made with chicken, wild mushrooms and kale would bring her tears. She wasn’t lying when she texted me back—after picking up the dish in 5 minutes and eating it for breakfast—“I wept.”

That’s Revolver.

If you sit there with this “yummo” glazed over-stare, you’re not getting it—the experience.

If you orgasm, obsess, try to break down ingredients and cooking methods, and sigh countless times, you get it.

That’s Babs.

No pretense. No “I’m smarter than all chefs.” No “I have to prove I’m an awesome cook.” Just “I love food and I want to try to make that.”

There’s no other way to put it: Babs and I have a food love affair.

Her blog gets into the juicy details of dishes, and quite frankly I normally would. I love Revolver, and any chance to review them lightens my heart.

But…

That is meal I can’t review objectively.

I’ve had many perfect meals there with FD, or with FD and his in-laws, or with friends, but the meal I had there with FD, Babs, and me probably could bring me to tears if mentioned randomly to me at any moment in my life.

Babs’ go-getter/I’m-only-here-once mentality was divine. Her joy from the morels was the only factor in my food-envy of our first dish. Her portion-control restraint is mesmerizing and her ability to indulge without alcohol is mind-blowing (at least to me).

In other words, Revolver is on their game and using the FRESHEST of ingredients; they rock—as always. But last night, Babs made it rock. Her humor, her family stories, and her passion about food made it one of our most memorable Revolver times.

Well, I have to admit, Dan’s goat dish really helped.

And the fact that you’d only take reallyreallyreallreallyreally special people who love food, are adventurous, and care about where food came from to Revolver.

Babs is one of those people.

~

Babs is only moving to Nebraska, but in our four-year friendship, I’ve told her secrets I only tell my sister.

Who happens to be non-verbal.

I bet both will never spill the beans.

That’s how trustworthy Babs is.

~

I’ve always been horrible with conclusions.

How do you say good-bye to someone who is such an important part of your life?

I don’t know.

All I know is I’ll make her that “good luck” mix of songs, hug her, help her load the truck, and, that night, sob in FD’s arms.

I will miss her. Horribly.

But I plan visit ASAP.