Tuesday, January 10, 2012
I love my dinner robot...I mean my husband.
This last week it was double rice flowered fish with ginger and black caraway and sesame asparagus. Such a wonderful take on sweet and sour. As my heart rate and adrenaline levels settled, Ben told me about how he nearly burned the kitchen down while cooking. He was glowing with the excitement of his culinary adventure. As I ate and filled Ben in on my class, my belly and my heart grew full. It wasn't long before we were both sleepy and ready for bed. As I buried myself underneath the covers and turned off the light, all I could think was, how lucky was I to have a husband who could cook so well and who could turn a brief late-night dinner into such a delightful experience.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Salty and Sweet
![](http://web.archive.org./web/20180120191830im_/http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jjUMF2m5yqw/TvoXgtIdYPI/AAAAAAAAB98/iiBN_bqg7hE/s400/IMG_5521.jpg)
I'm going to try this out:
Little Peasant
Let me know what you think...
Thursday, December 01, 2011
Mom's Black Bean Burgers
- Ingredients
- 1 can of Amy's refried Beans
- 3 eggs
- 3/4 Cup of Panko
- 1/2 Cup of mushrooms diced
- 1 shredded kohlrabi
- 3 Tbs of corn flour
- 1/2 cup of shredded cheese (cheddar or parm)
- 3Tbs mayonaise
- 2 Tbs of oil
Saturday, August 06, 2011
The Gripping Revelation
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Hot Chicks, Cool Celery
- 2 cups of celery leaves
- 1 gallon water
- ½ tablespoon celery seed
- 6-10 oz. agave syrup or twice as much sugar syrup
- Juice of 1-2 limes
- Coarsely chop celery leaves
- Add leaves and seeds to water in stock pot and boil for 10-15 minutes
- Let cool and strain into gallon jar
- Add sweetener and lime juice
- Server over ice in a collins glass
Thursday, July 21, 2011
The Ugly Pancake
My Mother never told me that not every pancake, is a good looking pancake. So it only stands to reason that I was more than a little thrown when I made these tasty, yet incredibly homely pancakes for the first time
It all began with a game of Something-Out-Of-Nothing - a game where I try and come up with a tasty meal out of what happens to be in the house. On this day in particular, all I had was some cold leftover oatmeal, 2 bananas, flour, and some eggs. Apparently, that's all I needed!
These pancakes were delicious, they were healthy, charming (yes, charming), great out of the fridge, they fit perfectly in the toaster, they had everything going for them... well, almost everything. These tasty cakes were only missing one thing, and there was no sugar coating what it was, these pancakes were not easy on the eyes, if you know what I mean.
I tried covering them up, drowning them in whipped cream and berries. I tried garnishes of all kinds, but nothing could hide their grayish brown complexion and peculiar shape. Unable to cope with the great disparity between taste and looks, I eventually stopped making them, and forgot all about their unappealing looks... until today. It was while I was eating cold leftover oatmeal that an image flashed into my mind. I was horrified. Not by the thought of these 'homely' pancakes, but of what an immature foodie I was to kick these delicious breakfast fritters to the curb for not being perfect. These pancakes weren't ugly, they were just different! How superficial can you get!
After whipping up a batch, this time using buckwheat flour, I am happy to say that they were even more delicious then I remembered, and I must say, kinda cute (yes cute!)
So, please, tell all your children, tell your friends, tell the guy sitting next to you on the bus: there is no such thing as an ugly pancake!
Blueberry Peach Oatmeal Fritters
ingredients
- 2 cups of rolled oats
- 2 1/2 cups of water
- 1 tsp vanilla
- 1/2 cup Buckwheat flour (or whatever flour you desire)
- 2 very ripe mashed bananas (optional)
- 4 eggs (whisked)
- 1 peach diced
- 2 handfulls of blueberries
- 1/4 cup maple syrup
- 1/4 tsp nutmeg
- 1/4tsp ground clove
- Cook the oats, water, syrup, and spices over medium heat for about 3 mins
- Add berries and peaches and cook an additional 2 mins (add more water if dry)
- Remove from heat, add vanilla and let mixture cool
- Once oatmeal is room temperature, add eggs, flour, and bananas and stir until mixed well
- Ladle the batter out into a lightly oiled, non stick pan in sand dollar sized disks
- Cook over a medium-high heat for about 3-4 minutes on each side
*these guys are great for freezing and reheat great in the toaster.
