This week I made my lunch for work, which was great, because I probably saved about $50 or the allowance I need for the dog walker. I had a Honey Maple Turkey and Picante Provolone sandwich, an apple, pretzels and a few Pepperidge farm cookies. Today, however, I ran out of fixins and bought my lunch at “Chop it.” I’m a big fan of the make-your-own salad craze. Since it began, I get more or less the same thing: a spinach salad with feta, cranberries, artichokes, carrots and an egg. While away from the US I finally learned to like cucumbers, so now they get tossed in too. I usually get the light Balsamic Vinaigrette.
I had never been to “Chop it” before and stood in the queue quickly trying to calculate how much my usual items would cost and if I should swap some of them out for less costly items. For example, artichoke hearts can cost $1.50 and these make- your-own salads can add up. Indeed, I did opt for the last minute switch and chose soy beans (or edamame as they are known in Japan and in urban lunch establishments.)
I got to the top of the considerable queue with incredible speed. And then I saw why. The servers behind the counter were moving at light speed. I’m serious. They tossed in my ingredients before I was even sure I wanted them. The little additional flare of “Chop It” that distinguishes it from the other places is that they then indeed chop up the salad with furious fervor and punctilious panache. It was like watching Edward Scissorhands. And just like Edward, everyone was friendly and polite.
It is particularly unnerving when an impatient, hurried person such as myself gets outpaced. Like a slug I tried to regain my composure as my tossed salad was tossed to me. Upon receiving ever-so tender instructions to move to the register, I lurched forward. My feet felt like concrete compared to the tizzy of roughage around me. I handed over my ticket with trembling hands. I feared I would not get to my wallet with enough speed and I would be THE ONE who halted the precision of the salad assembly line. Henry Ford is certainly beaming down from heaven on “Chop it.”
The salad was pretty good. I missed those artichokes, but whenever I eat edamame I feel like I’m adding years onto my life. So, I think it was worth $8.69. Once a week anyway.
Showing posts with label Friday Food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Friday Food. Show all posts
Friday, May 6, 2011
Sunday, April 24, 2011
RIP Cafe Cento Sette
In 1997 Kate and I lived in a “one bedroom” apartment on 13th street and 2nd Avenue. After almost a year of crashing on couches and apartment sitting, this was our first New York apartment (with the help of Kate’s dad who was our guarantor.) We had a deal that each stayed 6 months in the bedroom and then 6 months in the living room on the futon that was also our couch. We had no closets. I remember yelling at Kate, because her mom would send us superfluous gadgets all the time. Her heart was certainly in the right place, but it felt like one more salad spinner would send our apartment over the edge. I also remember milking my 6 months and it sliding into 7, 8, 9 months without protest from Kate.
During our trials and tribulations in the East Villages we had a blast. It was hardly the hardcore edgy hood of the 70s and 80s, but it was also quite different from the gentrified EV of today, which has a Star bucks, Subway, HSBC and Chase bank on every corner. I had my first and only New York gun story on that block: cops chasing a guy with guns drawn; no shots fired thank god. We had a crack addict that sat harmlessly on our stoop a lot of the time. We also had never-ending cool bars, restaurants and boutiques.
Shortly after arriving in the neighborhood we started going to the Italian place on the corner, Café Cento Sette. It was pretty cheap and we both found dishes from which for the next 14 years we did not stray. Kate ordered Penne della Casa, which had fresh mozzarella, eggplant and tomato sauce. I ordered Penne Ala Vodka, which had ham and shrimp in it. Every time we went we ordered that with a Caesar salad and talked incessantly, first about how awesome our dishes were, which never failed us and then about everything else under the sun.
We got to know the owner, an Italian woman whose name I never got, in typical New York friendly-but-not-too-friendliness. We even moved with them when they relocated from the corner of 13th and 3rd to the corner of 10th and 2nd. We made all of our friends and family eat there and never did we have a bad experience. We loved it for that reason alone. In a big anonymous city, the secret of New York City survival is having those few spots sprinkled throughout the city that you can always count on…constancy in the midst of chaos.
