Getting saucy

Sunday night I returned home from a weekend away visiting friends, to a city that had the chill of October mere days before the 4th of July.  Boston is known for unpredictable weather, and Sunday was no exception.  I took advantage of Mother Nature's mood swing and threw together a super hearty and almost healthy red sauce.  This particular recipe didn't feature bacon, but I did include pork sausage, so party on!

Anyone that's ever attempted a traditional tomato based sauce will tell you it's a commitment.  I love being true to a recipe just as much as the next food blogger, but I'm also a realist.  It was already 7:30 and True Detective was finally back with new episodes.  Sacrifices were made.  Within moments, garlic and chopped onions were flung from the tip of my trusty chef's knife into a small pool of hot olive oil.

Let's be honest.  I love to cook.  I love to try new techniques and recipes.  Homemade is the the best way whenever possible.  That being said, preparing my own sausage wasn't on the agenda.  I don't even know where to go about buying meat casing and I definitely don't have the counter space to make it all happen. I opted for store bought, but cut the sausage out of the casing to ensure maximum crumbliness.  Free the meat, so to speak.

Once cooked, I pulled the sausage out of the pot, but left as much of the onion and garlic (and grease!) in the pot as was possible.  Two cans of diced tomatoes, a healthy splash of olive oil, fresh cracked salt and pepper, and about 20 minutes on a low simmer got me almost to the finish line.  I tossed in my go-to Italian seasonings (fresh basil, oregano, parsley, crushed red pepper flakes) into the pot, mixed in my super secret ingredient (one small can of tomato paste), and went to town blending the sauce to tomato-y bliss with my immersion blender.
(*If you don't have an immersion blender, get one.  Game changer)

I said this was a sort-of healthy recipe, didn't I?  Yeah- something had to redeem me after a weekend of lobster rolls and fries.  Tossing baby spinach, kale, and button mushrooms in olive oil and garlic still counts, right?  Good- glad you're coming with me on that.  I must have really been craving veggies last night, because I even busted out my veggie spirializer (http://www.amazon.com/Veggetti-Spiral-Vegetable-Slicer-Veggie/dp/B00IIVRB3W - thanks, Amazon!) and put it to work making zoodles - yes, zoodles.

When it was all over, the entire process took about an hour, and I ended up with 4-5 healthy portions of sauce - which I could eat with a spoon right out of the container. I'm not going to say I've actually done that... except that I did and I am and I'd do it again.

The Sanctity of Sunday

There's a reason Etta sings about wanting this kind of love. Sundays are sacred, and it trickles back to childhood. To pancakes and pajamas. To slowing down and drinking coffee from a mug, not a paper cup made from 40% post consumer waste and the anxiety of standing in line with the masses for morning joe. Sunday is the day to make that big breakfast. To cook the bacon, stir the batter, sleep in, and enjoy the New York Times crossword puzzle.
So today as I sip from the ceramic mug I made that summer in college I stayed on campus, as the bacon sizzles and pops on the stove and I enjoy the blessedly quiet moments before roommates wake up and the house is buzzing, I am reminded of how wonderful Sunday morning really is. I am transported to my parent's kitchen stirring pancake batter with my father while my mother started the coffee pot. It's like waking up after a snow storm before the plows have cleared the streets; the serene calm coats Sunday morning, and I am always grateful for the moments I'm lucky enough to enjoy it.
Lately I've noticed the craziness of everyday life has revved up. In response, I've taken the complication out of my cooking. Fresh ingredients mixed well, and smartly paired. So today the bacon will accompany a family favorite; teddy bear pancakes. The first recipe I ever mastered, from the first cookbook I ever had, from the best kitchen a cook can know.

Dinner, Deliciously Simple

Dinner is a wonderful part of my day. I look forward to it; the quiet moments in my kitchen, the clear sign of the day's end, the yummy treats that come out of it (whether by my own hands or doled out courtesy of a delivery driver) are some of the most satisfying and restoring meals of the day. After a recent bad day, I decided to pamper myself with a true classic; poached eggs. Simple, creamy and delicious, they are indulgent without excess and great way to turn a not-so-great day around. Sure, bacon could have made this meal better. A mimosa would have too. But perhaps, from time to time, there are the few meals and moments that a person can enjoy in quiet simplicity. Bacon-less, for a meal.

Christmas Baking: Surviving the Big Push

Like the song says, 'It's the most wonderful time of the year', and dammit, you'd better put a smile on your face and get happy about it if you expect to get through your holiday baking. At least that's my take.

Perhaps you're like me and thought this would be a good year to save some cash and make everyone a nice little plate of confectionery delights. Perhaps you're also like me and figured out after the fifth trip to the grocery store that it was a bad plan and you should have endured the lines at the mall. Excessive trekking aside, the cookie making has been rather successful. I share with you my lessons learned:

1. Accept that you forgot something, and will be going back to the store, several times.

2. Get a gang. And by this, I mean enlist friends, especially those with some artistic flare for the decorating segment. (Pictures showcase my dedicated team).

3. Sustenance is key. Man can not live on bread alone. Nor can he live on cookie dough. Make sure you have something real to eat. I lured my decorators with promises of soup (and bacon, of course). A big pot of spicy tomato and white bean soup was on my stove by the time the second batch of sugar cookies made it into the oven. Crumbled bacon on top of each serving just made it that much better.

4. Prepare to make fun of yourself. When you've decorated 8 batches of sugar cookies, you are bound to find one that looks as though he got caught in a surprise sprinkle and food coloring attack. Feel free to remember this fallen fellow. (See awkward cookie memorial photo below).

5. Take your time. I have never thought it realistic to put strict time constraints on my cooking or baking. I say this because I am not a professional chef, and have never needed to finish something because someone was at a table preparing to chew their table cloth if I didn't provide them with something for satiating than bread sticks.

