In the heat of the bite

Spurred by an invitation to an international potluck brunch, I dug out this recipe. Even those who resist Indian food - I'm looking at you, Dad! - seem to warm up to 'meatloaf'. I doubled the recipe so I would have extra to serve as the starter for a couple of suppers we're hosting this week and at each event, it's resulted in an empty plate and requests for the recipe.

So in the interest of great tasting food that a few smart purchases from Superstore makes so much easier, may I introduce Dam Ke Kebab, adapted from 'Classic Indian Cuisine'. Plus it sounds so fun to say, especially three times fast with a hint of an accent.

1 pound ground beef

1 tsp fresh, ground ginger (I use the bottled crushed ginger from SS)

3 cloves of crushed garlic

1 tsp dried chilies (or to taste)

2 tsps curry powder or garam masala

1/4 cup plain yogurt

1 Tbsp chopped fresh cilantro

1 tsp chili powder

2 eggs, lightly beaten

1 onion, sliced thin and fried until crisp (I use the crisp fried onions from the spice section in SS)

salt, at least a teaspoon or to taste

Juice of 1 lemon, divided in half

Mix everything together, with half of the lemon juice. Press into a greased 8x8" pan and brush with oil. Bake in a preheated 350 degree oven for 20 minutes; then turn the oven down to 300 degrees for another 20 minutes, or until the meat has shrunk and turned slightly golden. Remove to a cutting board and drizzle with the second half of the lemon juice. Cut in small squares.

Serve with this Indianesque mint yogurt dip that I faked up.

1/2 cup plain yogurt

1 tsp mint chutney (I use Aki's brand from you-know-where)

1/2 tsp salt

1/2 tsp sugar

The quantities are approximate - combine enough of each to make it taste good.

I'm Saltine, and I follow food fads

I succumbed to a novelty, and for our delayed Thanksgiving feast, made my family eat turducken. There. Admitting the problem is the first step, right?

It's ridiculous - a chicken, inside a duck, inside a turkey, all boneless, and in this case, stuffed with sausage. Tarbucket, turdbucken - I'm sure all the nicknames my family gave the beast were covering a deep unease but never let that stop you! It needed a honest try to know if it was frankenturkey or sliced bread's successor. After all, the juicy chicken, the rich duck, wrapped in the turkey - there's a lot of potential there.

The shape was impressively deceptive: aside from some fearful stitches on the side (look away, look away!) it was as smooth and shapely as any Butterball. The wings and drumsticks are still attached, so tucking it into my roaster, it was easy to believe that it was a regular turkey, although I don't usually sprinkle spicy-looking seasoning on mine.

Cooking is literally an all-day process - 6 hours at 220 degrees until the thermometer registered 165. The package gives a two hour window for completion - two hours! - which is insane, because who knows when to start the potatoes, how many appetizers will be required, how to coordinate all the sides when there's that much leeway. Indeed, climbing the last few degrees took a surprising amount of time.

Carving, however, is a cinch. Whack it in half, slice the halves. Even carving-impaired Hubby could do it.

The slices were heavy on turkey and sausage, light on chicken and duck. Flavour - hmmm - there was some, yup there really was - but wow, so not remarkable. The turkey tasted turkeyish, the sausage was a fine paste of acceptable edibility but no. Won't be going there again.

So thanks, turkducken, for your mad scientist hybridization that gave a enjoyable frisson of danger to our dinner - but we'll stick with the original.

Not your Chef Boyardee's ragu

I've been home more lately, with the weather cooling into a pleasant fall and time to let things simmer. Hubby gets a little woozy, anticipating the umami overload of slow braised food, and I love making food he enjoys.

Marcella Hazan came to mind, and her long cooked, Bolognese-style ragu, something I had never tried from 'The Classic Italian Cookbook', her treatise on the mama-made basics in the old style.

I didn't have ground beef but I did have a small pot roast that I diced, along with onion, celery and carrot, and began my all day sojourn. First the onion is sweated in a heavy Dutch oven , then the other veggies are added: but briefly, no caramelization, usually the initial objective in cooking.

Then the beef went in, cooked just until it was no longer raw looking. The wine came next; it was simmered away. Milk was evaporated off too. Finally, the tomatoes went into the pot and the heat was turned back until it only bubbled occasionally - a long, lazy afternoon transforming basic, even boring components - not an herb added! - to something utterly beyond, releasing a slow whisp of fragrance that slowly filled the kitchen, the apartment, the hallway...and brought home my Hubby and his big hug. I think the hug was because he loves me, not just because I feed him. :-)

I cooked some polenta and we ate it covered in the ragu, an earthy, gorgeous sauce. At the first forkful, it was clear that adding cheese was gilding the lily. Sensational.

The next time I made it, I used lean ground beef, doubled the recipe - anything that takes most of a day to make should be produced in bulk - and served it up over spaghetti, not bothering with parmesan. A bowl full of richly flavoured comfort... and there's another one waiting in the freezer whenever I want it. (big smile)

Fraise et Tomate

One of the lovely dinners we had in Paris was at Maceo, which was celebrating high July with a summer prixe fixe menu of strawberries and tomatoes. Chef Thierry Bourbonnais' focus on fresh and seasonal could not have come through more clearly, with luscious strawberries in every market and the first tomatoes ripe.