On Friday, I planned to meet my friend Hala who was in town from Syria. I hadn’t seen her in about 2 years and we had much to catch up on. Her twins who were now 3! And of course I wanted to hear all about the current situation in Syria, which even that very day was not sounding that good. As we competed with each other to cram two years of conversation into the first few minutes of our meeting, we strolled over to the East Village. As I walked down Second Avenue toward our dining destination, Cento Sette, Hala and I both paused from geopolitics to confess that we both already knew what we would order. I, of course, would get the Penne ala Vodka and Hala, who had been introduced to the place by me and had returned many times with other friends, would get the mushroom tortellini.
With what must have been prophetic irony we talked about how the restaurant fronts seemed to change with each return trip to the neighborhood. And then I saw it. Where my beloved, constant favorite restaurant should be: “STORE FOR RENT.” Amidst reunion and political consternation I was stunned into silence by the failure of MY restaurant. Even now, as I receive messages of condolence on my facebook page, I wonder what the impact will be for me. Maybe, like before, the owner will move to another location; maybe to Queens where rents are still affordable. But given the state of the economy (oh, has it finally directly impacted my life?!) I think this might be the end of Café Cento Sette.
During our trials and tribulations in the East Villages we had a blast. It was hardly the hardcore edgy hood of the 70s and 80s, but it was also quite different from the gentrified EV of today, which has a Star bucks, Subway, HSBC and Chase bank on every corner. I had my first and only New York gun story on that block: cops chasing a guy with guns drawn; no shots fired thank god. We had a crack addict that sat harmlessly on our stoop a lot of the time. We also had never-ending cool bars, restaurants and boutiques.
Shortly after arriving in the neighborhood we started going to the Italian place on the corner, Café Cento Sette. It was pretty cheap and we both found dishes from which for the next 14 years we did not stray. Kate ordered Penne della Casa, which had fresh mozzarella, eggplant and tomato sauce. I ordered Penne Ala Vodka, which had ham and shrimp in it. Every time we went we ordered that with a Caesar salad and talked incessantly, first about how awesome our dishes were, which never failed us and then about everything else under the sun.
We got to know the owner, an Italian woman whose name I never got, in typical New York friendly-but-not-too-friendliness. We even moved with them when they relocated from the corner of 13th and 3rd to the corner of 10th and 2nd. We made all of our friends and family eat there and never did we have a bad experience. We loved it for that reason alone. In a big anonymous city, the secret of New York City survival is having those few spots sprinkled throughout the city that you can always count on…constancy in the midst of chaos.
On Friday, I planned to meet my friend Hala who was in town from Syria. I hadn’t seen her in about 2 years and we had much to catch up on. Her twins who were now 3! And of course I wanted to hear all about the current situation in Syria, which even that very day was not sounding that good. As we competed with each other to cram two years of conversation into the first few minutes of our meeting, we strolled over to the East Village. As I walked down Second Avenue toward our dining destination, Cento Sette, Hala and I both paused from geopolitics to confess that we both already knew what we would order. I, of course, would get the Penne ala Vodka and Hala, who had been introduced to the place by me and had returned many times with other friends, would get the mushroom tortellini.
With what must have been prophetic irony we talked about how the restaurant fronts seemed to change with each return trip to the neighborhood. And then I saw it. Where my beloved, constant favorite restaurant should be: “STORE FOR RENT.” Amidst reunion and political consternation I was stunned into silence by the failure of MY restaurant. Even now, as I receive messages of condolence on my facebook page, I wonder what the impact will be for me. Maybe, like before, the owner will move to another location; maybe to Queens where rents are still affordable. But given the state of the economy (oh, has it finally directly impacted my life?!) I think this might be the end of Café Cento Sette.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Gulu Guacamole
Do you know that feeling from when you make a certain food and it instantly takes you somewhere? Last night I made guacamole for the first time since moving back to the States and it made me think a lot about Gulu. Guac was one of our real luxuries in Gulu. We had huge fresh avocados almost year round and they cost between 25-50cents each. We did not have tortilla chips, but some clever expat invented the baked chapatti, which was a reasonable alternative: take greasy roadside chapattis, place in oven at high temp (no need to add oil since they were completely saturated) and bake until crispy. Every party had guacamole, because it was western food that could be done well in Gulu all of the time. I even put it on the café’s menu. Scott’s was the best; his secret ingredient of Worchester sauce gave it that extra kick.
