When Life Throws Lemons - Roast Some Garlic

There are two things that put me instantly at home. I can go to any theatre and know exactly where everything is. I sense a feeling of belonging even if the theatre is new to me. Blindfolded, I could make my way to the dressing rooms, to the prop room and with my sense of smell find the scene shop. The theatre has been my second home since my days of yore.

I enter a room and smell garlic. I time travel to Grandma's connected home in Queens, NY. I find myself in Aunt Rose's kitchen. In my own Sunday-kitchen childhood. I am in every small Italian restaurant of my past. I am enticing my children home with its aroma. If you want to sell me a home, skip the potpourri and roast some garlic. I instantly feel that this is a warm home with a caring cook. I am content.

These days, a lot of lemons have entered my life. There are many challenges and sadness's. It is part and parcel of the journey of life. I am old enough to know the circular pattern of life and the concept of being on top of a hill and in the valley. And know that both changes.

The season of spring recently took one look at Minnesota and headed south. It is currently snowing and sleeting. But hope springs eternal and spring does, too! So while winter waves it's last hurrah, and the lemons are thrown at me, I will not make lemonade. Too cold!

I will wrap two heads of garlic in aluminum foil and brush them with olive oil. I will place it in a 350-400 degree F oven for forty minutes. I will be transported to my aunt's kitchens. And to my home off Union Turnpike. I will visit with my youth.

And now, with steam rising out of it ( sorry for the blur), I will smear some on a piece of bread and get on with things. Later I will make garlic soup. Just squeeze those little garlics out of their papery homes. Put it in 4-6 cups of chicken broth. Simmer 2-3 medium peeled potatoes in the broth. When potatoes are tender, put in blender and mix well. No cream. No half-and-half. Potatoes and garlic pureed.

A fitting end to a tart and icy day.

What? Me Worry?

I have the worry gene - definitely from the Italian side of the family. So, when my son told me way back in September 2008 that he and his buddies were planning to drive to San Diego from central Minnesota during Spring break - I instantly started to worry. Spring break is - now. Early March. One of the snowiest months of the year. And if I didn't have snow to worry about, there's always ice. And the fact that the Crown Vic does not do well on icy roads. And then there's the Rockies. Don't get me started on the Rockies! And the fact that four twenty-one year college seniors planned on travelling the three thousand miles in one fell swoop - through the night.

No matter that they left Minnesota after their last final at 4 p.m. during a snowstorm. Not a lot of sleeping went on in this house that night. But they made it to San Diego and they only had one slight altercation with an Oklahoma toll booth (the "boys" did not bring enough quarters, were followed by a trooper, all is happily resolved).

They started home yesterday morning. We received text messages on our cell phones each time they passed into a new state. We were keeping an eye on the weather as were they. So, Paul and I spent the day with our taxes. I write plays. I teach and direct theatre. I average about 10 1099's. Enough said.

And then of course, this is the weekend we lose an hour's sleep. I could be practical and say, if I was going to lose sleep over my son's road trip anyway - it might as well coincide with "the weekend of lost sleep."

5:30 a.m.
And then the phone rang. At 5:30 a.m. Or 4:30 a.m. or 6:30 a.m. All I know - it was dark. And early. My heart stopped, my husband flew out of bed and when I heard him say, "Hi, Matthew," I felt a wee bit relieved. It wasn't a state trooper. It was my son.

They were driving about 20 mph through dense fog (see, I was so fixated on the snow, ice, Rockies, lack of sleep, I completely forgot to worry about the fog!). They hit a patch of ice and went into a guard rail. All were fine. One head light out. And they would remain on the side of the road in Nebraska for four hours. The state troopers had a busy night.

There was no going back to sleep. And my mind was racing. He was still in Nebraska with a ways to go before arriving safely back in Collegeville. I needed to occupy myself. I thought about bread - because you could bang it around a lot and get out pent-up nervous energy. But then, you need to let it rest and I was in no mood for anything to rest.

I thought about homemade pasta -but with the busy kitten, all I could see was "Pasta-with-fur-about" and it didn't sound appetizing. I wanted something mindless, easy, comforting and fast. And then I saw the banana-chocolate cake on the Orangette blog.




