Where Have You Bean, Lima? (Part I)

Posted on June 17, 2011 by Patti, Reinvented

It’s been a while since my last post — I know, I know.  I could make up wild excuses, beg forgiveness, blame other people for my absence.  Instead, I will simply say that sometimes life just plain gets in the way of all the other stuff I have waiting on my to-do list.  That said, as a reward for coming back, I offer not one but two — count ’em, two — posts today.   One savory and one sweet.  Just like me.

First up:  THE GOOD, THE BAD and THE ZESTY.   Second:  I NEED A PERK-ME-UP.   Let me know your thoughts.

THE GOOD, THE BAD and THE ZESTY

There are many good –and bad — things about being unemployed . . . in your 50s.

Good:  I can sleep in every day if I so choose . . . as it happens, I’ve never been a late sleeper.  Bad: No paycheck on the first and 15th of the month . . . nor on the 6th, 12th or the 22nd, for that matter.  Good:  I can strike up a friendship with my postal carrier . . .  because I’m home every day when he comes by.  Bad: Our friendship is contingent upon him getting the mental-telepathy messages I silently scream at him as he strides up my front walkway . . . Please, no bills today! Please, no bills today! Please, no bills today!  Good:  I save oodles of cash by making my lunches at home . . . and eating them there, too.  Bad: I’m in danger of becoming a recluse . . . but a recluse with a killer tuna salad recipe.

Let’s face it, there are probably thousands, if not millions, of tuna salad recipes floating out there in the universe.  Most will vary in specific flavor additives, but likely all begin with two critical ingredients: tuna and mayonnaise.

Some people like solid white albacore, while others (like me) prefer the plain old chunk light tuna — which, incidentally, is usually cheaper than the albacore.  To each his own.  And the mayo, well, that gets trickier.  The mayo debate could easily escalate into an international incident if we’re not careful.  Sacrilegious as it may sound, I don’t need to use real mayonnaise.  In fact, when it comes to the mayo in tuna salad, I really can’t tell the difference between the real and the light.  (Did I just hear someone faint?)  But, if the truth be known, I usually buy what’s on sale.

The other day, as I was making my lunch,  I wondered just how much mayonnaise lies in the crevices of the inside of a mayonnaise jar.  (These things come up when you have lots of time on your hands.)  I found it completely reasonable to expect to get at least another tablespoon or more out of the indentations on the inside of my large mayonnaise jar.  And I was determined to do just that.

This was a practical use of my time, I surmised, as it ultimately saves on my grocery bill — something to strive for when you are unemployed. And after several minutes with a butter knife and my mayonnaise jar, I proudly produced nearly two additional tablespoons of mayo that would otherwise have gone into the trash with the jar!  Somewhere among Heaven’s puffy, white, cotton-ball cloudscape, dear old dad — who in his elder years took to rinsing out small baggies to reuse them — is smiling down on me for being so frugal.  (Shout out to you, Dad, on this Father’s Day weekend.)

My tuna salad is fairly simple, yet very flavorful — and colorful, too.  A neat trick to amp up your recipe?  Lemon zest.  What fish doesn’t love a refreshing yellow shower of zest?  It adds a flavor punch that belies zest’s humble, tiny existence — as opposed to lemon juice, which can make the finished product a bit too soggy for my taste.

And, taking a nod from my local Whole Foods Market, I add sweetened dried cranberries to my tuna fish, instead of the usual pickle relish, to give it a healthier touch of sweet that works nicely with the tuna and lemon.

ZESTY TUNA SALAD SANDWICH

When I have the time, I like to prepare then refrigerate the tuna salad mixture for at least an hour to allow the flavors to meet, mingle and marry, to complement each other like any good partnership should.  Besides, I like my tuna salad cold.  Bored with tuna sandwiches?  This tuna salad is also very good served in an avocado half sittin’ pretty on a cool bed of butter lettuce alongside alternating slices of fresh tomatoes and hothouse cucumbers.  Drizzle the tomato and cuke slices with a tiny bit of Thousand Island or Louie dressing, thinned out with a light squeeze of fresh lemon juice, add a couple of whole wheat crackers and you have a very satisfying, fairly healthy lunch.  My mouth is watering, is yours?

