welcome, 26

I've always been fortunate to feel really loved and celebrated on my birthday. Except that one year when my Mom forgot it was my birthday. Kidding, she totally would've remembered eventually had I not obnoxiously reminded her at the gas station on our way to the OBKB lodge for the annual May birthdays/Memorial Day weekend. I was, after all, something like eleven years old, and birthdays were an even bigger deal back then, right? 

Anyways, while I really missed being at the lake with my family this year, I genuinely had an amazing weekend. I feel like I packed a ton of summery events in, got a little tan in the process, and spent time with some really great friends. It all wrapped up last night with a great little Monday dinner with Sophie and Hong-Nhu. 

I made my new chicken recipe for the THIRD time in, I don't know, a week, Hong-Nhu brought a great salad, I heated up some of the smoked gouda mac and cheese I set aside from a cookout I went to on Sunday, and Sophie brought dessert. Not just any dessert, mind you, but peanut butter pie, a long-time favorite of mine, which was so sweet of her to remember. She even brought candles, which valiantly managed to hold their own despite the fact that the pie succumbed a bit to the oppressive heat. 

After I blew out the candles, we ended up scooping it straight out of the pie pan, bits of oreo cookie crust and all, as we watched yet another awful episode of The Bachelorette, transfixed and horrified by the cheesiness unfolding before our eyes. It was the perfect way to kick of my twenty sixth year, which, not to totally jinx it, is off to a great start. Twenty five had some serious curve balls, but coming in to this birthday, I've never felt so happy and content. You could even say I'm glowing.    

"man, you really like butter"

When it comes to cooking, my biggest problem used to be that I simply refused to cook. When I gave up eating out for Lent, unexpected post-work plans were often my biggest challenge. Now that I cook on a more regular basis, portion control is the issue du jour.

I'm not a total idiot, I realize that most recipes are designed to serve two to four people. And somewhere in the back of my rapidly atrophying brain, there's a part of me that can do basic divison. But, I'm my mother's daughter, and as such, inherited her irrational but omnipresent fear that there won't be enough food to go around the table. Even if, in my case, the table is only set for one. 

So most nights, but especially on nights when I feed more bodies than just myself, I have an abundance of leftovers. Luckily, this makes lunch the next day a no-brainer, and, it means that my coworkers are kind of bribed in to liking me because I feed them. 

For this week's Monday dinner with Sophie, I tried two new recipes. One was for mac and cheese made with quinoa in place of "mac." I was skeptical, especially because the recipe calls for an egg (I know!). But, with a little buttery, bread crummy crust on top and gooey cheese underneath, you basically forget you're eating an egg mixed in with a superfood. It's super filling, and even with soy milk and skim cheese, it's tasty. The recipe, by the way, is not at all lying, not even close, when it says it makes 8 servings. Two of us ate it for dinner, and three of us ate it for lunch the next day. I still have more leftover than I can use.

Anyways, the other recipe I tried was for "moist chicken every time." I know, I know. The name is, well, cliche, and, far from humble. But, I was mostly curious to see if I could abide by the recipe's demand that you cook the chicken for one minute on medium, flip it over, turn the heat to low, and leave a lid on for twenty whole non-stop don't you dare lift that lid minutes. Ten of those minutes, the heat is on low, and the other ten, it's off. Look, I don't know what kind of magic happens in those twenty minutes, but it's some perfectly cooked chicken you're going to pull out of that skillet. And, because you dredge it in some flour and spices beforehand, it's not flavorless like many, many a skillet cooked piece of chicken ends up being. Awfully titled recipe aside, consider me a convert.

While I like to think of this as a healthy dinner, the truth is, there was a decent quantity of butter involved. When we were all eating the leftovers Tuesday, my one coworker asked me how the chicken was so good. I described the aforementioned cooking process, mentioning that it starts with a healthy pat of butter in the skillet, and before I could keep going, he looks at me in a mix of admiration and disgust, and goes "man, you really like butter." 

I'll have you know he ate every last piece of chicken.    

tipsy risotto

Yesterday, as you might remember, was a "didn't make it out of rainboots" day. When I woke up to the sound of rain torrentially assaulting the DC area this morning, I decided today would follow suit. Luckily my boss is ten times quirkier than me, and thinks I look "just adorable!" 

Because I was in such a weird/petulant/lazy mood yesterday, I was really struggling to come up with something, anything I wanted to cook for Monday dinner. This isn't a problem I have often, because I have a Pinterest board brimming with earmarked recipes, and I cook maybe three nights a week maximum. But, I realized that normal people who cook most of their meals must feel like that all the time. This is why my main splurge if I win the lottery is going to be hiring a chef. Well, that and commissioning a high-speed cruise ship/train hybrid so I never have to fly anywhere again. 