1:30 p.m.
I would get to mash the bananas (oh! did I ever mash those bananas!), eat chocolate, smell the cinnamon as it baked and eat it right out of the oven. And that's what I did. By the time the "bread" (getting real here: it's a cake) came out of the oven, Matthew and Company were in Omaha. About seven hours left to fret. Oh. And in addition to a head light out, turns out the dashboard lights also weren't working.
This is March comfort at its best. With no oil or butter, but plenty of chocolate and a sugary-cinnamon topping, it's a well-worn soft throw that wraps itself around you and your home as it bakes. The recipe was forgiving of mistakes. The heart stopped pattering. I was grateful the boys were so far safe. I was wishing they were here so I could offer them a slice right out of the oven. The chocolate was oozing. Chocolate can soothe a lot of ills.

This took ten minutes to throw together (I spent about eight of those minutes loudly mashing!). 35 minutes in the oven and ready to serve.

You need:
3 ripe bananas
2 large eggs
1 ½ cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1 cup granulated sugar (I used 3/4 cup - I always reduce the sugar)
1 tsp. baking soda
2 tsp. ground cinnamon
1 tsp. pure vanilla extract
1 cup semisweet chocolate chips

For topping:
2 Tbsp. granulated sugar
1/8 tsp. ground cinnamon

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Spray an 8-inch square pan. In a medium mixing bowl, mash the bananas well with a potato masher. Add the eggs, and stir well to combine. Add the flour, sugar, baking soda, cinnamon, and vanilla, and stir to mix.

Add ¾ cup of the chocolate chips, and stir briefly. I will confess that I added the whole cup of chocolate chips in. Later, realizing I needed to top the batter with the other 1/4 cup of chocolate chips, I simply added more chips. This certainly offset the 1/4 cup of sugar I deleted.

Pour the batter into the prepared pan. In a small bowl, stir together the topping ingredients. Sprinkle the mixture evenly over the batter and top with the remaining ¼ cup chocolate chips.

Bake for 35-40 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Let cool in the pan on a wire rack for at least 15 minutes before serving.

4:30 p.m.
From the last phone call (five minutes ago), I learned that the boys are in Minnesota. Another three-four hours and they should be "home." I shall make granola until then. And wait for the last phone call saying they are back at school. Oh! And in addition to a front headlight being broken and no dash lights, it was mentioned in passing that a rear brake light was also out.

7:10 p.m.
All four are safe at school. And it's not dark yet (whew). And there's no snow, no ice and no fog. What there is: 12 cups of homemade granola and chocolate banana-bread-cake that served its purpose and will soon be doled out to Kirsten as she goes back to her college tomorrow.

Stepping Out in Shoes

I wore shoes yesterday. Outside. It may not seem like a big deal to some of you, but I haven't worn shoes outside since early December. Just before the snows came. And the boots came out. Oh sure, on days that the streets were semi-clear, I would be out in my trusty, huge clogs - they can go through ice, snowbanks and slush and keep my feet dry. But shoes? They've been sitting in my closet itching for a walk.

And then there was the robin. Sitting atop my crab apple tree - a true harbinger of spring. The rule of thumb in Minnesota is:
a. the robins return
b. we have 2-3 more snowfalls after their return
c. spring comes - in the way of actual crocuses - doomed to be eaten by bunnies before I head out the door in the early a.m.

And then - there was the asparagus. Bargain-priced, skinny with purple tops - gently ringing out the news that spring is - somewhere. Farewell turnips! Arrivederci celery root! Au revoir parsnip and cabbage! The asparagus is nudging in on your territory.

And in my trusty shoes with a robin singing, I brought home the asparagus and remembered a simple recipe from Tastes of Italia that I wanted to try. They have you boil the asparagus and I know better - but did it anyway. My preferred method is to brush it with olive oil, throw a little sea salt on it and roast it for 20-30 minutes at 350-400 degrees F. I can then eat it like candy. But I dutifully started to follow the recipe and came to my next hurdle. Mix 4 chopped hard-boiled eggs with 1 cup olive oil. Hmmm. That's a lot of olive oil.

I mixed the 4 hard-boiled eggs with about 1/8 of a cup. Salted it and peppered it. Added a touch of Dijon mustard and called it a day. Not fancy. Simple. Like a robin singing. Or wearing shoes.

Coincidentally, over at Sara's Kitchen, she was featuring a similar recipe (her March 4, 2009 blog). She has a few more added spring-like ingredients and her garnishes are lovely and I have a feeling her recipe will be at my dinner table next week. But I first did want to share with you - that even in Minnesota there's been a sneak-peak at spring. Shoes and robins and asparagus. Can thunderstorms and tornado warnings be far behind?