  • One 5 – 6-oz. can tuna packed in water, drained well
  • 2 to 3 tablespoons mayonnaise (This is negotiable because, who are we kidding, some people like a little tuna fish with their mayonnaise sandwich, which is fine.  But I am not one of them, so feel free to fudge on this amount.)
  • 1 teaspoon freshly grated lemon peel — just the outside yellow part
  • 1 tablespoon finely chopped celery
  • 2 teaspoons finely chopped chives
  • 2 tablespoons sweetened dried cranberries
  • Scant pinch of salt (canned tuna can be salty already, so go easy here)
  • Couple of turns of the peppermill (more if you’re partial to pepper)
  • 1 slice Swiss cheese, room temperature (optional)
  • Small handful of fresh baby spinach leaves or your favorite lettuce (optional)
  • 2 slices whole grain or sourdough bread

Mix together first eight ingredients; chill for at least one hour.   Assemble as desired on your choice of bread, or serve as a salad in an avocado or tomato half.

Posted in Sandwiches & Paninis | Tagged , , , | 4 Comments

Not Your Mother’s Apple Pie

Posted on May 27, 2011 by Patti, Reinvented

My mother made a delicious apple pie.  Actually, she made a great lemon meringue pie, chocolate cream pie and banana cream pie.  She was good at dessert.  And she always made her pie crusts from scratch.  You’d never find a ready-to-use pastry in her refrigerator.  Never, ever.

Not that there’s anything wrong with store-bought pie crusts – they make perfectly delicious pies and are wonderful timesavers.  I’ve used them countless times.  My mother simply enjoyed the process of making her own pastry dough and, after many years and hundreds of pies, she was quite good at it.

But despite clever catch phrases to the contrary, pie is not always easy.   It seems more important now that my mother is gone, that I perfect the delicate skill of flaky pastry dough.  Like carrying on a family trait,  I know it was something she loved to do and something she felt was very important.

“Everyone should know how to make a good pie crust,” I can imagine my early 1960s mom saying to me and my sister as we watched her expert moves in the kitchen.  Reaching back in my memory vault, my mind’s eye looks for photos of her at the worn bread board, wooden rolling pin in hand, and tied at her waist is a homemade kelly-green apron with two big pockets to catch a stray raisin rolling off the counter.  With her black, patent-leather flats, skinny, red capri pants, and crisp, white blouse, she looks a little bit like a Norman Rockwell Christmas card.  She is methodically rolling out the pie dough, her fingers white from a flour dusting, a smile emerging from her pursed lips as she rolls and forms the dough ball into one flat, perfectly rounded, soon-to-be flaky pastry.  At this point, the pie filling is not important.  This moment belongs to the foundation of a great pie: the crust.

Pie crust from scratch is not a long process – quite the opposite.  In fact, if you overmix a pastry dough, you’re doing it wrong and you will be sorry.  Overmixing will likely result in a tough (read: non-flaky) dough — a discouraging moment that doesn’t reveal itself until the final result, as a forkful of pastry meets your piehole.

Once I started experimenting with pastry dough made from scratch, it became an intriguing new hobby. Unlike other baking formulas, pie crust is so much more than simply combining ingredients in specified amounts, as the process is somewhat of an artistic expression.  My pastry skills are still a work in progress, as not every pie crust I make from scratch turns out Food Network-worthy.  Hardly.  But practice makes perfect, right?  And, for me, that’s the fun part.

A few days ago, it was uncharacteristically overcast for a spring day in this part of the country.  According to the calendar, the sun should have been out in all her glory, but she hid most of the day behind roaming, graying clouds that let go of occasional light rain showers throughout the afternoon.  It was the perfect opportunity to throw open the french doors off the kitchen and allow the chorus of the birds in my backyard and the raindrops on the deck to choreograph a baking session.

An empty, quiet house offers the perfect opportunity for me to let go of any number of daily worrisome thoughts that are stuck in my brain like sticky notes on a bulletin board.