Anyways, I was apparently so pleased with myself for finally picking a recipe to try that, in my excitement, I dashed out of the office and left my umbrella sitting at my desk. Let me tell you, I love my bright pink wellies, but I feel awfully stupid splashing through puddles in them while my upper half gets soaked from the driving rain. I mean really, who remembers her wellies and forgets her umbrella? I felt like people I passed on the sidewalk were really confused. Then again maybe they were reacting to my suddenly crazy hair that sprang to wavy attention in the humid rain. It was a really attractive look for me is what I'm saying. 

But back to dinner. For whatever reason, the idea of red wine risotto popped in to my head. Don't ask me how or why, as I didn't even really know such a thing existed. Google informed me that yes, it does exist, and that Giada De Laurentiis makes a pretty tasty one. Sold!

I love pretty much anything with butter, onions, garlic, and carbs (not to mention wine), so I suspected this would be one of the exceptions to my weird "I don't enjoy things I cook" quirk. Fortunately, that inclination was spot on, and Sophie and I both had seconds as we watched far more trashy tv than one should ever admit to viewing. Much like last Monday's stir fry, I'm actually excited to delve in to the leftovers for lunch. I lead a super-glamorous life, clearly.

{Ps-It was easy to make as far as risotto goes, just some stirring here and there. I couldn't find parsley at the grocery by my house, and I generally loathe the stuff, so I skipped out on that. I also don't care much for cheese, so I put it on the table and Sophie stirred it in to hers, but I skipped out all together. I know most of you are probably shaking your heads right now, but, I thought it was insanely creamy even without the cheese. See, doesn't it look just fine, even sans-cheese? I thought so.} 

"long live broc"

For reasons I'm totally unclear on, I intentionally bought red meat for the first time in maybe nine months. I blame this on two things: one, I always get overwhelmed at the grocery and feel compelled to buy the most random, nonsensical things; two, I wandered in to the Safeway near my apartment in a haze of extreme exhaustion this past weekend. So the meat was tossed in my shopping basket along with one russet potato, a toilet brush, and some Ben and Jerry's (seriously, grocery stores of America, please stop putting ice cream on sale. I have no willpower, and my hips blame you when my pants don't fit, ok?). 

Anyways, I suddenly found myself too exhausted to cook said red meat over the weekend, meaning it had a date with destiny (aka a toasty skillet) for Monday dinner. I was too busy yesterday to figure out how exactly it would meet its ultimate end, so when I got home, I headed over to one of my standby sources: Dinner A Love Story. After cruising through their recipe index, I settled on a beef and broccoli stir fry dish that seemed simple enough, and was comprised almost entirely of ingredients I already had. Nevermind that it instructed the preparer to chill the steak in the marinade for two hours. I figured something just shy of the prescribed time wouldn't be a total show stopper.

And I'm so glad I decided just go for it, and to dash back to Safeway (for probably the bazillionth day in a row) and grab the sherry and sugar I was lacking. I made 1 1/2 times the prescribed marinade/sauce, because I like to have plenty of that to go around. I also added red and yellow bell peppers because, well, I felt like it. Being bold in the kitchen and all that. It was really, really "thank goodness I have enough leftover for lunch today" good!      

putting my new little ikea bowl into the dinner prep rotation



It's not that I think I'm that awful of a cook, it's just that I so rarely enjoy the food I prepare for some reason I have yet to successfully articulate. The same does not go, mind you, for the far less healthy baked goods I turn out. Nope, just the main meals. Which explains why I'm such a healthy person... 

But that is not the point. The point, friends, is that this is a perfect quick/easy/gratifying weeknight dinner. Sophie and I found, in fact, that it goes perfectly with a bottle of red, mindless tv, and that evil Ben and Jerry's.   

buttery birthday dinner

The new LKTC, previewed yesterday, is pretty much the only room in "the nest" (aka my new apartment) that isn't going to undergo any changes any time soon. I don't love the cabinet colors, the layout, or the flooring, but I'm young and poor, and the honest truth is that the kitchen is 100% livable as it is, so I can afford to wait. Actually I have to wait so I can afford to spruce it up. Semantics.

Anyways, much to my surprise, as we were moving in and unpacking, everything fit! That cabinet above the sink is fairly deep, and really long, so it held all my plates, bowls, cups, mugs, and some stemless wine and champagne glasses. The floor to ceiling cabinets that you can't see in the LKTC photos are on the right by the fridge and on the left hand wall, and they magically contain all my pots, pans, baking dishes, tupperware, cloth grocery bags, various small appliances, spices, and food. Even Fiona fits in there nicely, but Kitty the Kitchenaid Stripper is just too large and in charge, so she lives towards the back of my weird green counter. 