We started with a cold soup with the scent of berries and a delicate tomato flavour and revelled in the spacious room of pale wood. I loved being there in the pretty dress I had bought in London, earlier in our trip. Princess time!

Then we were served shrimp with berry-dyed alfalfa piled in a rosy heap with shreds of preserved lemon. With this pink swirl, it seemed perfect to be drinking the recommended rosé. Maceo is a sister restaurant to the famous Willy's Wine Bar and it's omnivorously wineophile owner, Mark Williamson, and the sommelier at Maceo did indeed seem to know his stuff. The menus on the website are a free mental vacation: http://www.maceorestaurant.com/

Our entree was lamb loin with the fat cap well crisped, served over roasted tomato slices with a pile of tiny sauteed mushrooms. Pure umami on a fork; this was Hubby's favourite course. Evening was falling, the breeze through the open window was cooler, we were enjoying ourselves and our dinner.

Always happy to eat dessert, I was excited at the plating of this one: wee dehydrated strawberries were scattered around a collar of nut tuile, which held tiny fresh berries. A quenelle of tangy creme fraiche ice cream lay along side. Too full for more dinner, I nevertheless demolished it.

We tumbled out onto the street after our leisurely meal and happily made our way to the Opera subway station, along with a strong minority of other well-dressed people - tourists, most likely, since Parisians flee the city in the summer. We were enjoying being alive and well-fed on a beautiful July evening in the City of Lights. Hubby kissed me on the platform; we laughed like we had a secret.

Flop pie

Mmmm...peaches. My second favourite fruit.

While on vacation, I had read Jeffrey Steingarten's 'The Man Who Ate Everything' and was inspired by his obsessive, perfectionist research to make traditional pie crust again. I've been using Edna Staebler's 'speedy pat-in pie crust' for a long time and although there's no top crust, a great streusel topping compensates in ways that mean no one notices the non-traditional bottom. My brother, in fact, believes it's the real thing. People don't make real pie crust much any more and it's been so long since they've tasted it that even those exposed to my mother's superior pies have apparently forgotten the unbearable lightness of crust. Great fruit and ice cream compensate for a lot.

Oh, but the crust. As much as I love peaches, and find them superlative in pie, great pie means great crust. Thinking of that lardy, flaky, tender pastry makes my mouth water, so maybe it's time to make my own again.

Steingarten consults - a soft word for the kind of obsessive pastry stalking he pursues with singleminded focus in person, via phone and fax - with Marion Cunningham, author of the Fannie Farmer Baking Book. After weeks of making pie he comes up with what he thinks is the definitive version - simple enough for an amateur, delicious enough for a gourmand.

Okay, I'm in.

After carefully reading the 8 pages of directions - not including the 6 pages on fruit fillings - and working my way through the process with strict obedience to detail - I had a non functional crust. As in, too dry, falling apart, with no structural integrity. I know to adjust baking recipes for the dry conditions in Calgary - flour is absent humidity here - but it can be hard to know how far to go - and clearly I had not gone far enough, even though I went to Steingarten's max. I wet a tea towel and spread it over my rolled dough, leaving it long enough for moisture to absorb into the crumbly crust, and managed, with the help of a scrubbed binder cover, and despite gritted teeth, to lower the two crusts into position around a peach filling.

But the proof's in the pudding, right? Unfortunately, post bake, despite an adequately browned top, the pebbly appearance turned out to continue on to the mouth feel. Can I tell you how disappointing it is to be all set up for pie nirvana and find inadequacy?

Hubby and guests - sharply warned that this was flop pie, and I didn't want to hear anything but happy comments - dutifully nod with appreciation. Okay, so it was willingingly finished in short order, but that just goes to my point about people no longer remembering good crust.

Perfect pie - still AWOL.

Bakery Breakfasts, 7th arrondissement

We never set up the dining table for breakfast in Paris. Instead, Hubby would hike the 6 flights down to our local bakery (how I love that man!) and climb back up with a bag full of my requests. He would make dark, strong coffee, I'd prep some fruit and we'd read and nibble and sip and enjoy the morning on the couch. Sunday every day!

I love pain de chocolat, and ate a good many of these, but I had an exhuberant fling with the chausson aux pomme, a flaky pastry filled with tangy apple puree. I wish it could have been a lifetime relationship, but I haven't found a Calgary version. For breakfast with fresh cherries - sublime.

Sometimes Hubby brought a goat cheese and tomato tart, which we would share, and he would have a croissant as well, and I would have pain de chocolat, each of us hoarding our favourite. There were no offers to share.