Apple Tart -- BEFORE

It is a pleasure to focus all my attention on an evolving cream pie filling simmering in a heavy-bottomed pot on the stove, while a pie crust already baked to a golden brown stands at the ready; or to squeeze fresh lemon juice over crisp, tart apple slices piled high in a glass bowl as they await their shower of cinnamon and sugar, while a ball of pastry dough chills itself to perfection in the refrigerator nearby.

So when the shiny, lime green Granny Smith apples recently called to me from across the produce aisle at the grocery store so loudly that I couldn’t ignore them, I thought about how fabulous they would look — and taste — tucked inside an apple tart.

With a large circle of pastry dough that snugly overlaps itself around sweetly seasoned apple slices, leaving the top of the pile exposed to the elements, the rustic apple tart is not your mother’s apple pie.  It’s unique, impressive, and easier than it looks.  And if apples aren’t your preference, assemble the tart using fresh or frozen peaches instead, or perhaps a medley of juicy berries.  And just like that it’s as if Summer cut in line in front of Spring!

Not Your Mother’s Apple Pie

Apple Tart -- AFTER

This recipe is easy to make and you don’t even need an heirloom pie plate or great design skills — just a cookie sheet and some parchment paper.  It is perfect for a special, intimate dinner party. Don’t skip the last step with the apricot preserves – it’s what gives this dessert its WOW factor.  Adjust the cinnamon and allspice to suit your tastes, or add ground nutmeg or cloves.  Served warm or at room temperature and topped with a small scoop of french vanilla ice cream or shavings of a natural, sharp cheddar cheese, it is a special treat.

  • One unbaked pie round – homemade or pre-packaged
  • 6 medium to large tart green apples, such as Pippen or Granny Smith, peeled, seeded, and sliced to about 1/8 to 1/4 inch thickness
  • 1/2 cup sugar
  • 1 tablespoon ground cinnamon
  • 1/2 teaspoon ground allspice
  • 2 tablespoons flour
  • 1/4 teaspoon salt
  • 3 tablespoons fresh squeezed lemon juice
  • 2 tablespoons cold, unsalted butter, broken into small pieces
  • 2 tablespoons cream or Half & Half
  • 2 tablespoons apricot preserves (microwave a few seconds to loosen a bit)

1.  Prepare the tart filling:  Place apple slices into a large bowl; sprinkle with the sugar, cinnamon, allspice, flour and salt.  Add the lemon juice and stir together until all apple slices are evenly coated with the sugar and cinnamon.  Set aside to allow the flavors to get acquainted.

2.  Prepare the crust:  If using a pre-packaged pie crust, prepare according to package directions, thawing the frozen crust if necessary.  Unroll the pre-formed crust onto a lightly floured board; using a rolling pin, roll pastry to widen the circle by a couple of inches.  Place dough round on a parchment-lined, large cookie sheet.  (If you’d like to make your own pastry, see recipe below.)

3.  Pour prepared apple slices out onto your prepared pie crust round, leaving at least a two-inch border all the way around.  (It will look as if there are too many apple slices for the size of the crust, but just pile them up high; the apples will shrink during baking.)  Carefully fold up the exposed crust border over the apple slices, overlapping each section as you make your way around the circle.  There will not be enough crust to cover the apple slices completely — that’s OK, it’s supposed to be that way.

4.  Place butter pieces in and around the exposed apple slices; lightly brush the outside crust with the cream and bake at 350 degrees for about 45 minutes to 55 minutes (depending on your oven), or until crust is nicely browned and apple mixture is bubbling hot.  Remove from oven, let cool for 5 minutes, then lightly brush outside of crust with apricot preserves to create a tantalizing sheen.  Let cool another 15 minutes.  Serve warm or at room temperature.

Pastry for Homemade Pie Crust

  • 1 and 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
  • 1 tablespoon sugar
  • 1/4 teaspoon salt
  • 1 stick (8 tablespoons) very cold, unsalted butter, cut into 1/2 inch cubes
  • About 1/4 cup ice water

Place flour, sugar, and salt into a food processor and pulse for a couple of seconds to combine.  Add the butter and pulse until the mixture is a course crumbly texture, like sand, being careful not to overmix.  With the food processor running, slowly add the water just until the mixture starts to form a ball of dough.  (You might not need the full 1/4 cup of water.)  Turn out onto a floured surface and pat into a thick disk shape.  Wrap in plastic and refrigerate for at least one hour.