When the outside is colder than my freezer ...

... I feel genetically obligated to make pasta. I made this a few weeks ago and noted it in my Cover Girls blog - which is something my sister and I dreamed up - to keep us from going insane in the Minnesota winter (we cook cover recipes from magazines once a month). The day I made this dish, the inside of my freezer was twenty degrees warmer than the air outside my home! I was determined to find a dinner meal that did not entail a trip to the grocery store. I had wearied of putting on all the clothes in my closet to go outside.


I feel like I am double-dipping - using this recipe in two different blogs - but over at La Dolce Vita and Proud Italian Cook, they are holding a Festa and I have the perfect entree: Fettucine with Ragu.


Ragu was not something my family made. They worked their magic with red sauces or "gravy" as it was sometimes called. Grandma and Grandpa hailed from Potenza and Ragu hails from Bologna. Different regions, different dialects and different foods.

I found this in February 2009's issue of Tastes of Italia and it fit my criteria for the evening meal: pasta, comforting and every ingredient was already in the house.

You need: (For four)
1/2 pound fettuccine cooked according to package directions (I used one pound and had enough sauce for all; there is no way 1/2 pound of pasta serves four in my home)
3 oz dried porcini mushrooms
1 cup beef broth
3 T butter
1 cup chopped onion
1 pound sweet Italian sausage - casings removed
1/2 cup dry red wine
2 tsp tomato paste
1 15-oz can fire roasted diced tomatoes, drained
1/4 tsp nutmeg (I am a recent convert and now grate my own)
1/4 cup milk
salt and pepper to taste
Grated Parmesan cheese for topping (It says optional; Parmesan cheese is never optional ion my home - it is required)


Wash the mushrooms and chop them. Soak the mushrooms in beef broth for 30 minutes. In a large skillet heat the butter on medium heat. Add the onion and cook for 3-4 minutes. Add the sausage and cook for 5-6 minutes (until it is crumbly and brown). Add tomatoes and cook till mixed..



Add wine, tomato paste, beef broth with porcinis and stir to mix well. Bring to boil, reduce heat and cook for 45 minutes - stirring occasionally.




The simmering time is a must. The flavors intensify and the aroma works its magic. I probably stirred more often than necessary because I liked visiting my sauce. It made me forget that the outside was a bleak frozen tundra.

Stir in the nutmeg and milk and cook for ten minutes. Taste for salt and pepper. Remove and mix with pasta. Top with grated Parmesan.





Easy enough for a casual meal, flavorful enough for the Festa and a quick side trip to Bologna to offset the "frozen tundra blues." Grandma may never have made it but she would have approved.

In the Pink with Blues

I am so longing for this:

But the reality is this:

The weather says comfort food. My inner lotus says, "feed me spring." The inside of my freezer still has berries and tomatoes picked from last summer. One cannot let that go to waste. It suddenly became imperative that I use my summer bounty up immediately. So I made a start:

Pork Chops with Blueberry Sauce: adapted from Weekend Light Menus

It's hearty enough for the days that hover around zero. With a savory, bluesy sauce that promises to put me in the pink. You need:

2T olive oil

4 pork chops

1 shallot - minced

1/2 cup dry red wine

1-1/2 cups frozen or fresh blueberries

1/2 cup beef broth

1T balsamic vinegar

1 T brown sugar

1 T unsalted butter

salt and pepper to taste

Saute pork in heated oil in large saute pan. Under high heat, cook for about 4-5 minutes per side (basically - till done). Transfer chops to another plate and keep warm. Add shallots to pan and stir 30 seconds. Deglaze pan with red wine. Simmer until most is evaporated. (I simmered it down to 1/4 cup - I like the wine in the sauce. I'm also not adverse to wine in the glass.) Stir in blueberries, broth, vinegar, brown sugar and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to medium and simmer until blueberries begin to burst and sauce thickens - about 5 minutes.

Off heat, stir in butter and season with salt and pepper. (I did not use the butter; I'd like to admit that it was in the interest of good health - but I forgot.) Put chops on platter, cover with blueberry sauce. Serve. Eat.

The blueberry sauce kept good company with some noodles.

What can I say? It put a spring in my step? Now I'm staring at the frozen tomatoes and frozen red peppers. Sigh. At least it's summer in my freezer.