Strawberries were in season, tiny, thin-skinned, juicy and voluptuously fragrant strawberries. Strawberries like I remember eating from the garden, and finding no where else in my adulthood of hard, pink, scentless blobs from Safeway. Why does Europe still have devastatingly good strawberries while we eat tasteless styrofoam? There should be an inquiry. It's a national scandal, but most of us have forgotten what we're missing and don't complain. Well I'm complaining now. I'm mad at North American strawberries and I don't know if there's anything they can do to make it up to me - short of giving up their hard-hearted ways and becoming real strawberries again.

I topped the lightly sugared berries with a healthy dollop of creme fraiche - just to round out our food groups - and gloated that such a thing was available at the corner store.

If I could eat breakfast like this everyday, I'd stop skipping it. I'd become a devoted, enthusiastic, evangelistic breakfast eater. All hail the continental breakfast! Okay, maybe especially when eaten on the Continent.

Days of wine and cheeses

We've been home a month, but in that time we've recreated our recurrent Paris picnics several times, enjoying wonderful cheeses, baguette and wine, often a Sancerre or Muscadet, for dinner.

There were at least 4 cheese shops within three blocks of the apartment we rented, including the famous Cantin cheese dynasty, now headed by daughter Marie Anne, one of the few companies in Paris which ages cheese in their own cave to the perfection their trained noses detect. http://www.cantin.fr/

I was a little intimidated by the store: instead of the cheerful profusion in other local cheese shops, each cheese was displayed on a separate stand in the temperature controlled room, like a Cartier jewel without the glass. Uniformed staff reverently cut each piece and wrapped it in Cantin labeled paper once they deciphered an approximation of what I was asking for, my French being non-existent. I found it hard to limit my selections; after all they had four kinds of Comte, my favourite gruyere. I only bought two, along with that king of cheese, Beaufort; a stinky Brie de Meaux; and two goat cheeses, young and old. The bill: high for France but better than Calgary.

Fresh chevre, however, was not sold at Cantin - it was available at every corner grocery store, along with creme frais, Brittany butter and lardons. Avec moi! (fake French expletive) What a country!

We were lovingly savouring the last of the Beaufort on the Chunnel train to London a week later. It will be months before Beaufort is available in Calgary, which we looked forward to across the coming cold of autumn with a rueful toast.

The moveable feast to be found in the other local cheese shops looked like this:

Amongst a long list of things I hope to return to Paris for, a far more thorough exploration of local cheese is one of them. Until then, I will keep my tastebuds trained and happy with locally found Piave, Vigneron, Chevre Noir and Vintage Gouda, ready for the next visit, deo volente.

Bonjour, mon ami

Home again, home again...a month in Europe was definitely only enough time to really get a taste for great pastry. Hopefully our road leads back someday.

A month without cooking - aside from a couple of simple dinners early on when we were in a 17 century cottage with a wee kitchen - has left me out of the groove.

With jet lag temporarily at bay, we headed to the farmer's market, since foraging for a great restaurant was no longer how we were to be fed. sigh. But great ingredients like baby potatoes, ripe avocado, and sweet corn were inspiring without requiring any more than the simplest preparation.

Hubby has learned to make guacamole, so while he was concocting what tasted good to him, I steamed the potatoes and corn, and chopped a mix of herbs; the remnants from my balcony pots after a wicked hail storm, to toss with the potatoes in butter. It wasn't a fancy meal but it was freshness of summer.

Tender, gorgeously sweet corn with butter - I mean really, it only comes for such a brief time of the year, it becomes a temporary addiction. Winter memories of those exploding, luscious kernels keep my summer hope alive.

It was one of those days

I had lots of last minute things in prep for our trip and somehow also had a naked rack of ribs in the fridge. And ribs are new to me. But I'd read up on Cook's Illustrated time-condensed technique for a tender, crusty rack and was prepared to make it work around my chores. The frugal cook must persevere and use the ribs, the asparagus, the baby potatoes! Unthinkable to leave them and hope the housesitter actually cooks.

I made the rub and rubbed it. I phoned the credit card company, donated the eye glasses, emailed the friend, dropped off the DVD's, picked up the prescription, bought the sunscreen, mailed the letter. One store didn't have what I want, but that's okay.

Back home, I soaked the wood chips and started the grill. Except the temperature wasn't getting to where it should be...blast. CI wants me to slowly and smokily grill the ribs first but to ensure we eat before midnight I can't wait for a propane refill. So I'll be doing this backwards - into the oven go the ribs, on a rack over a pan of water, basted periodically with apple juice and fruit vinegar mixture, the way CI asks for them to be finished. One way or another, they'll be okay.

In between packing-laundry-cleaning, I called the phone company, since I was not able to dial long distance that morning. For 45 minutes, I was bounced between departments, agents and hold. Most of the time, not only can the person I'm speaking with not answer why I can't dial long distance - they can't find my account! I doggedly supply my name, address, phone number, account number and date of birth to each new person I speak to, only to end up frustrating both of us by the fruitless search for my record; being transferred and repeating the process. In the end, it really becomes the end. They can't help me because they can't find me and never offer to follow up and get back to me. I refuse to do business with a company whose database has no record of me when presented with the account number and the phone number they gave me. A TECHNOLOGY COMPANY!! Not okay.