When completely chilled, remove from plastic wrap and place onto a lightly floured surface.  Using a floured rolling pin, and rotating the dough every so often, roll pastry into a large round circle and place on a large cookie sheet that has been lined with parchment paper.  It is now ready for a prepared filling mixture.

Posted in Desserts | Tagged , , , , | 16 Comments

Happy Mother’s Day

Posted on May 8, 2011 by Patti, Reinvented

Mom

Today is Mother’s day, and all around the world grateful sons and daughters are bestowing love and gifts upon the most important person in the family — Mom.  How many pounds of candy, how many kisses and hugs, how many long-distance phone calls, how many bouquets of roses, and how many Hallmark cards will bring smiles and tears of joy all around the globe today?  I don’t think I can count that high — math was never my strong suit.

Mother’s Day is a tough time to be without a mom and without a job.  Because just when I need a hug the most from the person who truly loves me more than any other person ever could, it turns out I’m out of luck.

My mother passed away about three years ago, but if she were alive today, we’d certainly be celebrating together.  We’d gather the family at my house early in the day.  We’d open lots of little presents, each with a different card, some funny, some sentimental.  My sister and I would plan a big dinner, maybe something on the barbecue, weather permitting, and we’d all clink our wine glasses together to toast one of God’s greatest ideas: the mom.  At the end of the celebration, I’d send Mom home with leftovers and goodies to last a week.  It’s a little something I learned at her side, watching her through the years, and through the hours and hours of pleasure she got just by being in her kitchen.

My mom thought it more important that food be good, not necessarily good for you.  So, her recipe file leaned toward the fattening, the rich, the divine.  If you’re going to make a cake, then really make a cake — or a pie or cookies or a lasagna — and don’t cut corners or try to save calories with substitutions.  Man the cookie sheets, bring the butter and eggs to room temperature, and make no apologies.  That was her logic.  And it worked.  Her desserts, if I may be so bold, were legendary.  If not to the whole world, at least to her friends and family who treasured them so.

But she was a stickler for the rules — when it came to recipes, that is.  We used to watch the Food Network together, and if I saw something that looked good and I began to make minor comments such as, “That would be better with ground turkey,” or “I think I would use red bell pepper there instead of green bell pepper,” it would set her off.  She’d immediately get her hackles up, as if I were launching some personal attack on her.

“You just can’t leave well enough alone, can you?” she’d ask, actually making it sound more like the discovery of a personality flaw than a question.

I can’t help it and I don’t know where it came from, but I’ve always wanted to tweak recipes a bit, to add a little something-something to make them tangier, cheesier, sweeter, bolder, crunchier, etc; to make it more me.  And she hated that.  She would implore me, almost scold me, to make the recipe exactly as written the first time around, then, if I wanted to add something or put a different spin on it, I could tweak it my way the next time.  It was one of her biggest pet peeves.

I miss the opportunity to once more tease her about a new recipe I’d like to change, just to see her jaw drop and her eyes widen, to hear her groan my name once more, to see her shake her head and hand at me as if she were about to send me to my room.  Who knew those would be the moments I’d miss?

Fully engulfed in personal crisis as I am right now, and missing my mother on this Mother’s Day, I found myself drawn to the kitchen and to the recipes of my youth, channeling my mother in some odd cosmic way, and recreating a recipe I’ve had a gazillion times.  A simple casserole dish.

My mother found the recipe in a cookbook of “health food” dishes back in the late 1950s, and it quickly became my favorite.  In fact, that’s all we’ve ever called it.  I don’t think our family even knew the original name of the recipe.  It simply became “my favorite casserole.”  And whenever we referred to it, which was often, that’s what we called it.  It was always my go-to choice for my birthday dinner, or when I was sick, or during the rush of the holiday season, and many other occasions in between.  Originally, this recipe called for a sprinkling of wheat germ over the top before baking, but I don’t imagine my mother ever had any wheat germ in her cupboard nor did she have any desire to start stocking it.  She quietly omitted that ingredient and we never missed it.