** Also good finger food for babies who are able to use their pinchers to feed themselves. I break these up into bite sized pieces for my 9 month old daughter. She just loves feeding herself these for breakfast.
Wednesday, March 02, 2011
Defining Romantic
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Some people would like you to believe that once you have children romance is dead and that spontaneity is out the window. Don’t believe them. While it is likely you will have to repress a few impulsive urges, that does not mean that you can never enjoy an impromptu romantic afternoon or evening. Babies take naps, so do toddlers, older kids have music class and sleepovers, and they all thankfully have a bedtime. In fact, allowing for romance post child requires that you embrace spontaneity with a fervor like never before. It requires a whole new level of ingenuity, ardor, dedication, and lets face it, a few hours of lost sleep.
I have never been a fan of The ‘Romantic’ dinner. The candlelight, the soft music, the strawberry shortcake for two, the whole thing just seems absurdly premeditated. As if romance were something calculated. I happen to know that Fancy Valentine’s Day prefixes are the antithesis of romance. Nothing can ruin the wild nature of prospective love more then sitting in a room full of other hopefuls trying to approximate the very same thing. While you can aspire for romance, you can’t plan for it, and you certainly can’t buy it for $85 a head with a complimentary glass of Prosecco. Romance is organic, uncultivated; it grows out of adoration; respect, and desire, spontaneity is what sets it aglow. Sure, strawberries and Champagne with a loved one is special, but I’ll take getting caught in a rainstorm then warming up with a hot toddy with them any day.
For Ben and I, a romantic dinner usually includes cooking together, though sometimes we cook meals for one another. Much of the time it involves us geeking-out on how the food turned out, what we would do differently next time, and waxing about future cooking challenges. Sometimes we will choose a bottle of wine to go with the meal or make a cocktail and other times not. We never plan these romantic dinners, so it hard to say what they will involve and its hard to define what exactly makes them romantic. They pretty much just come about on their own, Hannah goes to sleep easily, the meal just comes together, we are both ready and willing to un-wind. What I can say, it that, now that we have Hannah, there is one ingredient that we can pretty much count on in order for us to have a romantic dinner, and that’s a baby monitor.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
About Time I Told You...
You know who I'm talking about. I've joined the army of stroller pushers. If I go to a restaurant for dinner, it's to the early 5pm seating. Dinner conversation may include a myriad of subjects such as baby pooh, teething, and spit-up. Entertainment, provided by Hannah herself, may include the blowing of spit bubbles, experimental vocal stylings, and even flatulence. What I am trying to tell you, is that I have become one of those people who, if I have time to make a delicious meal, I surely don't have time to write about it. And, though I am sorry to have lost anything even remotely resembling free time, I have to admit, I am loving every minute of it!
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Happy Holidays!
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
Why I Hate Thanksgiving...Not!
So you hate Turkey, that's fine. One of my customers at the shop hates it as well, but instead of calling off the holiday or complaining about how much he hates fowl, he served his guests Surf & Turf. Hate going home for the Holiday because your family is crazy, then don't go home, host your owl Thanksgiving and ban TV watching all together.
Don't agree with the ideology behind the celebration, then come up with your own. Host your own dinner in honor of the way of life that was destroyed by the settlers. Have all your guests dress in black and cook traditional Native American dishes. What I'm, trying to say, is that you have the power to reinvent the holiday.