Two hours later, Hubby arrived with the refilled tank and got an earful of my story, with full furious frustration, followed by presentation of the home phone file - I am deleting it from my 'to do' list and demand Hubby find a replacement company. He, as usual, is very amused by my rant, laughing aloud at the company's incompetence and my passion over it, and agrees to arrange a change of our telecom supplier.

The wood chips get fired up again, and this time complete the job, although with less smoke than I would have hoped. We eat at 9pm and the ribs, despite their messed up process, are quite fabulous. Rich, tender and flavourful, we gorge ourselves and forget the lesser issues of technology and empty propane tanks.

PS. No innocent telecom phone flunkies we harmed in the course of the neverending pointless conversation.

And the winner is....a hybrid?

Recently, Slate hosted a cook-off between the precise and particular food geeks of Cooks Illustrated and the democratic user-driven free love of food52. Both websites supplied their premiere versions of braised pork shoulder and sugar cookies for Slate readers to make and compare. http://www.slate.com/id/2252446/entry/2252447/

The end result seemed to be that CI had the technique nailed and food52 had the best marinade flavour. I've braised pork before and it's a lovely meal with savoury drippings just crying out for mashed potatoes to sop up that sauce. Mmm.

So I cut to the chase and stole the (reportedly) best of each for my own test. I used the food52 spice mix and loved the aroma of the orange rind, it was reminiscent of mexican el pastor. I marinated the meat 24 hours and flipped it periodically as it soaked up the flavour. Then over to the CI technicians and their cooking method with the roast above the braising liquid. It came to the recommendeded 190 degree temperature more quickly that I expected. I let it rest and carved it up but the expected pulled pork texture did not materialize. Although tender, it just wasn't that unctuous bite that I was expecting. I think it needed more time in the oven to fully melt all the connective tissue and become perfectly moist succulence. Sadly and strangely, the flavour wasn't all that, either. The meat was pleasant tasting but the fennel/orange/garlic flavour was muted enough to be almost unrecognizable.

The pork shoulder made a nice meal - but as Hubby and I discussed recently, 'nice' really barely feels like a compliment. Next time, I'm doing things MY way.

Desperately seeking sunshine

In a rain-splattered, lower-than-average-temperature June, I have been craving warmth. Just hearing the words "sun dried tomatoes" brings up images of deep, slow heat, and I am ready to roast my bones alongside the tomatoes. Janice Beaton Fine Cheese sells a delicious sun dried tomato tapenade that was the inspiration for my attempt at Mediterranean living.

1 tsp honey

360 grams sundried tomatoes in oil

1/2 tsp cayenne

1 tsp salt

8 garlic cloves

juice and rind of 1 lemon

Puree everything in a food processor until smooth enough for you.

I've used a dollop to intensify a pasta sauce, as a spread with goat cheese on crackers and some olives, and instead of mayo on a grilled cheese sandwich.

Today I made myself a snack of a smear of the tapenade on crostini with a bit of homemade ricotta on top. I made the crostini from day-old baguette, sliced thin, tossed with olive oil and coarse kosher salt and baked until crisp. Yummy....sunshine in a bite. And almost gone.

My 'to do' list

A few years ago I started writing down what has since become known as a 'Bucket List'. It included ' jump off a mountain' - paragliding off Mount Seven outside Golden, which a couple of us did on a cold Labour Day weekend - but was also full of the small adventures of life, and often cooking life. One attainable desire was that I wanted to get comfortable cooking with lamb.

I broiled lamb chops for my parents soon after, but there has been a long lull since. I'm now back on this hobby horse.

A few weeks ago, I made a spring lamb stew, with new potatoes and snow peas, with a wine based broth and the meat tender and mild. Hubby licked his plate. And it was remarkably like making a stew out of other familiar meats....hmmm. http://simplyrecipes.com/recipes/spring_lamb_stew/

With friends coming for dinner, I roasted my first leg of lamb, slathering it in lemon, garlic, mustard and rosemary, and roasting the potatoes alongside on a bed of de-skinned lemon slices. I think that may have broken me through my lamby barrier - oh, I get it, it's a meat roast. Flavour, cook to desired doneness and eat. It was good. Even the next day.

This past weekend, it was ground lamb seekh kabobs with nuts and fresh mint, served with a yogurt sauce. Also delicious! (sorry, we ate them before I remembered to take a picture, and they looked pretty, too, sigh. I'm not very swift at remembering to use the camera.)

My next target is a boneless leg, marinated in buttermilk, herbs and garlic, and bbq'ed. P told me about not leaving the leg butterflied, but rolling it back up and grilling it slowly - he uses a rotisserie - so that the fat bastes the roast and the marinade permeates the meat by being cooked inside. That's going to be worth a photo. And a leisurely dinner with friends.

Last year was the summer of mojitos and I'm thinking maybe we need to hold that over, they'd go really well with that bbq'd lamb. The mint is already growing on the balcony...

24

No, not the super spy show. An intense 24 hours of foodie geek out with P, who let me invite myself over while I was out in his area. 11 dishes, 7 wines, 5 cheeses, 3 grocery stores, recipe blogs, technique websites, calorie evaluating software, magazines, gadget talk, ingredient tasting...it was an intensely satisfying time.