Yesterday I found out that there was violence in Gulu. In fact, I was skyping with Jeanne and could hear the gunshots in the background. My heart sank as I imagined the poor war-weary women clutching their babies who were the first born in twenty years that did not know war. From what I hear so far there was rioting over fuel costs and the Ugandan Army (still prevalent in Gulu from the war days) were called in to settle the matter.
I heard from Josh who described the fear he saw on people’s faces as he ran home from the Bomah for safety. I heard from Amanda who was pinned down because of gunfire across town from her home. And I heard from Mollie, who of course somehow managed to locate all of our Acholis and confirm they were safe. Valiant Tonny closed down Café Larem, the apparent epi-center of the gunshots and tear gas, and huddled inside protecting himself and I imagine the cappuccino machine like the dedicated barista he has become. Facebook, which I so whimsically dismissed as a catalyst for the uprisings in the Middle East, played a central role, along with skype in plugging me instantly into the situation in Gulu. Where the mobile phone failed, the internet was uninterrupted. I will never doubt the power (and importance) of social media again.
As I sat whisking up my basic guacamole, a recipe I can now do with my eyes closed, I thought how easy it was to make. I didn’t have to stress about stretching the limes and cilantro (always imported from Kampala for moy authentica guacamole) weeks beyond their due date. I would squeeze the old limes with all my might for a drop of juice and pick through the rotting bunch of salvage the still usable sprigs of cilantro. Perhaps the most exciting part, I just reached above the fridge and opened up a bag of tortilla chips and started scooping. No schlepping to the boda/chapatti stand, baking and then settling for an alternative.
But I also thought about my friends and my home. Hayden said he was glad not to be in Gulu for something like this, not because of the violence, but because of the sadness of seeing the recovery damaged. I see his point, but it’s killing me not to be there. My heart is there, but it doesn’t feel like enough.
Yesterday I found out that there was violence in Gulu. In fact, I was skyping with Jeanne and could hear the gunshots in the background. My heart sank as I imagined the poor war-weary women clutching their babies who were the first born in twenty years that did not know war. From what I hear so far there was rioting over fuel costs and the Ugandan Army (still prevalent in Gulu from the war days) were called in to settle the matter.
I heard from Josh who described the fear he saw on people’s faces as he ran home from the Bomah for safety. I heard from Amanda who was pinned down because of gunfire across town from her home. And I heard from Mollie, who of course somehow managed to locate all of our Acholis and confirm they were safe. Valiant Tonny closed down Café Larem, the apparent epi-center of the gunshots and tear gas, and huddled inside protecting himself and I imagine the cappuccino machine like the dedicated barista he has become. Facebook, which I so whimsically dismissed as a catalyst for the uprisings in the Middle East, played a central role, along with skype in plugging me instantly into the situation in Gulu. Where the mobile phone failed, the internet was uninterrupted. I will never doubt the power (and importance) of social media again.
As I sat whisking up my basic guacamole, a recipe I can now do with my eyes closed, I thought how easy it was to make. I didn’t have to stress about stretching the limes and cilantro (always imported from Kampala for moy authentica guacamole) weeks beyond their due date. I would squeeze the old limes with all my might for a drop of juice and pick through the rotting bunch of salvage the still usable sprigs of cilantro. Perhaps the most exciting part, I just reached above the fridge and opened up a bag of tortilla chips and started scooping. No schlepping to the boda/chapatti stand, baking and then settling for an alternative.
But I also thought about my friends and my home. Hayden said he was glad not to be in Gulu for something like this, not because of the violence, but because of the sadness of seeing the recovery damaged. I see his point, but it’s killing me not to be there. My heart is there, but it doesn’t feel like enough.