6. Get used to making treats. It has been my experience that once you begin making something around the holidays (like cookies, cakes, or pies), you are expected to continue making them for years to come.

And so, I leave you with these cell phone photos, and my recipe for spicy tomato and white bean soup. Use it wisely, and share it with friends.

Spicy Tomato and White Bean Soup

2 cans diced tomatoes

3 small peppers (one orange, one yellow, one red), cubed

1 large shallot, diced

2-3 celery stalks, roughly chopped

4-5 small-medium carrots, roughly chopped

1 can cannellini beans (rinsed)

3/4 c. dry barley

2 qts. chicken/veggie stock

Crushed red pepper flakes (use to taste)

In a large soup pot, sautee the shallots, celery, and carrots for about 10 minutes, or until they begin to soften. Toss in the peppers, and let the veggies cook down. Add in the tomatoes (including any juices in the can), the barley, and the beans. Pour in the stock (2 qts. usually covers the mixture). Bring the mix to a boil and stir every few minutes. Once the mix has hit boiling, bring the heat down and allow the soup to simmer, tossing in the red pepper flakes. Remember that the barley will absorb a significant portion of the liquid, so don't worry if you think you've put in too much. Toss some crumbled bacon on top and serve with a warm roll or piece of crusty baguette.

Thanksgiving, or Christmas for fat kids

Despite it taking nearly a month from me to recover from my Thanksgiving coma, here are/were my thoughts on Turkey Day.

It's finally here. That most glorious day of the year when we as a nation sit down together and gorge ourselves until we slip into a collective food coma. Thanksgiving.

While Thanksgiving has its roots in early America and has something to do with breaking bread and sharing maize, it's really about so much more than that. It's about food. It's about family. It's about eating food with your family. And for my family, it's about eating a lot of food. In the past few years, we have unknowingly raised the bar of expectation, starting with one turkey, and adding additional foul just for the fun of it. When first we sought to up the ante, we added the deep fryer. Mission: delicious. Last year, we added a beer basted bird on the grill. And in the grand tradition of overdoing everything, this year we embarked on the most mythical, most gluttonous endeavor: the Turducken. Yes, you read that right, Turducken. Be jealous. Be horrified. There were 12 people eating this year including one vegetarian and two children under 10, and this year there were technically 6 birds. Try justifying that math.

Gluttony aside, Thanksgiving has always been one of my favorite holidays. It has always been a low-key affair, and the kick start to the holiday season. There are certain truths I can always count on on this hallowed day; my father the vegetarian will handle one bird and the bulk of the sides, my uncle will tackle the deep fryer, someone will absolutely fall asleep in front of the fire place (whether there's a fire or not), and at some point in the day, we will all gather and spend at least 20 minutes arguing over what we do or don't need from the grocery store. I can also count on hearing my aunt yell "What the problem is?!" at least once, we will spend several hours on the couch perusing the department store circulars, discussing the sales we won't be participating in, and we will enjoy a light post-turkey day breakfast of pancakes, bacon, and sausage (because we didn't eat enough yesterday).

I shall leave you with the true beauty of four birds, and let you worry about the cholesterol problems sure to plague our family in the coming years.

Nachos- the true nectar of the gods.

Now I know what you're thinking- Nachos? Be serious. And I am- like the heart attack eating too many of the bad ones will give you. It is my opinion, humble though it may be, that nachos have been given a bad rap.

You see, there is a science to nachos; an art form. You can't just throw tortilla chips on a plate, arbitrarily toss some cheese on top and think your microwave is secretly a miracle worker. I'll save you the suspense, it's not. That little box of convenience is the kiss of death for your nachos, so forget what you saw in the opening credits of Step Brothers, because Will Ferrell is sitting on a throne of lies.

Real nachos take patience. Good nachos should be layered, allowing cheese and any other toppings you include to evenly blend together to provide the flavor explosion you're craving. Recently, some friends and I embarked on a nacho extravaganza. We put together two nacho dynamos- buffalo and barbecue. Splitting them right down the middle on a baking tray, we had chips, a four cheese blend and chicken. That's where the similarities ended. On one side, was a generous slathering of buffalo sauce. On the other, barbecue. Meticulous attention was paid to the layering of the nachos, and despite my impatience, both versions were well worth the wait. Sweet and savory on one side, smoky heat on the other.

Now nachos might never be more than a great snack item, and maybe you'll never think of using spicy blue corn chips, or including slow cooked pulled pork, or using manchego or haloumi cheese instead of a cheddar blend, but I will. And I'll tell you about it.

The goat cheese debacle of Sunday night.

About a week ago, I caught an episode of Brunch with Bobby. Now despite my ambivalence towards the chef, his featured dish was too delectable for me to pass up. Poached eggs on top of heirloom tomatoes and goat cheese spread, supported by a toasted baguette. Pretty easy stuff, right? Wrong. I made the mistake of following the recipe precisely, which I almost never do. In most cases, following the recipe is a good thing. But then again, that assumes the recipe is correct. This particular recipe called for 1/4 cup of white wine vinegar. During the show, Bobby added the vinegar, and created a thick spread, which looked divine. When I added in the vinegar, it created a lumpy soup. Lesson learned: 1/4 cup of vinegar really means 2 tablespoons for this recipe. Soupy spread aside, the recipe was easy, and I was happy to learn I could replicate his open faced sandwich. Clearly, I had to step it up a bit, and threw in some thick cut bacon- one of the better ideas I had on Sunday.

For the record, this is a great open-faced sandwich. This is not- I repeat NOT- a good 2 slice of bread sandwich. You will loose all of the yolk if you top this sandwich. Don't loose the goods like I did!