These days, my favorite casserole isn’t anything I’d order off a menu when dining out, but that’s OK.  It still serves its purpose as a bonafide, tangible, comforting connection to the wonderful childhood I was privileged to live.  If ever I want to transport myself back in time, I need only assemble this casserole, smell this casserole baking, taste the mother’s love within this casserole to soothe my longing heart.  It’s almost as good as going home again.  Almost.


MY FAVORITE CASSEROLE

This casserole isn’t glamorous or provocative.  It isn’t new, nor could it ever be considered gourmet.  Instead, it is comforting and filling, satisfying and easy.  And, with a tantalizing combination of comfort foods that every youngster craves, it is kid friendly.  Ground beef, cheese, creamed corn, tomato soup, and noodles party together in a big pot to create a creamy, cheesy goodness with the underlying flavor of a mother’s love.  Serve it with hot, buttery garlic bread and a simple green salad, or alongside corn chips and fresh fruit for a meal that’s a little more casual.  In other words, feel free to tweak it to suit your taste buds.  Mom and I won’t mind.

  • 1 lb. ground beef
  • 1/2 large yellow onion, chopped
  • 1 large or 2 small garlic cloves, finely chopped
  • One 10 oz. can Campbell’s condensed tomato soup, plus one can of water
  • 1 15 oz. can creamed corn
  • 1 15 oz. can diced tomatoes, not drained
  • 2 cups shredded cheddar cheese (I like sharp cheddar)
  • 8 to 10 oz. dry egg noodles
  • Salt and pepper
  • 1 tsp dried basil
  • Olive oil

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  In a large heavy pot or dutch oven over medium-high heat, brown ground beef in one tablespoon olive oil and sprinkle with a little salt and pepper and the basil.  Add the chopped onions and garlic and cook a few minutes to soften the vegetables.  Add the canned tomatoes, soup, one can of water, and the creamed corn.  Sprinkle a little more salt over the mixture and stir together.  Add the noodles and cook for about seven minutes or so; you don’t want to overcook the noodles now because they will cook further in the oven.  After the noodles are almost cooked through (al dente), pour half of the mixture into a casserole dish, sprinkle with half the cheese and pour the rest of the mixture over the cheese.  Sprinkle the remaining cheese over the top of the casserole and bake for approximately 20 to 30 minutes or until the cheese is melted and the mixture is heated through and bubbling around the edges.  Remove from the oven and let stand for at least 10 minutes before serving.  Yum!

Posted in Comfort Food -- Savory, Entrees | Tagged , , , | 4 Comments

A Sweet Start to My Day

Posted on April 27, 2011 by Patti, Reinvented

Why is there never a chocolate cupcake around when you really need one?  Sighing in frustration, I finally shut the refrigerator door, more because I’m tired of not finding what isn’t in there and less to be energy efficient.

I like something sweet first thing in the morning.  A peanut butter cookie with bittersweet chocolate chips, cold leftover Panetone bread pudding, or the last square of carrot cake all make great accompaniments to my morning pot of let’s-get-going.

I start each morning with a cup of strong, dark coffee in one hand, computer mouse in the other, as I settle in at my small brown desk in my home office with the huge window that looks out over my front yard.

Sitting at my computer, staring at the sad little reflection on the monitor, I force myself to check the gazillion or so job websites in search of a new life, knowing full well that it likely won’t do much for my mood.   I imagine the secret laugh fest that would surely take place after the hiring crew gets a look at my resume’ and makes bets on my age.

While I was gainfully employed – with benefits and a generous 401k plan – I was more afraid of success than failure.  What if I try new things and I’m wildly successful?  What if Oprah calls?  Will I change if I’m a fabulous overnight success?

Now that I am suddenly unemployed and lacking any sort of plan for my swiftly approaching golden years, my fear of success has quickly turned into a nasty, debilitating fear of failure.  What do I do now?  Where do I go from here?  What if Oprah doesn’t call?

Each unemployed day that goes by is another day lost to the cruel, sharp clutch of uncertainty.  It reminds me of that old gag about a stranger at a party spewing non-interesting jibberish, and the bored listener walks away muttering, “There go six minutes I’ll never see again.”