So although I was extremely pleased at how well everything fit in cabinets, I worried that cooking/baking would prove to be a challenge given the drastically reduced counter space in the nest. Let's do a little comparison, shall we? Here's the most recent Arlington-based LKTC: 


There's easily 4 or 5 times the counter space here...

And here's the new LKTC again:

...than here!

And yes, I did actually intend to show you the new LKTC in this state of hot mess total disaster-ness. In my old kitchen, I could afford to do more meticulous, organized, well-spaced out preparations for various components of a meal. This one, however, is an entirely different animal, and I quickly had to relinquish my more type-A tendencies in favor of just using all available surfaces in rotating fashion as I tried to turn out dinner and a birthday-worthy dessert. 

Actually I also had to relinquish said tendencies in the gathering of supplies for the first Monday dinner in the nest. I love my new neighborhood, and the proximity of a grocery store to my apartment building, but it's a tiny one, and doesn't even stock beer or wine, or, apparently, corn flakes, all of which I needed, forcing me to bounce around the area sourcing supplies. 

Of course none of this would have happened if I hadn't gotten my mind so set on a handful of ideas. The first thing I knew I just had to try was cake in a can. As in cake baked IN a can. Why? you ask. Well...why not? Actually, the real answer is "because 1) two people don't need to eat an entire full sized cake, 2) I don't own cake pans, and 3) I saw it on this blog and was intrigued."

The original Ladies' Home Journal article suggests using boxed cake mix, which I was totally on board with...until I remembered that I recently saved a handful of cake/frosting recipes I'd been dying to try. One of which was a chocolate stout cake with vanilla bean frosting. And Sophie likes Guinness. And I'm generally averse to boxed baked goods. And...well, you can see how that one spiraled out of control, right? But of course the grocery didn't have beer or wine, so I was off to the liquor store. Where they only sell giant bottles of Guinness. Which was fine, because halfway in to this cake baking/frosting making/chicken cooking adventure, I needed a few sips of the stuff to get me through, and to help me forget that the tiny cake (+ half a dozen cupcakes) and the frosting contained two sticks of butter!!). In case you're curious, here are a few snapshots (of the can cake, not of my drinking straight from a large bottle of Guinness. I have some standards...).     



I used a 24-oz can of crushed tomatoes, the contents of which went straight in to my freezer for later use.



The fresh-out-of-the-oven product, which kind of looks like a giant cupcake, and which I tried to frost when it was just a touch too warm.

 

Which led to this kind of drippy icing phenomenon (I mean, it does contain a stick of butter...)

Dripping icing aside, we each ate two slices of the stuff. It was, as you  may've guessed, quickly deemed a success. I brought the cupcakes in the next day, and they got similarly rave reviews, although I do think this is a cake best eaten fairly soon after its made, as both the cupcakes and the leftover cake dried out a bit in the fridge. 

Anyways, after the can cake (and its siblings, the overflow cupcakes) were baking away in the oven, I gave Kitty the Kitchenaid stripper a rest and turned my attention to the main dish of the evening: pecan crusted chicken. Don't ask me where that idea came from (for once, the answer is not "Pinterest," "a blog," or the "dinner tonight" subscription). But again, once it was in my little head, it was stuck. And I thought to myself "I have pecans at home, so all I need is the milk and the corn flakes."

Turns out I had no pecans at home, and the grocery didn't sell corn flakes. The nearby 7-11 came to the rescue with their travel sized boxes of cereal, but I never did procure pecans. I had already bounced around my block enough to pick up the Guinness, the corn flakes, and the rest of the ingredients, and I needed to start cooking if we had any hope of eating before bedtime. Sophie was already bringing bagged salad, wine, and sponges (don't ask), so I didn't want to ask her to pick up anything else. Almonds would have to do, I decided. 

And then I realized I had forgotten to buy the dried cranberries for the salad. At that point, I decided to completely depart from the recipe, which, oddly, came from Good Morning America, and was written in extremely cheesy fashion. Since I'd already replaced pecans with almonds and nixed the cranberries all together, I felt no guilt about baking the chicken strips versus pan frying them. We were, after all, about to consume a tiny dessert made with two sticks of butter! and needed no more fat in our lives. Sophie and I agreed, though, that it came out just fine, and tasted pretty fantastic with the dressing whipped up from the same GMA recipe.


pecan-turned-almond crusted chicken

I officially deem the first meal cooked in the new LKTC a success. It's one of many "firsts" that I'm loving far more than any normal person would. First thunderstorm, first time using my tee tiny dishwasher, first take out dinner, you get the idea. If all goes as planned, the first brunch will happen this weekend before my friends and I embark on a tour of all the embassies having open houses on Saturday. Stay tuned!

my sweatshirt recipe

Do you ever think about how things like onions and peppers can become a part of so many different meals? I know, I know, it's as profound as yesterday's gem on timing. I suppose it's right up there in culinary "lightbulb" moments like "oh yeah, I guess quality ingredients really do make a difference." Give me some credit, I'm still (kind of) new to this whole regular cooking thing. 