As for me, I love thanksgiving. I love it because, over the past 12 years, my friends and I have created our own Thanksgiving traditions based on what we feel the Holiday should be about. It's all about the Family that you choose,
![](http://web.archive.org./web/20180120191830im_/http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XjYeiyFOnQI/SxUyPEuGwqI/AAAAAAAAB58/vDdWeXMeRRg/s400/-4.jpg)
To the Thanksgiving haters, these sentiments may seem paltry but, to them I say, try it one year, and then tell me you can't come up with at least one reason to be thankful.
Monday, November 23, 2009
New Roommates
The new chicks arrived Sunday evening and after evaluating their temperaments we decided that, due to her unflappable and cordial charm we would sneak the funny looking blackTurken, Bruja , into the coop while Buzz and Auntie were sleeping. This is a pretty standard integration tactic for new chickens and it seemed to work well enough forBruja. The next morning Buzz and Auntie picked on her a bit, but the climate of the coop had hardly been compromised.
It's so bad that it has me wondering if I will be forced to put an end to this torment with a recipe I found in an old cookbook from 1909.
Monday, November 09, 2009
The Sick and Twisted Lot...
So everyone gets it, the Stomach flu sucks! But it sucks oh so much more for foodies. Why is that? Foodies suffer in ways non-foodies dare not imagine. For these food-frenziests, not only are they being robbed of their valuable vitamins and nutrients every time they head hastily to the bathroom, they are being robbed of something much more precious; they are being robbed of the notion of a good meal.
For the foodcentric, having their three meals a day stripped down to three saltine crackers, a ramekin of plain white rice, and a gallon of smart water may be tolerable... for a day!
![](http://web.archive.org./web/20180120191830im_/http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XjYeiyFOnQI/Sv3y8cea9II/AAAAAAAAB48/W162x3Vd_No/s400/pooped.jpg)
Sure, it may seem masochistic to fawn over an HD version of a 12oz. Burger drenched in Sister Sally’s Special Spicy Sauce as your intestines rally to take you down. But let me assure you, as the days pass - and intestinal health appears to be further away then anticipated - I myself have become so pooped (pardon the expression), that simply the idea of salt-brined pork loin and Chocolate Molten Cake has become spiritually nourishing.
For this Brooklyn Foodie, it has been six days of edible torment peppered with endless excursions to the bathroom. The only reason I am able to patiently await the day I can wrap my lips around a butter laden chocolate chunk cookie and let it melt in my mouth with little to no gastric consequences, is because I have sustained myself wholly on just the notion of the Barefoot Contessa’s scrumptious looking Carrot Cake - covered in pineapple, on the savory idea of Sopapillas from Salsa Brava in Flagstaff AZ, on early morning daydreams of quick-fire challenges involving poached eggs - Ruben style, on the itellectual essence of Crab Salad Strudel, Basil infused Ice Cream, Ham Hocks, and Bok Choy, and on the desire for Bread Pudding with a very Chocolaty Twist. How many un-foodies can say the same? Not many. That's because the only thing a non-foodie has lost to the Stomach Flu, is their lunch.
Friday, September 04, 2009
There's a new Bird in Town
Monday, August 31, 2009
Tough Decisions
"If you could only eat two types of cuisine for the rest of your life, what would they be?" I asked Ben, who immediately fell silent with mournful contemplation.
It certainly wasn't an easy question to answer. I myself was still mulling it over. Mexican food would have to be one of the two, but that left a tough decision; I would have to choose between Thai, French, Vietnamese, or Italian food. For the sake of culinary summitry, French or Italian Cuisine would be a wise choice; but that would mean I could never have Thai or Vietnamese ever again! Was I ready to make that decision? Then again, wouldn't I tire of eating Mexican and Vietnamese, FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE! I thought of maybe changing the rules to this little, and perhaps masochistic game and allowing for three types of cuisine instead of two, but that just felt like cheating.