When the stress of the job hunt gets to be too much, I hit the QUIT button, put on my sneakers, and head out for a walk.  I have come to eagerly embrace my daily walks around the nearby elementary school, more as a way to decompress than to exercise, although I’m sure my doctor would applaud my decision, especially if she knew I had 22 Fritos with my lunch yesterday.  Walking doesn’t erase my problems, but it clears my head and keeps me focused on my search for solutions.

Rounding the corner on the sidewalk in front of the elementary school, I take in all the usual activities.  In the afternoon, the school parking lot is crowded with parents picking up children, big yellow school buses idling, ready to take on their boisterous cargo, a swarm of kids of all ages running about the playground like tiny ants released from a Mason jar.  Skipping and jumping, they ignore the honking horns and moms with outstretched arms and bellowing voices.  “Hurry up!  You’ll be late for soccer practice, dance class, the orthodontist . . . ” or any other number of alerts I hear trailing off into the breeze.

But on a morning walk, as I pass the multipurpose room and main building of the school, the air is filled with the aromas of the huge kitchen with its industrialized decor.  Invisible clouds of cafeteria favorites ooze out from the windows and onto the sidewalk to meet me; familiar scents swirl all around to take me back in time.  The ooey, gooey, creamy goodness of macaroni and cheese; hot, yeasty, mile-high dinner rolls softening the cold square pats of butter that cuddle up beside them; warm, cinnamony apple slices frolic with raisins in a brown sugar puddle beneath a flaky, buttery crust; huge, doughy peanut butter cookies nestle alongside one another on large, silver baking sheets, emitting an aroma that yearns for a carton of milk so ice-cold it needs to be held with a napkin to keep from losing a finger to frostbite.

When I was a kid in elementary school in North Hollywood, my mother was a stay-at-home mom.  She did the laundry, the ironing, the cooking and the cleaning.  She made the beds, did the dishes by hand, and was a natural in the kitchen.  When my sister and I came home in the afternoon, famished from a hard day at school, Mom fixed us a little something to tide us over until dinner: the brown sugar sandwich.  As we watched in great anticipation, eye-level to the countertop, she gingerly buttered a piece of white bread, sprinkled the creamy yellow top with brown sugar, folded the bread slice in half and lovingly placed it in our outstretched, eager hands.  It wasn’t the healthiest of snacks, obviously, but Mom likely thought it better and more filling than a cookie or a candy bar, which is what most kids might reach for in the snack department.

Though I know I should opt for fruit or a carrot stick, these days I am more inclined to reach for a brownie or a cookie before the brown sugar sandwich of my youth.  Which is exactly what I did after my walk.  Thirty-seven minutes after I headed out on my trek around the school, I came back to my kitchen and the gooey, chocolately, nutty brownie whose snapshot had taken over every portal of my brain.  Yesterday, I threw together half-empty remnants from my freezer, added a couple of boxes of fudge brownie mix, tweaked it a bit with a teaspoon of instant espresso powder (also always in my freezer), and came up with a nice batch of decadence.  This is the brownie you want with strong coffee or good Port.  It is satisfying and delicious – and quick to pull together.   Oh, yummy, nutty goodness, you complete me.

But as I finish the small brownie and lick the last of the softening chocolate batter from my fingertips, I can’t help but wonder . . . Calorically speaking, does a walk cancel out the brownie or did the brownie just cancel out the walk?

RICH, NUTTY, TOFFEE BROWNIES

If a super-moist, almost doughy brownie is not your thing, then you may want to tweak the recipe to suit your desires.  Perhaps use a smaller pan and cut down to one box of mix, or scale back on the chocolate chips.  Again, this was a throw-together recipe.  The fun is in taking a look inside your freezer or pantry to make a unique mix of your own.