Anyways, I'm sure this isn't the very first time I've had the ingredient versatility thought, but it's the first time I felt compelled to articulate it. Lucky you, I know. The thought came to me as I was rummaging through my fridge and cabinets for the components of angry paella. I found myself dicing up the leftover onion and red pepper from last week's pad thai experiment and thinking "I'm being so economical!" You know, little pats on the back and all that. We'll ignore the fact that I got distracted from dinner prep by testing paint colors for upcoming stencil projects. Just focusing on the positives here.     

pardon my unusually careless handwriting. and my bottle of wine holding the whole experiment up.

I decided earlier yesterday afternoon that I wanted to make angry paella to use up the last of my arborio rice. The fewer things I have to pack at this point the better, considering I still haven't started that little chore. Angry paella isn't always made in anger, by the way. It just so happens that the first time I made it, I was angry, and the nickname stuck. 

So while yesterday I was not angry, I was tired and am facing the reality of imminent "homelessness." Or at the very least, a gap between when my current lease ends and when I can close on my new apartment. The details are peculiar, and I'm too drained to recount them right now, but at some point you'll hear plenty, I promise. Bottom line is, the bank has deemed me loan-worthy. My future building on the other hand, is not-so-loan worthy, it seems.  

Which brings me to how, aside from pantry emptying goals, I found myself making angry paella for dinner. You see, it's my sweatshirt recipe. You know how you come home from work and immediately ditch the real clothes in favor of leggins and an old sweatshirt? (That's not just me, right?). It may not be the most creative or attractive combo, but it's comfortable after a long, stressful day in heels and hose. The appeal isn't in the appearance, it's in the familiarity. And that's what angry paella is to me. 

I make it more from memory than from a recipe. I really only measure the rice, everything else happens by sight/feel. I always know just how it's going to taste. It always has just the right level of heat and the right touch of smokiness from the sprinkle of smoked paprika I started adding a while back. No matter in what country, or in whose apartment, I've made it, it has never let me down. So on a rainy, cold day full of stress, it's just what I need.

This is why I don't bother measuring things. I'm going to end up using as many peas as I feel like, and the measuring cup just gets in the way.

problems -> solutions

angry paella + what turned out to be a perfect syrah/malbec blend

And maybe the best part is, I have leftover paella for lunch (and wine for later, when mom descends on DC and we start figuring out what to do about this most recent real estate drama/dilemma). It's practically the next best thing to actually being able to wear my sweatshirt and leggins at work...

peas (if you please)

After going on at length yesterday about my happy but accidental subscription to My Recipes' "dinner tonight" emails, I figured I might as well mention another success born out of the daily missives: herbed mashed peas. 

(courtesy of "my recipes")

Ok, I realize if you're anything like my mother, just the word "pea" made you stop reading. I personally didn't discover my love for peas (or whiskey, or country music) until I lived in Italy, and may've joined you pea-haters in turning up your noses at the notion of eating them in any form prior to that point. But now I devour them constantly, and while I can't figure out what led to this change of heart, the point is, you should give the little green guys a second chance.  I can't imagine my life sans peas (or whiskey, or country music) at this point!

I most often eat them covered in a little pesto or a dash of olive oil and fresh pepper, but was intrigued by this recipe for herbed mashed peas that landed in my inbox as March 16th's recipe. I didn't expect the execution of the side dish or the procurement of the supplies to be difficult. Luckily I was right on the actual preparation part, but unfortunately my normally trusty Trader Joe's failed me when it came to tarragon. It also had only very pricey salmon, so I reverted to chicken. And in my rush to get in and out before the dinner rush, I forgot to buy a lemon. 

So I had to also hit the nearby Whole Foods on my walk home for the tarragon and lemon, but considering it's maybe 2 blocks from TJ's, and on my direct route to my apartment, it wasn't a huge inconvenience. 

In retrospect, I wish I hadn't been able to find the tarragon or lemon at all. In my culinary ignorance, I didn't realize tarragon has a distinctly licorice flavor, which is so not my cup of tea. I would've stuck with just the prescribed basil, maybe upping the quantity, and skipped the tarragon altogether. I also think the suggested 2 tablespoons of lemon juice was too much. I don't think the lemon flavor is totally out of place, but in our peas, it was just too strong. Lessons learned: 1)tarragon is icky, and 2)don't dump all the acid in at once, test your peas first!

Tarragon and lemon diatribes aside, Sophie and I still liked the mashed peas. They were a nice change from rice or potatoes, which I feel like I make too often. But the best part was how easy they were to make. I may or may not have struggled to cut the leek at first, but that little road block was quickly vanquished by a switch from my chef's knife to a paring knife. From there, smooth (and rapid) sailing.  