With my other foodie friends having left the city last summer, I was badly in need of a fix, and P came through in spades. When flight availability meant I would be there for another 5 hours, P's response was "I get to figure out another menu for you!"

We started it off with a really gorgeous bruschetta, with heirloom tomatoes, great bread and good parmesan. Simple ingredients at their prime. It was a beginning suggestive of all the deliciousness to follow.

P then moved on to his crispy pretzel crusted tilapia, served with

fresh greens in his reverse-engineered 'Sudbury Snowstorm' dressing. It was partnered with another sideline of his, alternatives to carb-y sides, in this case, spaghetti squash tossed with lemon juice and zest, resulting in one licked plate.

I'd been tapped to ante up some french toast for the morning, so in the interest of sleeping as long as possible, I prepped it before bed. P rounded out our decadent little breakfast with crisped pancetta and spiced rum macerated berries over lemon yogurt.

The biggest surprise in P's well stocked and smartly gadgeted kitchen was his use of - steady now - Becel. It was a butter-absent kitchen. Shocking, I know. A taste test revealed a very buttery flavour but there was still a hint that margariney texture, a hyper-smooth slickness on the tongue. P uses Becel as a heart-friendly reducer of saturated fat, which I can totally get behind but...I just can't get over it being margarine. I prefer to use the real deal when I want to taste rich buttery flavour - and use canola or olive oil when I simply need a fat. It's okay, P - we can agree to disagree.

My send off dinner was sensational - braised pork tenderloin with blackcurrant-mustard sauce, bok choy sauteed with garlic and green onion, and fauxtatoes. Yes, that creamy looking pile is

pureed cauliflower with roasted garlic which is astonishingly not cabbagey in flavour and has a smooth mouthfeel very like mashed potatoes. They were yummy - and again, a delicious carb alternative that I'll be using with my personal cheffing client.

Although my check in time was looming, we managed to enjoy dessert as well - a luscious poached pear, infused with vanilla and lemon peel with a lovely herbal note from rosemary. Drizzled with a hit of dark chocolate syrup, I savoured every bite. Try it for yourself: http://www.lcbo.com/lcbo-ear/RecipeController?language=EN&recipeType=1&action=recipe&recipeID=2834

Here's P's recipe for Fauxtatoes

1 head cauliflower, cut into florets

1/2 tsp black pepper

1 Tbsp margarine (you know what kind he'll recommend; I'd use butter)

1/4 cup potato flakes (or white Veloutine to thicken)

1/4 cup 2% milk

1/2 tsp salt

2 Tbsp roasted garlic (P uses the jarred version from President's Choice)

Steam cauliflower until completely cooked through but not mushy, about 10 minutes. In a food processor, add cauliflower and remaining ingredients. Puree only until smooth, adjusting consistency with a bit of extra milk or potato flakes. The potato flakes are optional to give more potato flavour.

These can be rewarmed in the microwave or oven.

Thanks, P. What an amazing day.

Pie is love

I was explaining to someone this week my food philosophy, coming back to that phrase I'd blurted out with my career counselor: 'food is love'.

And for me, that's true. I enjoy the act of creating a dish, it feels honouring to all the good stuff we have to work with - crisp vegetables, savoury meats, fresh herbs - an act of appreciation. I also am thinking of who will eat what I'm making, wanting them to enjoy, feel satisfied. It's a way of expressing my affection for my guest. And of course, the act of sharing food around a table becomes an invitation to community and even intimacy.

I was at my parents for a midweek lunch this week. My mom, who the day before had had another of the needles in the eye she requires as a treatment for macular degeneration, was feeling predictably wretched, as she always does for two days after each treatment. I hadn't known it was one of her post-injection days. We went out for lunch - good call - but after waking up barely strong enough to stand she had managed to put together a cream pie on graham crust for us to have for dessert. Part of me went - sheesh! Not necessary! Please sit down and put your feet up! But in it, you see the deep, giving love of a mom.

She sent home some for Hubby and I for supper, since she remembers he enjoys cream pie too. Love, I tell you. And it's clearly not original with me, as any passionate cook knows.

And more love this weekend as J and L get married. They're having a volunteer, outdoor wedding and, amongst other things, have asked for pies. I'm bringing two, both blueberry.

I use Edna Staebler's 'speedy pat-in pie crust', a good thing made even better, I think, by using brown sugar and buttermilk.

Here's my tweaked version:

1 1/2 scant cups of flour (our flour is very dry here in Calgary)

1 tbsp brown sugar

3/4 tsp salt

Mix together the dry ingredients in the pie plate.

1/2 cup canola oil

3 tbsp buttermilk

Beat together with a fork until creamy. Pour all of the wet mix over the dry, and combine with a fork until all the flour is dampened. Press evenly up the sides and bottom of the pie plate. Proceed as with any pie crust.

