What's Your Cereal I.Q.?

Working in the dining hall in college surely made this a little bit easier.

I got 15/20, and I'm both proud and also a little disappointed. I also have a hankering for some Cracklin' Oat Bran.

Weekends

A day ahead with nothing to do. A DVR filled with unwatched episodes of The Daily Show, Good Eats, Niglella Eats, Jamie at Home. Jeff makes an 11am pot of Irish oatmeal, thick and chewy and hot. He takes his with honey and cinnamon. I sprinkle mine with mixed nuts, or eat it with a spoon heaped with a blob of peanut butter, the hot oats making it melty.



Oatmeal means we have the time to cook it and enjoy it. Oatmeal means laziness and happiness.

Must-Have Meals

My life is filled with certainties. I’ll always reach for the sky blue version in the t-shirt display. If there is an R.E.M. record in a jukebox, I will surely play it. I would much rather stay home and watch Whose Wedding is it Anyway reruns than leave my apartment.

The same loyalties of course apply to food. Because the single thing I will not eat or drink in this universe is beer, anything goes. Beef, pork, seafood, extra-spicy, raw, creamy, fruity...bring it. I was lucky enough to marry a man who eats the same way (but with a beer on the side for him). Even so, we go gravitate toward certain dishes time and again. The following are our must-haves -- as in, “are you going to get it or am I?” Because one of us has to.

Merguez
I recently decided that if I were only allowed to chose one meat to eat for the rest of my life, it would have to be lamb. I love games like that.

If you’re dining with us, and spot this spicy lamb sausage on the menu, play the game of “which one of them will claim it first?” Bet on Jeff. While I always tend to peruse the rest of the menu just in case there’s something else I might want more (there isn’t), he’ll claim it and I’ll stamp my foot and demand that FINE, but he better let me share.

Pappardelle
I would marry this wide, flat, ribbon pasta if I could. Alas, a signed ketubah prevents me from doing so. I love how it acts as a canvas for sauce and cheese. This is a one-noodle-per-forkful pasta -- you really get to savor its texture and bite. Pappardelle highlights include Pappardelle with Chanterelles and Thyme on the Babbo tasting menu, Flat Pasta, Pulled Braised Rabbit, Graviera Cheese from Kefi and Pappardelle with Lamb Ragout at Noodle Pudding.

Octopus
We've had many octopus experiences, but two stand out as stellar. One was in Korea Town during a Korean BBQ-fest. We cooked chunks of raw octopus ourselves until it had the slightest char. Simple and delicious. The other was at Kefi again, the Grilled Octopus, Bean Salad appetizer. Octopus is a lot of things, but it's rarely tender. Yes, some are easier to the tooth than others, but never before had pieces been as yielding as these. Paired with chickpeas and a light, springy dressing, it's a dish I think about often.

Nicoise Salad
This one is just me, not Jeff. Crisp green beans, flaky tuna, silky egg white, mushy egg yolk, salty capers and olives, sweet tomatoes…the perfect mélange of textures and flavors. A good nicoise is the perfect salad.

Riesling
Yes, we like our wine to taste like kicky apple juice, and no I am not apologizing for that.

Banana pudding at Sugar Sweet Sunshine
When will we ever look right past trays of pumpkin, lemon, and vanilla cupcakes (the best in New York, no less)? Why, for The Perfect Dessert. I don’t want to know what’s in it or how they make it. The thickest, creamiest pudding you could ever imagine, starring soggy hunks of Nila Wafer and real banana. If we are within a 20-block radius of the Lower East Side, we are going. No debates.

My goal in life is to get better at calling dibs on ideal menu items. Jeff almost always orders better. I used to be Queen of Calling Shotgun, so I know I can rise to the challenge.

Peanut Butter Mashed Potatoes?

I am seriously craving the "peanut butter mashed potatoes" that the awful Lisa concocted on last night's Top Chef. (Why won't she just get SENT HOME??) The main judges all thought it sounded absurd and I get the impression that it wasn't the best received combination (although the steakhouse guest judge raved about it), but I just CAN'T stop thinking about how great it would be to have a big bowl of warm, creamy peanut butter mashed potatoes. WANT. NOW.

Maybe I just want a big bowl of peanut butter that I'm allowed to eat with a spoon. PB Mashed potatoes are (somewhat) socially acceptable. Eating spoonfuls of Jif is not.

A Googler Wife's Banana and Chocolate Tart

This morning, for the first time ever, I morphed into one of those people who comments on Epicurious! You know, those “this recipe was great, but I just decreased the amount of butter and added persimmons instead of blueberries and tossed some chopped raisins in because my son loves them and substituted half the potatoes with yams and cooked it in a round pan instead of a square one, but otherwise I kept it exactly the same” people? They’ve always existed in a land where confident home cooks live unbound by the written word of their recipes. I want to move there. But man, improvisation is scary.

For the past few years, I’ve been making Marcella Hazan’s Farmer’s Wife’s Pear Tart, which I read about years ago on The Amateur Gourmet’s site. It’s as simple as simple can be – mix your batter, chop up your fruit, stir, pour into a pan, dot the top with butter, and open your oven 45 or so minutes later to a thick, fruity pancake. More a thin cake than a tart, it’s fluffy but not doughy, and sweet but mostly due to fruit. I tend use less than an entire cup of sugar (rebellious!) and it comes out just fine.