I have happy hours the next few days (and a busy weekend ahead), so I won't have a chance to try any more daily dinner recipes this week, but maybe next week I'll manage to strike a better home cooking/happy hour balance...     

dessert before dinner

Sophie and I haven't done a Monday dinner in a while now. It's been so nice out that maybe three or so weeks ago, we did a waterfront picnic, then two weeks ago, we went and visited the cherry blossoms (visual proof below), and last week, I was on the ill-fated MegaBus adventure back from Charlotte. So, yesterday was a long overdue dinner that a)I actually cooked, b)we ate in my apartment, which was much more in the spirit of the original idea. 

  
Anyways, cherry blossom distractions behind us.... 


For last night's dinner, I emailed Sophie with four options. I was feeling especially stressed on the whole "trying to get a loan" front, and didn't want to have to make a single extra decision, not even what to cook. Option 1 was what is typically my personal default dinner "some sort of salad and a really unhealthy dessert." Sophie picked option 4 instead, which involved herbed mashed peas + some sort of protein. By the time Sophie emailed me with her choice, though, I'd already decided these chocolate caramel cookies with sea salt really needed to happen. I'm by no means a Pinterest addict, but I go through phases where I save a lot of recipes using the site, and this is one of the desserts I've had my eye on for ages now. 


So the desire to work my way through saved recipes + my raging sweet tooth + a case of the Mondays = how I ended up with a mash up of options 1 and 4. The herbed mashed peas were alright, more on that some other time, I suppose. The more essential recipe to add to your arsenal rightthisminute is the one for the cookies. I'm here to tell you that it'll accomplish all of the aforementioned goals, and while they're nowhere near as lofty as world peace or a well-rounded meal, well, they're still worthwhile.  

my version

Don't they look delicious? I should've figured out how to get some artsy shot of them a la "two peas and their pod" (the blog from which this sinful recipe came).  

from the original recipe

In the spirit of full disclosure, I followed their directions to the word, and my cookies were not very flat (as you can tell from the "my version" snapshot). I used kind of thick, oval milk chocolate coated Werther's caramels (because Trader Joe's, Whole Foods had exactly zero caramels, and the chocolate covered ones were all Walgreens had), so perhaps that's to blame for the decidedly round nature of my cookies. 

Spherical shape aside, they still tasted absolutely, insanely amazing. I ate one right out of the oven, and forced a still-warm one on Sophie when she arrived. Then we ate all but two of the rest while we watched trashy tv and the NCAA championship game. There was dinner somewhere in between all the cookies. I think we both probably gained five pounds between the cookies and the wine. Naturally we both agree it was entirely worth it. 

Had I not sent the extra caramels and plain yogurt home with Sophie for her to try her hand at recreating the recipe, I'd be making another batch to devour tonight. 

ps-yes, plain yogurt is an ingredient. I thought it was weird, too. When I tasted the raw dough (don't worry, no eggs!), I could definitely taste the tang of the yogurt, but it was entirely unnoticeable in the final product. 

contraband

Apparently not entirely satisfied with the view from my new/temporary office, I met Sophie in Georgetown for a water front picnic yesterday after work. This very mild, much appreciated winter aside, I feel like DC generally only has a couple weeks of really perfect weather each year as winter becomes spring and summer becomes fall. Subsequently, I have this somewhat nagging desire to enjoy everypossiblesecond. This leads to lots of patio-centric happy hours, outdoor lunches, and, apparently, water front picnics.

Sadly it got a bit cloudy by the time Sophie and I settled down on the dock that lines the Potomac in Georgetown, but we still had a beautiful view. 

Rosslyn and rowing teams to the right

Kennedy Center and the descent in to Reagan National to the left

The picnic was a last minute idea, replacing the Monday dinners Sophie and I usually have at my apartment. I'm sure Sophie appreciated a reprieve from my crazy cooking experiments. I know we both appreciated the gorgeous weather (and the proximity of some rather attractive crew teams). I had a bottle of extremely budget-friendly wine from Trader Joe's in my fridge, so I brought that along for the feast, even though neither of us were entirely clear on the rules of drinking in public (although we suspected we might be breaking a few). We tried to be subtle and surreptitious, masking the pinot in styrofoam cups (classy, I know), but we got some looks when we snuck the bottle out for refills. I can only imagine what the passersby would have thought if they'd seen the makeshift grocery bag ice chest I had hidden in my tote bag to keep the contraband cold.  