Friday, April 1, 2011
The Half Smoke
Yesterday I went to my first ever opening day baseball game. It was awesome. The Nationals, everyone’s root-when-you’re-away-from-your-home-team team, lost. It’s not all doom and gloom. They have Jayson Werth now, who went 1 for 4 and more importantly knows what’s it’s like to win. I think this will be important for the team…to expect to win.
I digress.
As any baseball fan will tell you, going to the game is as much about the experience of the ballpark as it is about the actual game. While I missed a few Yankees traditions (Frank Sinatra, bleacher creatures, YMCA in-field cleaning, old guy banging the metal pot) there are some things that are standard, most especially the cuisine de ballpark: cold watery beer and a hotdog. Modern ballparks have lots more options of course and even have nice restaurants, but hotdogs are by far the most abundant option. I think that’s because it’s a critical part of the tradition.
Food curiosity did get the better of me and since there were no circulating hotdog vendors, I soon found myself in line for Ben’s Chili Bowl. It’s not the original, which located on U Street, but I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone. I’d get my hotdog and the ultimate food tourist experience in DC: Ben’s Chili Bowl.
Earlier in the week, at Eastern Market, I experienced the half smoke for the first time. I have absolutely no idea what the history of this premium sausage is, but I do know it’s taken pretty reverently here in DC. And for good reason; it was freaking delicious. Hayden and I shared one and then quickly shared another, fighting for each bite.
So when I FINALLY reached the top of the queue at Ben’s (2 innings later!) I went for the Chili Half Smoke “All the way,” which included chili, mustard and cheese whiz. Not to stray too far from tradition, I also ordered a regular chili dog and a Coor’s Light. The Half Smoke, when I finally reached it underneath all of the processed cheese and chili, was good. I don’t think it was as good as the one in Eastern Market, because of all of the “all the way” stuff on it. And it turns out I may just not be a fan of chili. I make chili from time to time, but I realize I make bourgeois chili: turkey or three bean, etc. To have stewed beef chili is a different story. I don’t hate it, but for all of those calories and the digestive roller coaster I could skip it.
As I settled into my more traditional hotdog and back into the game, I felt more satisfied. I think it’s because the Hebrew national dog could compete with and even break through all of the riff raff piled on top of it. In the end that’s what I wanted. I wanted the taste of a ketchupy, mustardy dog, washed down with beer while shouting “swing batter” and watching the Nats turn two.
Kitchen notes: Made fan favorite Sweet Potato topped with fresh turkey spinach and feta sausage and curried yogurt. What a week for sausage! Delicious and unlike the half smoke, turkey sausage is low fat. That combined with super food sweet potato makes this dinner a new healthy regular in the rotation.
Also on deck: broiled catfish. The simplest and best way to cook fish. Place in greased pan, top with coconut milk, lemon juice, fresh herbs (dill, cilantro), pepper and onions. Delicious!
I digress.
As any baseball fan will tell you, going to the game is as much about the experience of the ballpark as it is about the actual game. While I missed a few Yankees traditions (Frank Sinatra, bleacher creatures, YMCA in-field cleaning, old guy banging the metal pot) there are some things that are standard, most especially the cuisine de ballpark: cold watery beer and a hotdog. Modern ballparks have lots more options of course and even have nice restaurants, but hotdogs are by far the most abundant option. I think that’s because it’s a critical part of the tradition.
Food curiosity did get the better of me and since there were no circulating hotdog vendors, I soon found myself in line for Ben’s Chili Bowl. It’s not the original, which located on U Street, but I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone. I’d get my hotdog and the ultimate food tourist experience in DC: Ben’s Chili Bowl.
Earlier in the week, at Eastern Market, I experienced the half smoke for the first time. I have absolutely no idea what the history of this premium sausage is, but I do know it’s taken pretty reverently here in DC. And for good reason; it was freaking delicious. Hayden and I shared one and then quickly shared another, fighting for each bite.