Around the last time I made it, Jeff started talking about a banana dessert he had at work that day. My brain went, mmm, bananas. Mmm, bananas and chocolate. Mmm, bananas and chocolate in my pancake tart, maybe? Mmmm. And since that time, I’ve wanted to experiment. Would it work? (I mean, duh, of course it’s going to work. But I’m timid when it comes to culinary change, so bear with me.)

I made it this morning, subbing out the pears, replacing with three sliced bananas, some cinnamon, and a few handfuls of chopped semisweet chocolate. (Oh, how cavalier! “A few chopped handfuls.” I would hate me.) Dare I say it improved upon our beloved pear tart? It was gooey where it used to be a tad juicy, with chocolate chunk surprises throughout. A new staple is born. Playing with food is fun. Who knew?


Banana Chocolate Tart (adapted from original recipe by Marcella Hazan by way of Amateur Gourmet)

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

Butter and flour a 9-inch pan. I use a springform pan (thank you, wedding registry!), but any pan will do.

In a medium bowl, beat together 2 eggs and 1/4 cup milk. Mix in 1 cup of granulated sugar, 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, a pinch of salt, and a good shake of cinnamon (I think I put in about 1 1/2 teaspoons). Mix until combined -- this will be a little bit lumpy, but don't worry.

Slice three bananas into thin coins and chop up semi-sweet or dark chocolate and add to your personal taste. I added chocolate chunks until they were dotted throughout by batter but didn't overpower it. Much more banana than chocolate. Chocolate chips would work fine here, too.

Pour the batter into your prepared pan and smooth with a spatula. Chop up about 1/4 cup of cold butter and push butter chunks into the pan all over your uncooked tart. When you put the tart into the over, it should have butter polka dots all over the surface, slightly pushed in.

Bake for about 45-50 minutes, or until the top of your tart is light brown.

Serve warm, with vanilla ice cream!

Fresh, Local, and Organic -- Here I Come!

I want to be one of those people who stops by her local farmers’ market when it’s open, buys what’s fresh and local, and cooks up an inspired dish for dinner. In my mind, I link myself with that crowd... nod knowingly when I read about the wonders of organic produce and quietly roll my eyes at people who buy wan tomatoes from Key Foods in the dead of winter.

Truth is, I’m a sham--a food elitist with absolutely no cred, what with my nightly takeout from Joya or a can of Amy’s Soup with toast. At least the pink tomato people cook. I can barely be bothered to warm up leftovers the next day.

There is a tiny farmers’ market right outside my Financial District office. This summer, I vow to stop by at least once a week, pick something that captures my fancy, and cook up dinner for me and my husband. Look out, honey, there’s asparagus in your future!

Better than Popcorn

While I trust that the chefs on Top Chef Season 4 are talented, they certainly didn’t impress me with their imagination last night.

The task: create a six-course dinner, in which each course is inspired by “your favorite movie.” I think “your favorite movie” should right now be defined as “the movie of your choice,” because if the rules were strict, someone like Jeff would have to design a meal based on I [heart] Huckabees.

But hey, maybe they should have been strict. What would have happened has the contestants been asked to write down their favorite movies during the interview process, then been told the assignment? That certainly would have pushed their limits more than, “hmm, I like Vietnamese food – let’s make spring rolls that we can say were inspired by Good Morning Vietnam!” They might as well have picked The Godfather and served ziti. It would have been more appropriate.

The only imaginative dish of the night came from the team that chose Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory—they had the first course of the meal and created a salmon dish with wasabi, white chocolate and “caviar” made from tapioca. It was colorful, inventive, and apparently delicious…all a perfect capture of the movie.

I’ll play the game. Below is a short list with some of my favorites, and the meal I would create (or buy) to commemorate it.

Big Night: Duh. How did no one even mention this one? A perfectly cooked omelet on a plain white plate served beside a tear of baguette. Says more about the movie than the famous timpano, and is one of my favorite movie scenes of all time. Yes, Tom Colicchio would be all, “This is an embarrassment; you spent three hours on this?” But he can kind of be a dick, so who cares what he says? I’m going to play the game pretending this wouldn’t be presented in front of Judges' Table, okay?

Before Sunrise: Something that would make you linger. Something delicious and sweet…but casual. Something familiar. A picnic! Yes, a picnic basket with good cheeses, a bottle of wine, and a bar of dark chocolate.

Before Sunset: Well, definitely something French. And it would have to be a snack, since the entire movie takes place in the span of 85 minutes or so. A pain au chocolat with black tea.

Being John Malkovich: Oh boy. Something inside something else. I guess a turducken? Malkovich. Malkovich Malkovich Malkovich.

Reality Bites: Something cheap, and with coffee. If you make something purposefully greasy and a little gross would that be bad? If we’re really aiming to capture the movie, then diner food—floppy toast, greasy scrambled eggs, bacon, a side of weak coffee, and a cigarette.

25th Hour: Greasy takeout New York Chinese food, served with a shot of vodka.

Clueless: Colors! Too easy, but too fun not to mention. Vanilla cupcakes with strawberry frosting and rainbow sprinkles.

Magnolia: Frogs legs. Lots of them. No side dishes. Plopped randomly all over a big plate. Done.