I filled the shells with blueberries and then made a custard for each pie; one was raspberry cream cheese; the other was strawberry yogurt - simply because I had those things in the fridge. I pureed each creamy ingredient with a tbsp of flour and an egg; added a dash of cinnamon to the raspberry and nutmeg to the strawberry and poured each over the berries.

Topped with a brown sugar, butter and flour streusel, they look pretty edible. They'll be warmed on Saturday before they're eaten, and then we'll all toast to love.

My very first bread pudding

Why have I always avoided bread pudding? I think because it's so redolent of leftovers...in the worst way. Stale bread becomes dessert? C'mon.

But here I am, happily and thriftily making french toast out of that same stale bread, and enjoying it immensely. I read recently that bread pudding is french toast perfected and I heard that day old baguette in the fridge calling out, "you can make something delicious out of me". Okay, fine.

A search of a half dozen recipes led me to this one: http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Rum-Caramel-and-Banana-Bread-Pudding-351558 which hits my buttons - bananas foster flavours, yum.

So the baguette was sliced, the bananas sauteed and assembly completed. The bain-marie was made and the pud baked. Looks...okay. Cuts about like I'd expect - crispish top, soft underneath. Seems a little dense - that'd be the banana. I drizzled each slice with caramel and served up to Hubby and I. He's happy, very happy. Would like a few raisins, but I don't do raisins, so it's as good as it can be in this house. I find it... heavy (the bananas are definitely a detriment in the texture department) and it mostly just tastes sweet, which is okay but that texture. The bread isn't fluffy like my french toast, it's not hot - served warm, as recommended - it's kind of...yucky.

Hmmm. I've always avoided this dessert in restaurants but maybe I need to taste the real thing and find out whether mine is off or whether I just don't like bread pudding.

Or...I get Hubby to order it and I only have to have a bite. Yeah. That's it.

What Hubby ate in Texas

He had BBQ beef ribs, brisket, pork and sausages. Several times. I've never had Texas bbq. He had crawfish - crawfish! without me! - and catfish on a 'sea'food platter. I've only read about crawfish and I long to make their better acquaintence.

Someday, I am going on a bbq and blues tour of the Southeast, taking a slow drive from Virginia down to the gulf, and then west, feeding on soul food and soulful music. I want to eat southern fried chicken, gumbo, collard greens and dirty rice. I want to compare the sauce served with the long and smokily cooked pork as it changes from vinegary to tomatoey as I travel through the bbq states. I want to eat beignet in a cafe in New Orleans, maybe even the famous Cafe du Monde, and have a cup of their chicory coffee alongside. I want to eat bbq when it becomes a beef feast in Texas.

I want to listen to blues and gospel music in the land where it comes from, a welling up of feeling and experience and the place itself. I want to eat a Georgia peach and have pecan pie where they grow pecans.

Yes, and I want to do it during warm days, in a convertible with Hubby, and taste a piece of the world that I know something about but don't understand.

I'm not Snow White - "someday my prince will come" - my prince is already here. So maybe, possibly, if that someday came true, perhaps someday... I will get to eat shrimp and grits made by someone who knows how in the deep south.

In the meanwhile, Hubby comes home today and I will happily start cooking again since love is in the house.

Bridget Jonesish list

Today: glass of milk, oatmeal with banana and a spoon full of peanut butter (breakfast, could there be anything healthier?); meatloaf sandwich (v. good balanced lunch); caprese salad and biscuit (supper, not bad)

Yesterday: glass of milk (my standard breakfast); apple scone, orange and small mocha (lunch); baguette and butter (supper. hmmm.)

Day before: glass of milk, oatmeal with berries (breakfast - and me a former oatmeal hater!); green salad with viniagrette (lunch); half bowl of sweet pea soup (supper, leftovers from freezer); dark chocolate (midnight snack)

I sense a pattern. No cooking. I am home alone and scavenging rather than foraging. I haven't even been to buy milk even though I'm out now. But after a full day of standing at work I'm tired, and the thought of heading out again, even if just for a jug, much less another hour on my feet making dinner, is daunting.

Okay, that's all true, as far as it goes. But it also makes such a difference not having someone to cook for, and I'm also feeling less hungry because I'm lonely. I'm one of those kinds of people (of the two kinds in the world) who eat little when I'm stressed. However, I'm intending to break my stoveless streak tomorrow and make myself a real meal because I'm tired of being pathetic.

Salmon with olive tapenade, with fresh Hotchkiss beans on the side. Sounds like real food.

Mmmm...biscuits

As much as I'm into whole grains for rice, and now pasta, I've been reluctant to use whole wheat flour for baking, even savoury items. Those unfortunate, leaden whole wheat products of my youth must have left a scar.

But a half whole wheat pizza crust I made a few weeks ago was perfectly fine, and with my personal cheffing client looking for whole grains and low fat, I went on the hunt for a healthier biscuit recipe to go with the veggie-packed beef stew I made for her.

Dinner with Julie http://dinnerwithjulie.com/ had a promising looking recipe, (half)Whole Wheat Biscuits with Olive Oil, which I tried yesterday. A classic biscuit, it substitutes half the butter for oil, and bakes up as a crisp-edged, flaky and tender biscuit with delicious wheat and olive oil flavour. I'll definitely make these again.