We soaked up the wine with a baguette, mozzarella, basil, mandarin oranges, and a giant, decadent brownie. It was low key and low budget, but as we people watched, airplane watched, and generally soaked up the unseasonable warmth, I felt like I was, in fact, enjoying everypossiblesecond. And no, that is not just the $2.50 wine talking. (Side note, the $2.50 wine at TJ's, separate from their regular "two buck Chuck," which is more like $3-something these days, is really quite good if you make sure it's nice and frosty).

Anyways, there's nothing like sneaking wine on a public dock to totally counter the stresses of "grown up" life. (Although I suppose being arrested for drinking in public might rapidly change my feelings on the matter).  I recently officially converted to a new job at work, which was a long time coming, but doesn't make the change any less freaky at first. I'm also pretty seriously pursuing real estate (much more on that latter, I promise). 

These two things are happening in tandem, and often result in emails to my mom with subject lines like "A HOME APPRAISAL COSTS FOUR HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS?" or "ALL MY WORK FRIENDS ARE GOING TO FORGET ABOUT ME!!!" Yes, in all caps. And yes, it is highly ironic that in the midst of major adult life changes, I need to consult my Mommy. You start applying for a mortgage and try tell me it doesn't drive you right back in to the all-knowing arms of your parents. 

Although this is all giving me some pretty obvious jitters, I'm sure my parents are enjoying it immensely. Not in a perverse "our daughter can't sleep through the night anymore" way. Just in a "aha! now she finally knows what WE went through" sort of way. It reminds me of when my "Uncle Bobby," one of our good family friends who has known me for nearly sixteen years, said to me "look at you, all grown up, talking about mortgages and retirement accounts....isn't this great?!" And I wailed, wide-eyed "no, it's terrible!" 

Don't tell Uncle Bobby, but I suppose secretly, it really is kind of great.    

DIY dressing

So, I often joke (semi-seriously) that I consider it a personal affront to serve a baked good that I didn't make from scratch. I apparently have no such qualms when it comes to salad, because the leafy stuff you see on the left here came straight out of a bag.

I'm not really opposed to bagged salad, given that I'm a big fan of things like spinach and arugula, which you can't exactly find heads of like you can romaine or iceberg.  Plus, it's a cheap and easy way to assuage my guilt over serving otherwise unbalanced meals when people come over for dinner. Normally I don't serve it directly out of the bad as I did yesterday, but I think I mentioned Sophie is a kind and forgiving soul when it comes to my culinary eccentricities.

But I'm proud to report that last night, I made my own dressing. Having forgotten said item during my many trips to TJ's this weekend, this culinary experiment was born as much out of necessity as it was any sort of crunchy desire to eliminate weird chemical-y ingredients from my salad dressing (seriously, have you read some of those labels lately?). 

Since I made broccoli and bell pepper stir fry with tofu as the main attraction, I was looking for something complementary flavor-wise, and came up with this New York Times recipe for sesame ginger vinaigrette. It also got bonus points for only requiring ingredients I already had on hand.

I used my tee tiny food chopper (kind of like a mini food processor, only smaller) to whirl everything together, throwing the garlic in at the last minute when Sophie arrived with the routine bottle of wine and the not-so-routine package of garlic (that I also forgot at TJ's this weekend, which is going to make my eventual post in praise of the list-keeping app "Evernote" far less convincing, I suppose).  This recipe was the first time I tried out a new method for grating ginger, by the way, and it was possibly the best discovery ever. 

I first read the tip a while ago via this blog post, in which the author explains that the best way to store and grate the golden good stuff is to peel it, chop it in to cubes, and freeze it. Then, when you're ready to grate, you take the number of necessary cubes out and use a microplane. Because the ginger is frozen, it doesn't get all gloopy like the fresh stuff does, it just falls into the bowl in perfect slivers.

As tends to happen to me in the kitchen, the dinner and dressing were a success, but I had a massive stress baking failure (more on that later). At some point I'll learn to stop taking on too many things at once. Until then, though, I'll have to hope all my dinner guests are as understanding as Sophie when I say something like "ummm, hope you like the wine...it's what's for dessert..."

winey

Last week, I was totally uninspired on the Monday dinner front (even though Monday dinner happened on Tuesday). Monday dinners have become a bit of a new tradition for Sophie and I, and I like using them as a venue for trying new recipes, because a)Sophie is a simultaneously intrepid and kind soul, and b)the bottle of wine we polish off each week makes just about anything taste better. 

Much like last night's surprise pesto, I didn't use a recipe for the dish I came up with. Instead, I relied on my memory of dishes that have been made for me in similar fashion in the past, and it worked out alright. I like to think it's all part of being a little more aggressive in the kitchen in 2012. Not so aggressive that I nearly set my oven on fire, but that's another story for another time. 