So when I FINALLY reached the top of the queue at Ben’s (2 innings later!) I went for the Chili Half Smoke “All the way,” which included chili, mustard and cheese whiz. Not to stray too far from tradition, I also ordered a regular chili dog and a Coor’s Light. The Half Smoke, when I finally reached it underneath all of the processed cheese and chili, was good. I don’t think it was as good as the one in Eastern Market, because of all of the “all the way” stuff on it. And it turns out I may just not be a fan of chili. I make chili from time to time, but I realize I make bourgeois chili: turkey or three bean, etc. To have stewed beef chili is a different story. I don’t hate it, but for all of those calories and the digestive roller coaster I could skip it.
As I settled into my more traditional hotdog and back into the game, I felt more satisfied. I think it’s because the Hebrew national dog could compete with and even break through all of the riff raff piled on top of it. In the end that’s what I wanted. I wanted the taste of a ketchupy, mustardy dog, washed down with beer while shouting “swing batter” and watching the Nats turn two.
Kitchen notes: Made fan favorite Sweet Potato topped with fresh turkey spinach and feta sausage and curried yogurt. What a week for sausage! Delicious and unlike the half smoke, turkey sausage is low fat. That combined with super food sweet potato makes this dinner a new healthy regular in the rotation.
Also on deck: broiled catfish. The simplest and best way to cook fish. Place in greased pan, top with coconut milk, lemon juice, fresh herbs (dill, cilantro), pepper and onions. Delicious!
Friday, March 25, 2011
Friday Food: Chicken
This week I twice attempted to cook chicken. Both attempts were meh. It’s humbling. I’ve been on a good cooking streak lately. I’ve been excited by my access to great ingredients at Harris Tweeter and Eastern Market: fresh turkey sausage, whole wheat pasta, spinach and of course CHEESE.
To stumble not once but twice this week got me thinking, “can I cook chicken?” The problem could be in the cut. From my first cooking forays in college, it was drilled into me by the liberal wealthy life-skills programming I received that when one went to buy chicken, the only acceptable cut was the boneless skinless chicken breast. Indeed, it was revered as the filet mignon of chicken, which was important because at Vassar one was no longer allowed to eat red meat. I imagine that the same vehement health nuts/snobs at Vassar now add “GMO-free” and “organic” to that qualification. [eye roll] But let’s face it, chicken is nowhere near as tasty as a filet mignon. I remember watching a food show and I think it was Jamie Oliver who scoffed at the chicken breast and declared the chicken thigh the tastiest. I always think about that when I’m in the chicken isle, but still can’t get up the nerve to break through the brainwash and stray from the breast.
My first attempt was a stir fry. I was excited for all of the vegetables I had: broccoli, red pepper, mushrooms, fresh ginger, water chestnuts. Also, with my new foolproof sauce method, corn starch (duh), I was feeling pretty cocky about getting all of the flavors to stick together and preventing the sauce from being absorbed completely. It all went to play and it looked good, but the first bite sent me in a panic to the kitchen to retrieve the soy sauce and hot pepper sauce bottles. I doused my dish and quickly shoveled in another bite to discover the source of the problem. The chicken. Even though I first flash fried it, removed it so that it didn’t get overcooked and returned it to the end of the stir fry, it tasted like card board. I’m sure tofu would have tasted much better.
For my second attempt (since breasts come in pairs of course), I thought ahead a bit. I marinated the chicken for a few hours in lemon and dill. This time I combined the chicken in a pasta dish which also included snow peas, mushrooms, red pepper and onion. The key fail-safe ingredient: goat’s cheese. I tossed the pasta directly into the pan with the cooked veggies and chicken. The texture was nice and creamy. I couldn’t wait to try it. I took a bite and dashed to the kitchen for some grated fresh parmesan cheese. I sprinkled liberally and again hoped a last minute condiment would revive the dish. The chicken was better, lemony and dilly, but still not great.
I think I give up on cooking chicken altogether. Or maybe I’ll try the chicken thighs…
Restaurant notes:
Enjoyed: Vinoteca on 11st street and U Street. Great eggs benedict with gruyere cheese and nice thick bread. The best part was the bottomless mimosa for $5. I think I had 5, but passed out before I could count up the glasses.
Did not enjoy: Haydee’s. Despite the great name and the huge crowd, the Mexican/Salvadoran food was terrible. Seriously, how can you make Mexican food terrible? And why were there so many people there? The worst part was the margarita on the rocks that was a neon green color. For the first time in my life I could not finish a drink. It was putrid.