I saved some for supper, and since the sky was spitting pellets of spring snow, I made Italian Tri-coloure soup to eat with them. I use Marcella Hazan's recipe but tweak it by roasting the veggies to caramelize them. The basic trifecta is carrot, celery and onion (the colours of the Italian flag) but I had a few stalks of kale, so I chopped those and added them at the end, which was a much better green for the flag anyway.

Here's the recipe for 2:

4 small potatoes, chopped in inch chunks. I leave them unpeeled, since so many of the nutrients in potatoes are just under the skin.

4 cups chicken broth

2 carrots, 2 celery stalks, 1 small onion, chopped fine

(other veggies can also be used, I had a yellow pepper so I chopped that too, zucchini, sweet potato, eggplant, etc could be caramelized; frozen peas, swiss chard or chopped green onion could be added at the end)

1/2 cup milk

salt and pepper

Hubby thinks this soup demonstrates some kind of magic because it's so simple and yet it tastes so comfortingly good. He's right - it is a kind of alchemy, and one within your grasp!

Put the chopped potatoes in a pot with the chicken broth. Simmer until the potatoes are soft. Mash the potatoes in the pot with the broth, leaving them a little lumpy.

Saute the chopped veggies in a frying pan with a little oil until soft and golden in places. Or, you can toss the veggies with a little oil and roast them in a 350 degree oven for 20 minutes.

Put the veggies in the pot with the mashed potatoes; add the milk and more broth, if necessary, to make the soup the consistency you like. Add any other veggies that taste better fresh - kale, peas, etc. Heat through; taste and add more salt and pepper if needed.

Eat with fresh biscuits and enjoy a delicious homemade meal with the investment of about 20 minutes of work, an hour of time and under $5 in groceries. Yummm.

Messing around with milk

I recently read how easy making your own ricotta cheese is. Cool, I thought, and filed the idea away for testing at a later date. And then I was in Mercato, picked up a wee tub of ricotta and saw the price tag - $10. Okay, game on. On that same walk, I stopped and picked up a 4 litre jug of whole milk for $5 and change and got things started that evening.

Turns out, I should have started a little earlier in the day. But even still, I had a big bundle of curds in about 2 hours, with only about 15 minutes of that time requiring me to be busy.

First up - pour the jug of whole milk into a large pot, and over medium heat, warm the milk to 180 - 185 degress, just short of boiling. I used my meat thermometer, twist-tied to the pot handle to monitor temperature. Add a 1/4 tsp salt and stir occasionally, to ensure the milk doesn't scorch to the bottom of the pan. Once the milk reaches 180, remove from heat and add 1/3 cup white vinegar. Stir thoroughly to allow the acid to interact with the milk - it is this reaction that forms the curds. Let sit for 2 hours, or longer, if you can't get back to it quickly.

This is my 5 quart pot full of emerging curds - the vinegar was just on board. I was using the recipe from "Italian Food" http://italianfood.about.com/library/rec/blr0949.htm but "Italian Food Forever" talks about using a quart of buttermilk to create the reaction which I'll try another time.

Not having cheesecloth, I drained the curds in a dampened, clean tea towel, inside a strainer over a bowl, because I wanted to catch and use the whey.

I ended up squeezing the last of the whey out - it was late, I had to get to bed! - and I was afraid if I left it to drain all night, the ricotta would be too dry. Finished product: a 500 ml of fresh, home-made ricotta and about 3 litres of whey.

In photos: ricotta on left, whey on right.
The ricotta I used crumbled over sauteed kale and garlic; topping a meatball and tomato sauce pasta; and in a baked cheesecake topped with a rhubarb - orange compote. (mmm - rhubarb. I crave it every spring)

Whey substituted for water when making a half whole wheat version of no-knead bread dough for pizza; and I made corn muffins with it too. I also froze some by the cup in small freezer bags for future pancakes. It has the tang of buttermilk and can be used in its place.

Next time, I would add another teaspoon of salt at the point of adding the vinegar (the recipe gave this option if the curds wouldn't be used for dessert) as I found the ricotta bland. The curds were also firmer than I would have liked, so next time I'm going to try the buttermilk curdling option, which I think would be gentler, as well as letting them drain naturally instead of by brute force. If you have some time, it's definitely an easy way to create inexpensive ricotta.

I had fun, ate all the end result and will try it again. Experiment: successful.

Grown up rice

Why do kids get immovably loyal to white grains? White rice, white bread, cream of wheat...all waaay better in my kid's mind than rolled oats, multi-grain bread, brown rice. While I'm no radical - baguette from Manuel Latruwe is beautifully, blissfully white - the only white rice I have in my cupboard is arborio, for risotto, and that's only because I haven't found a brown version.

As I was in the NE, I decided to stop at T&T Supermarket, with its fascinating mix of Asian groceries. It was also a way of avoiding the insanity at home - we're replacing the flooring, and with a one bedroom condo, that means mountains of furniture, endless dust and me, fleeing the premises on construction days.