I honestly think peas go with everything, but especially pasta

 

blanched asparagus (in the new mixing bowls my sister gave me for Christmas!)

vanilla peppermint crunch gelato with chocolate teddy grahams

So, I failed at taking sufficient pictures, which tends to happen when I'm cooking in a hurry and/or solo (both of which are shamefully common in my kitchen). But, you'll have to take my word for the fact that the pasta turned out both edible and photogenic. I can't really take any credit for the sinful vanilla peppermint crunch gelato, as it came from a starter kit, but I can tell you to get thee to Sur La Table and buy your own box of it immediately, and my job will be done here.

If it's fun pasta you're after, though, here's what I suggest... pick a pretty green veggie or two. Blanch them in a pot of salty water, and scoop them out when they get bright green. For 2 people plus lunch leftovers, boil half a pound or so of pasta (my preference is something in the spaghetti family) in the veggie water. Mmm fiber. After just a few minutes, maybe 4 or so, drain the pasta. Boil half a bottle of wine, and throw the pasta in there until most of the wine is soaked up by the noodles. While the wine gets to boiling, in a skillet, heat up some cubed pancetta and let it get golden. Add garlic, and then the blanched veggies. Finally, pour the winey noodles into the skillet and let it all get nice and toasty. Yum. (I have to reiterate, though, that this is not a creation of my own brilliant mind, rather it's a recreation from dishes I've been served before.)

Anyways, aren't you glad I managed to update you just in time for the next Monday dinner? I knew you were just clinging to the edges of your seats waiting on this recap. Try to contain your excitement for tonight's experiment: broccoli and bell pepper stir fry with tofu. I know. Wild times, people. Wild times.  

marinating

I'm not sure I'd go so far as to say I now love, or even like, to cook on a regular basis. I dread it more often than not, and I still have my fair share of ramen noodle nights. But there are times I just really want to cook for people, and that usually tends to coincide with wanting to try a new recipe or series of recipes. There generally isn't a whole lot of in between, though. I'm either dreading walking in to the kitchen, or can't keep myself out of it.

Being sick for so long has put me firmly in the "dreading it" camp for nearly the entire month. There was a brief moment of adventure when I decided to try and fry tofu for the first time ever, but that's pretty much it. 

Today, though, is one of those weird in-between days (and by "weird," I mostly mean "bad"). And let me just tell you, I do bad days 110%. I'm not one of those graceful people who excels at turning an unfortunate series of events in to some sort of Pollyana positive bender. I genuinely wish I were. I think those people are evolutionarily superior, honestly, because life is full of bad days. But I'm not. 

My own version of trying to turn a bad day around is actually to just totally marinate in the ick. Mentally kick that copy machine that isn't working. Throw an elbow right back at that aggressive person on the metro. Inhale some mini chocolate bars at the pity party for one at my desk. Just stinking own the sheer force of the wrong side of the bed on which you awoke. 

So, I'm cooking dinner for a friend and I tonight (which she graciously agreed to reschedule from last night when work took over my evening. Again.). And between my nagging exhaustion and the whole marinating in the bad day business, I cannot call to mind a single new thing I want to cook. Dinners with good friends are the perfect opportunity for experimenting, because typically they're pretty receptive to the whole "I'm just going to try this out, we might be ordering pizza" mantra. 

But today, I just can't. So instead, I'll be doing two totally uncreative things. One: I'm making ice cream from a starter kit (which was a Christmas gift from my sister, and which sounds completely sinfully delicious). Two: I'm making a form of pasta that's been made for me many times before by others (although I've never made it myself). It involves boiling pasta in water for a bit, then in wine. It works with both red and white wine, but tonight I'm going for white. 

I'm not using a recipe, just going to wing it, so if it's anything resembling a success, I'll post more details tomorrow, at which point I will hopefully be fully recovered from the bad day marinating process. 


For now, though, it's time for eating ice cream with teddy grahams, and watching the State of the Union with friends. 

   

risotto & gingerbread

Last week, Sophie came over, and I made the really disjointed dinner/dessert combo of red coconut curry noodles and apple cobbler. When I invited her over for dinner this week, I didn't intend to follow that same illogical pattern, but it happened anyways. This is what happens, I think, when you know you're going out of town soon, and don't want to go to the grocery. Whatever's in the house gets cooked up, and it's pretty bare bones. 

Luckily Sophie is pretty understanding when it comes to my completely eccentric kitchen behavior, and didn't really blink when she arrived and found out we'd be eating spinach risotto followed by gingerbread cookies and ice cream.

sugar, spices, butter, evaporated milk, and molasses.

my dough probably could've used a little more flour

things came out a little...stretchy

the risotto recipe i used suggested you "pat" the spinach dry. disaster.

it still turned out ok-looking though

disregarding the totally loopy shape of my gingerbread man, they were tasty!