  • 2 boxes fudge brownie mix — not the brand that includes a pouch of chocolate sauce; follow directions on the box: if one calls for 2 eggs, you will need 4 if you are using two boxes, etc.
  • 1 teaspoon instant espresso powder (no, the brownies won’t end up tasting like a Starbucks cafe mocha; the powder just deepens the rich chocolate flavor)
  • 3/4 cup toffee bits
  • 1 cup bittersweet (not semi-sweet) chocolate chips
  • 1 cup chopped walnuts (or any other nut you prefer)

Preheat oven according to brownie package directions and the pan you will be using.  (I used a 10x13x2 inch, old school Corning Ware baking dish.)  Coat the pan with your favorite cooking spray.  Mix together well the ingredients as listed on the packages: usually water, oil, eggs, and dry brownie mix.  Add in the espresso powder, toffee bits, chips, and nuts, and mix well.  Pour into prepared pan and bake according to directions.  (Using a larger pan not specified on the box directions, I estimated the total cooking time and was careful to check the progress every few minutes after the initial time period.) Use a toothpick to check for doneness — in a couple of different spots in the center, as the pick may hit the inside of a chocolate chip.  When the toothpick comes out clean, the brownies are done.  Remove from oven and immediately run a sharp knife around the edges where the brownie meets the pan, to loosen the seal and make for easier removal.  Allow to cool completely before cutting and removing the brownies from the pan.  (Don’t forget to chill a glass of milk in the freezer!)

Posted in Comfort Food -- Sweet, Desserts | Tagged , , , , | 7 Comments

The Wishbone on the Windowsill

Posted on April 19, 2011 by Patti, Reinvented

I have very fond childhood memories of fabulous meals around an overloaded Thanksgiving table in our middle-class dining room in Southern and then Northern California.

The most vivid memories include the round cut-crystal dish with a bottom surface that sparkled like a thousand real diamonds that nestled the log-shaped cranberry sauce — fresh from the can, of course; the candy-sweet and scrumptious yams with their marshmallow pillow top that for the kids at the table hid any resemblance to a vegetable; the longtime family recipe turkey dressing that was also turkey stuffing in our house, a three-day concoction of creamy cooked potatoes, stale white bread, whole milk, grated yellow onions, salt, and lots of dried Summer Savory.

And dessert?  Well, Mom was the Betty Crocker of the neighborhood, so even when it was just the four of us for Thanksgiving – Mom, Dad, my sister and I — mince, pumpkin, and apple pies decorated the dessert table, their collective aromas teasing our taste buds into saving room for the best part of the meal.

Once the turkey had been dismembered and relished, and its remaining juicy meat safely tucked away in the refrigerator for tomorrow’s sandwiches, my father always carefully extracted the wishbone from the big bird, delicately placing it on the kitchen windowsill to dry out for a few days.  The wishbone represented the magical world of dreams and their chasers, like when you find a penny on the sidewalk and put it in your left shoe for good luck.   You either believe or you don’t.  We did.  I still do.

But it was a long few days of watching and waiting, of thinking and planning.  Dad’s wishbone had to reach the critical point; don’t touch it before that, he would warn, it needs time to wither in the sunlight on the sill in order to be completely dry and therefore more apt to give way to the tugging of small, eager hands in search of a lofty wish come true.  His no-touching rule allowed me sufficient time to gather my wishes, tossed  together like a big bowl of leftover Halloween candy.  Which one will it be this time, I’d wonder, mentally sorting through the magical possibilities in my youthful brain.  Too young to even think to wish for fame and fortune – if only I had those opportunities back! – I’m sure I usually wished for something like a new Barbie or bike for Christmas, or a family vacation to Disneyland.

The wishbone on my windowsill today is from a classic roasted whole chicken that I recently bedded down with celery, onions and carrots, much like I would a pot roast of beef, being careful not to overcrowd the buttered and seasoned bird.  Though not from a Thanksgiving turkey, my small chicken wishbone still represents the wishes of my past as much as the wishes of my future.  It is, after all, about magic and tradition, and is an homage to my father and his endearing childlike ability to make me believe that wishes do indeed come true.  Besides, I could use a little bit of magic right about now.

Several months ago, I suddenly lost my job after 19 years with the same company.  The experience was like a chair being pulled out from under me as I prepared my body to sit.  It was as jolting as it sounds, not to my posterior but to my rapidly decreasing level of confidence.  I am 55 years old and worlds apart from the college graduates who will now sit beside me in Human Resources waiting rooms.  Each day I frantically give chase to my fleeing sense of value in the world.