I took my last bite of Papusa, heavily drenched in spicy red salsa, and looked over at Ben to access his progress with the question. "Well?" I asked impatiently awaiting his answer. He took a deep breath as though ready to relinquish his forever rights to two of his favorites foods and said, "I don't think I like this game very much." Fare enough babe, neither do I. Game over.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Don't Fence Me In
This may seem like an out-of-the-blue question considering my lengthy absence. Working in the wine shop and bartending, moving in with Ben and adopting two new chickens has this Brooklyn Peasant tackling problems never before contemplated: How do you juggle two jobs, marry two kitchens, and more importantly, how do you protect your beloved egg laying chickens from a family of pesky raccoons? Lets just say that in my struggle to answer these questions, I have exhausted my search engine, entertained bar regulars with weekly poultry updates, needs have been met, and questions have been answered...all but one that is.
Combining Ben's kitchen and mine turned out to be easier than I had originally expected. Because together we turned out to have two of many kitchen utensils and appliances, we simply gave a few things away. Two friends of mine inherited my Cuisinart, and my soon to be ex-roommate, after a mini sharpening lesson, inherited some knifes, a steal, silverware, and some pots and pans.
The raccoons, though persistent, were easy to handle. Some two-by-fours, chicken wire, and some green paint was all we needed to keep our prized chick-a-dees from the clutches of the insatiable raccoons. Of course we did feel bad having to fence the girls in,
and so we resolved to let them romp the yard freely on weekends and holidays when we would be around to guard them from potential predators.
This seemed to work just fine for a few weeks. Saturday morning the girls would wake us with their hungry squawks and we would stumble out sleepily to open the coop door. Out they would run as fast as their wirey little chicken feet could carry them and as Ben and I hammered away at the second story flooring,
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It all started a week ago when Buzz woke us at 6am with squawks so load we figured she must be getting mauled by and intruding animal. Well there was no intruder. As we rushed outside to rescue our dear little chick, there she stood on the other side of the fencing, glaring at us with disdain. Though we fed her and gave her attention, her cries could not be extinguished. We did everything, we talked to her comfortingly, we yelled at her in English and then in Spanish, we even threw water at her, but she would quiet down only long enough to peck at the wire fencing that stood between her and freedom. Over the next week Buzz would wake us every morning with her murderous cries. On Buzz's mornings off Auntie, her feathered counterpart, would take the floor with her raspy chirps. Somehow, by answering every cry, and by giving the girls a taste of freedom, we had created little monsters. So here we are, back to my original question, How DO you discipline a chicken? Only when this question is answered will Ben and I get a full nights sleep.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
The Feefee Monster and The Coffee Fanatic Redux
![](http://web.archive.org./web/20180120191830im_/http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4313/4267/200/Empire%20Coffee.jpg)
Why am I telling you this? Well, partially because it is one of my favorite stories to tell, and partly because I want you to take me very seriously when I tell you that you should forever buy your coffee from Empire Coffee & Tea co. They are truly the best roasters around. Many others, claiming to be serious about their coffee, will tell you to buy from Puerto Rican Coffee co. PR Coffee co. my ass! Okay, perhaps that was a little harsh. PR’s coffee is good coffee, but it is maybe my second or third choice. More often than not their beans taste bitter and burnt. Empire’s coffee is simply better. Maybe its because they roast in small batches, or maybe its because they have been doing it with love for 91 years, who knows why . The store is located on 9th avenue in the forties and is nothing fancy. There are two couches in the front and sacks of coffee and jars of tea in the back. You can buy your coffee by the pound, or have a fresh brewed cup and biscotti from the counter. I have been going there for about 15 years now, and the staff has always been incredibly nice, it’s actually almost bizarre how nice- this is NY after all. If ninth ave and 42nd is too out of the way for you, you can order their coffee online. The web sight is a little wacky and easy to navigate, after you fill out you order form you can leave a comment, or “ you could write some poetry if you like.” I left a bit of Pablo Neruda the last time I ordered.
So if you yourself are a coffee snob, or just interested in becoming one check out Empire Coffee & Tea co. online or at their store locations:
568 9th ave (41st-42nd streets)
nyc, ny, 10036
(212) 268- 1220
(800) 262- 5908
http://www.empirecoffeetea.com/start.htm