To stumble not once but twice this week got me thinking, “can I cook chicken?” The problem could be in the cut. From my first cooking forays in college, it was drilled into me by the liberal wealthy life-skills programming I received that when one went to buy chicken, the only acceptable cut was the boneless skinless chicken breast. Indeed, it was revered as the filet mignon of chicken, which was important because at Vassar one was no longer allowed to eat red meat. I imagine that the same vehement health nuts/snobs at Vassar now add “GMO-free” and “organic” to that qualification. [eye roll] But let’s face it, chicken is nowhere near as tasty as a filet mignon. I remember watching a food show and I think it was Jamie Oliver who scoffed at the chicken breast and declared the chicken thigh the tastiest. I always think about that when I’m in the chicken isle, but still can’t get up the nerve to break through the brainwash and stray from the breast.
My first attempt was a stir fry. I was excited for all of the vegetables I had: broccoli, red pepper, mushrooms, fresh ginger, water chestnuts. Also, with my new foolproof sauce method, corn starch (duh), I was feeling pretty cocky about getting all of the flavors to stick together and preventing the sauce from being absorbed completely. It all went to play and it looked good, but the first bite sent me in a panic to the kitchen to retrieve the soy sauce and hot pepper sauce bottles. I doused my dish and quickly shoveled in another bite to discover the source of the problem. The chicken. Even though I first flash fried it, removed it so that it didn’t get overcooked and returned it to the end of the stir fry, it tasted like card board. I’m sure tofu would have tasted much better.
For my second attempt (since breasts come in pairs of course), I thought ahead a bit. I marinated the chicken for a few hours in lemon and dill. This time I combined the chicken in a pasta dish which also included snow peas, mushrooms, red pepper and onion. The key fail-safe ingredient: goat’s cheese. I tossed the pasta directly into the pan with the cooked veggies and chicken. The texture was nice and creamy. I couldn’t wait to try it. I took a bite and dashed to the kitchen for some grated fresh parmesan cheese. I sprinkled liberally and again hoped a last minute condiment would revive the dish. The chicken was better, lemony and dilly, but still not great.
I think I give up on cooking chicken altogether. Or maybe I’ll try the chicken thighs…
Restaurant notes:
Enjoyed: Vinoteca on 11st street and U Street. Great eggs benedict with gruyere cheese and nice thick bread. The best part was the bottomless mimosa for $5. I think I had 5, but passed out before I could count up the glasses.
Did not enjoy: Haydee’s. Despite the great name and the huge crowd, the Mexican/Salvadoran food was terrible. Seriously, how can you make Mexican food terrible? And why were there so many people there? The worst part was the margarita on the rocks that was a neon green color. For the first time in my life I could not finish a drink. It was putrid.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Thyme is the new basil
I cook a lot and it's always some variation of a few staples, but I never remember what I cook. Although I keep promising to blog my food, mainly to keep track of what I tried, I have yet to do it consistently. Here's another attempt:
On Sunday, my friend from Gulu Abigail and I went to Eastern Market. Now I live in Eastern Market, so I expected that I’d accompany her through the stalls to which I’ve become accustomed. In fact, while I like Eastern Market, I haven’t been too impressed. I mean it’s got good meat and a few little cutesy crafts, but meh. Well, apparently Eastern Market doesn’t do winter, because when I met Abigail at the “food court” and I discovered that once it warms up the market quadruples in size. It was fun and I bought real kosher dill pickles, 1500 count Egyptian cotton sheets and some other things.
For dinner, I used some other things to make dinner. I bought fresh buccatini, which I boiled for two minutes. I mixed up a little sauce of lemon juice and garlic and my new trick that’s not new at all to cooks: cornstarch.
I’ve never been good at sauces. Even when I make what I think is a very good sauce, it never really sticks to the noodles or whatever I’m mixing it in. It always just sort of slides off. With cornstarch, it all mixes together and sticks to the food. Wow. This is the problem with being a self-taught (ok, mom taught) cook. I can miss very obvious cooking skills. CORNSTARCH. Hellowah!