I got home from work and decided to whip up the small batch of the gingerbread cookies. Sophie had sent me the recipe a while back, billing it as the best she'd ever had. I meant to make them for the holiday party Neha and I co-hostessed this past weekend, but it didn't quite come together at that point, so I had the ingredients sitting in my kitchen. And I didn't have bread, salad, or appetizer fixings to serve to Sophie with the risotto, so I felt like I had to provide something other than just rice.

The batter came together fine, if a bit sticky. Getting the shapes from my counter to the cookie sheet, though, was a comical experience, as you can see from the pictures above. Those were my best shapes, too, resulting from a couple of "oh screw it" moments in which i balled the dough back up and started over again. When I saw the sad little misshapen men on the cookie sheet, I couldn't help but laugh at their disproportionate little limbs/heads. 

While they cooled and Sophie made her way to my apartment, I geared up for risotto. I had all my ingredients measured and chopped, and had patted the spinach as dry as humanly possible. Side note: have you ever tried to pat spinach dry? "Pat" is not an aggressive enough word to articulate how much effort it takes to remove water from cooked spinach. I think I used a roll of paper towels, and I wouldn't call the end result "dry," either.

After the spinach drying debacle, I got ready to actually start cooking the rice/broth. And my stupid stove wouldn't light. After successfully lighting to bake the cookies and steam the spinach. Seriously, people, they just fixed the burners LAST time I cooked for Sophie (a week ago exactly, mind you). 

After several very frustrated attempts at igniting the burners, I called the front desk, which promised to send up a technician. Of course I couldn't just be patient and wait for the dude, so I kept trying, and eventually got the right two burners to light. And promptly accidentally turned one off. Which led to several more minutes of angry yelling at my stove. I have no idea what happened, but miraculously it decided to ignite, and dinner was only slightly delayed. Again, Sophie should be thanked for her patience with my crazy self and even crazier kitchen.  

We agreed that both the risotto and the cookies were a success. Nothing in the knock your socks off territory, but a really solid Monday night dinner. Then again that could be the bottle of wine talking... (but really, I say both recipes are worth trying!) 

curry & cobbler

I had a bit of a seesaw weekend. Parts were great, parts I'd rather forget. But it ended on such a high note, I can still hardly get over it. My friend and I bought tickets to the National Symphony Orchestra's Christmas concert on a whim. It featured the Washington Children's Choir and the Canadian Tenors.

Neither of us had a stinking clue who the Canadian Tenors were, and we were both utterly exhausted from the weekend's adventures. We honestly thought about throwing in the towel all together. 

The minute the show started, though, we were awfully thankful that our guilt complex about already having paid for the tickets prevailed. It was incredible. The choir, the tenors, the symphony music. It was perfect. I couldn't even come close to describing it properly, but just know that a lot of heart squeezey moments were experienced by Neha and I.

Monday morning, though, my Christmas spirit was totally railroaded by the realization upon arrival at work that I had left at home my ID and my computer access card. I knew I couldn't do a thing without them, and ended up having to go home at lunch time. When I got home, I promptly realized NONE of my stove burners would light. Which was an issue considering a)I was starving and b)I was supposed to cook dinner for a friend later in the day. 

Thankfully the handy man in my building restored the stove, and thus the LKTC, to full capacity (which was actually an improvement over the fact that only two burners have worked for months now). My plan to make red coconut curry noodles wasn't foiled after all, which was good news for the pre-prepped ingredients hanging out in my fridge (and my sour mood). At the last minute, I decided to use a few apples that were approaching their expiration date to make cobbler, which I based on this recipe (from my often-baked peach variety). Very non-congruent, I know, but once I get an idea in my head...  

not sure exactly what happened to this butter, but judging 3/4 of a stick was interesting

unexpected afternoon off of work = plenty of time for detailed prep work

coconut milk cream + fresh ginger + red curry paste + onions

with chicken broth, coconut milk, cilantro, and Thai chili sauce added

plus noodles and red pepper

finished product!

mini apple cobbler + vanilla bean ice cream

So, there's a little up-front investing to be done for the curry noodle recipe, namely in the form of the Thai chili sauce and red curry paste, but nothing was prohibatively expensive. And aside from a bit of chopping (red peppers and cilantro) and grating (ginger), the prep work is easy, and everything gets cooked in the same pot, which I love. And Sophie and I agreed that it was pretty good for a one dish meal, even without the chicken that the recipe suggests. 


And I am happy to report that the apple cobbler turned out beautifully, despite the whole odd shaped butter quandary. I love dessert, but rarely crave anything fruit-based, so I'm happy to report that this oddly hit the spot. There's just something so simple but perfect about ice cream on top of steaming hot cobbler, no?  


Oh, and I got to give Sophie her present, which helped reinvigorate the previously bubbling Christmas spirit that had been compromised thanks to my severe case of the Mondays.