Who am I anyway?  Am I my resume´?  The lyrics from the Broadway hit, A Chorus Line, resonate over and over inside me like a churning pot of bubbling cream begging to be pulled from the heat.  Perhaps the only thing I know for sure at this point is that I am a writer who likes to get creative in the kitchen.

And I am a dreamer.  If keeping the wishbone tradition alive is a shout-out to Dad, then my nagging urge to play in the kitchen is a low, slow, royal curtsy to my mother, who believed in the healing powers of cooking and baking for others.

It is with her in mind that I begin this blog to reinvent my life while revisiting the recipes and food memories of my youth.  I didn’t quite realize it before she was gone, but the hours she spent in her well-worn kitchen weren’t merely about putting food on the table.  They were about moments of love and laughter and life; about the fine art of relishing a happy memory as much as you would a bite of something deliciously decadent as it rolled around in your mouth, danced a bit with your taste buds, and slid down your throat.  You want it to linger and visit, to carry over until the next moment of sweet satisfaction.

This is my journey of getting from here to there – wherever there may be.  It is a journey of discovery and reinvention.  Kindred spirits adrift on the same swelling sea: if you’re out there, chime in.  Together we’ll remake ourselves and soothe our souls.  This is our ship of second chances and it has many open seats.  And like any good cruise, the accent will be on the food.

CLASSIC ROAST CHICKEN – My Way

I absolutely love, love, love chicken.  I could eat chicken every day – and some weeks I do!  It is one of the most versatile foods on the planet, and can be tweaked to satisfy the pickiest of eaters.  It easily fits into most any cultural category and is readily available in several forms – light meat, dark meat, whole, ground, the grab & go (drumstick) – making it a dinner party host’s dream come true.

  • One 4-5 lb. whole chicken; giblets removed; thoroughly rinsed inside and out; patted dry.
  • One lemon, quartered; set aside one quarter
  • One large yellow onion, cut into eighths
  • 2 large carrots, cut into two-inch pieces
  • 2 stalks celery, including leafy tops, cut into two-inch pieces
  • 3 – 4 tablespoons softened unsalted butter
  • 2 sprigs fresh thyme
  • 4 fresh sage leaves
  • Small handful of fresh Italian parsley
  • Salt and pepper
  • Kitchen string

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.  Sprinkle inside of rinsed chicken generously with salt and pepper and place in a large glass or ceramic roasting dish.  Tuck ends of wings underneath the body of the chicken so they won’t burn.  Place three lemon quarters and two eighths of the onion inside the cavity of the chicken.  Place the thyme, parsley, and one tablespoon of butter inside the chicken with the lemon and onion.

With your fingers, loosen the skin away from the breast meat, being careful not to tear the skin.  Rub a tablespoon of butter under the skin of each breast, and place a couple of sage leaves under the skin of the breasts; make sure to smooth back the skin to cover the breast meat as much as possible.

With the remaining butter (and all that is already stuck to your fingers) grease up that bird.  Massage the outside of the chicken completely, around the legs, thighs, and over the breasts until the bird is buttered nicely and your hands are a mess.  Using the kitchen string, truss the drumsticks in together to ensure even cooking.

Place carrots, celery, and remaining onion pieces around the bird, and sprinkle the veggies and the outside of the bird with salt and pepper.  Using the reserved lemon quarter, squeeze a bit of lemon juice over the bird.

Roast for approximately 75 minutes to 90 minutes – depending on the performance of your oven and the size of the bird.  (My convection oven cooks at a faster pace than my conventional oven.)  Test doneness by inserting the tip of a knife blade between the drumstick and the body of the bird to release the juices: If the juices run clear, it is done; if the juices are pink, it is not ready for consumption.

When the chicken is done, remove from oven, lightly cover with foil, and allow to rest for at least 15 minutes before carving and serving.  Enjoy!

Posted in Chicken / Poultry, Comfort Food -- Savory, Entrees | Tagged , , , , , , , | 12 Comments