I mixed the sauce with onions, fresh red pepper, shitake mushroons and chicken, along with a healthy sprinkle of my new favorite spice, thyme. Thyme is a fairly common spice, but I’ve never really isolated it’s flavor until my trip to Beirut. At an Eastern Market type place in central Beirut I bought a mix of spices that has made many dishes since taste amazing. Thyme is the lead spice in the mix, with sesame and dried lemon too. Since I bought that mix, I’ve realized that although I didn’t know it, I’ve been enjoying the taste of thyme forever (and that's a long "thyme" Eesh). Anyway, when I isolate it, it has a distinct and delicious flavor.
I stirred in the buccatini with a little pasta water and viola! Things congealed perfectly and dinner was served.
Other dishes prepared this week:
Chinese Orzo
I stir fried broccoli, red pepper, red pepper flakes, onions, garlic, fresh ginger in soy sauce and a little white wine vinegar (with cornstarch!) then added orzo and fresh cilantro. It was delicious. I really like Orzo - it's very versatile, easy to cook and I like the texture a lot.
Sweet sweet potato
I roasted a sweet potato by coating it very thinly with veg oil and popped it in the oven for an hour at 400. I did not wrap it in tin foil as was advised. I topped it with my favorite turkey sausage with feta and spinach which I took out of it's casing and fried. Instead of sour cream, I topped the sausage with curried yogurt. Awesome and simply. Jeter got the leftover sweet potato. He loved it and has been quite regular ever since.
On Sunday, my friend from Gulu Abigail and I went to Eastern Market. Now I live in Eastern Market, so I expected that I’d accompany her through the stalls to which I’ve become accustomed. In fact, while I like Eastern Market, I haven’t been too impressed. I mean it’s got good meat and a few little cutesy crafts, but meh. Well, apparently Eastern Market doesn’t do winter, because when I met Abigail at the “food court” and I discovered that once it warms up the market quadruples in size. It was fun and I bought real kosher dill pickles, 1500 count Egyptian cotton sheets and some other things.
For dinner, I used some other things to make dinner. I bought fresh buccatini, which I boiled for two minutes. I mixed up a little sauce of lemon juice and garlic and my new trick that’s not new at all to cooks: cornstarch.
I’ve never been good at sauces. Even when I make what I think is a very good sauce, it never really sticks to the noodles or whatever I’m mixing it in. It always just sort of slides off. With cornstarch, it all mixes together and sticks to the food. Wow. This is the problem with being a self-taught (ok, mom taught) cook. I can miss very obvious cooking skills. CORNSTARCH. Hellowah!
I mixed the sauce with onions, fresh red pepper, shitake mushroons and chicken, along with a healthy sprinkle of my new favorite spice, thyme. Thyme is a fairly common spice, but I’ve never really isolated it’s flavor until my trip to Beirut. At an Eastern Market type place in central Beirut I bought a mix of spices that has made many dishes since taste amazing. Thyme is the lead spice in the mix, with sesame and dried lemon too. Since I bought that mix, I’ve realized that although I didn’t know it, I’ve been enjoying the taste of thyme forever (and that's a long "thyme" Eesh). Anyway, when I isolate it, it has a distinct and delicious flavor.
I stirred in the buccatini with a little pasta water and viola! Things congealed perfectly and dinner was served.
Other dishes prepared this week:
Chinese Orzo
I stir fried broccoli, red pepper, red pepper flakes, onions, garlic, fresh ginger in soy sauce and a little white wine vinegar (with cornstarch!) then added orzo and fresh cilantro. It was delicious. I really like Orzo - it's very versatile, easy to cook and I like the texture a lot.
Sweet sweet potato
I roasted a sweet potato by coating it very thinly with veg oil and popped it in the oven for an hour at 400. I did not wrap it in tin foil as was advised. I topped it with my favorite turkey sausage with feta and spinach which I took out of it's casing and fried. Instead of sour cream, I topped the sausage with curried yogurt. Awesome and simply. Jeter got the leftover sweet potato. He loved it and has been quite regular ever since.
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