I brought home a couple of cool looking items I wanted to try for my personal-cheffing client (because she's paying me to experiment with new ingredients, right?!) who is looking for healthy and whole grain. This Kingo brand Multi-Grain Rice is totally over delivering - it contains 7 whole rices plus 5 other whole grains. (photo taken on beautiful new walnut floor) The kaleidescope of kernels from ivory through blonde to chili red and ebony looked great in the bag but with the proof being in the pudding, it was time to get it into the pan.

It took a little longer than a brown rice to cook, plumped up to about double and I thought needed a little more salt at the finish. At first bite, the most stand out sensation is the texture: being a mix of grains means some variation in density, even when fully cooked. I had a transitory moment of fear that this was going to be yucky 'Sunny Boy' porridge all over again, and then the nutty, almost roasted flavour kicked in and I was hooked. Now that I mention it, toasting the grains before cooking would probably intensify that delicious flavour. Will try that next.

I also bought these 'Green Label' soba noodles to try. (photographed on the lovely cork floor) I know that great soba noodles are made fresh by a master, but like most home cooks, I don't make my own Italian pasta either. Buckwheat is not actually wheat at all but is exceptionally good for you, having loads of amino acids and medicinal properties that make me think someone's going to name it a superfood soon. In any case, these noodles don't take long to cook and were great with the Thai stirfry I made to top them; distinctive and yet mild flavoured enough not to get all uppity and take over the dish.

Speaking of rice, my mom thinks I need to post this recipe, since it has revolutionized her rice making. She hadn't considered that aromatics could be added to rice as it cooks to provide

flavour and colour. You could call this a pilaf, which is cooking rice - or any other grain - in a seasoned broth. It's more an approach than a recipe, the idea being you add appropriate vegetables and spices for whatever you're serving the rice with. Here's the basic concept:

Vegetable Pilaf

1 cup of rice - yes, white will do!

1 carrot, peeled and diced

1 stalk celery, diced

zest of 1 lemon, peeled off with a potato peeler, left in strips

chicken broth

Rinse rice and put in pan. Add vegetables and lemon peel. Top with enough chicken broth to cover the rice, plus as much broth as the depth of your index finger tip up to the knuckle; put the lid on. Sounds screwy, I know, but I think people are nervous about exact proportions with rice, and this method, taught me by a Chinese chef, has served me well. Brown rice takes another quarter inch or so of liquid. If the rice is done and there is still liquid in the pot, take off the lid, stir the rice, and let it evaporate. If the rice should be done and no steam is left when you lift the lid, add another couple of tablespoons, put the lid back on, and give it 5 more minutes. It's not a mystery, people, you can do it!

So back to method: bring the liquid to a boil, turn the heat down to minimum and let it steam. White rice will take about 20 minutes, brown about 40. When the rice is cooked, remove the lemon peel, add salt and pepper to taste, a little knob of butter, perhaps a squeeze of the naked lemon and voila!

make it your own:

• get creative with the liquid: use part or all orange or apple juice, plain yogurt, wine, tomato juice...
• focus on a cuisine: for Indian style rice, add a cinnamon stick and a few cardamom pods to the rice before cooking. Top with raisins and nuts. Mediterranean style rice: cook the rice in tomato juice, adding zucchini, carrot, a bay leaf and crushed garlic. Top with sliced olives.
• top with something yummy: chopped green onions, sunflower or sesame seeds, lemon zest, caramelized onions, halved grapes, chopped tomato, a handful of grated cheese, pomegranite seeds...

Cooking for one

Hubby having traveled a lot lately, I am grumpily getting even more practised at this ignored art - and art it is. It takes a certain kind of courage to eat well alone, and sometimes far more energy than cooking for a full table. While in my teens and forced to feed myself, I subsisted on oreo cookies and canned corn. (yes, I'm gagging too!) And while my sweet tooth is firmly impacted, I am actually quite good at eating balanced, good tasting meals, even when alone. What's more, I cook them, too! despite all my dining for one stories.

Perhaps it's the remaking of myself that I've walked through over the last 5 years that has asserted my better state of mind when it comes to cooking for myself. To commandeer L'Oreal's phrase: "I'm worth it." It's good for me, good to me, and just plain good to enjoy real food, even solo. I'd prefer someone to share it with and planning for their pleasure is a deep part of my satisfaction as a cook, but that person can be me.

So in defense of my claim of not only eating chocolate when lonely - although I'm long past oreos, the drawer in my fridge dedicated to chocolate will prove that point - here is a selection of recent solo meals.
Leftovers, especially of meals that were good to begin with, are a tried and true favourite, of course. I package them up in serving sized portions and stick them in the freezer. Homemade Italian style meatballs with tomato sauce - I use Scarpone's canned 'Fire Roasted Tomatoes' for the smoky tomato goodness. I'm even trying whole wheat pasta and finding it not the cardboard I had had a few years ago. With a grating of aged pecorino on top, this was true comfort food for when comforts are gustatory, not relational. Meatball recipe to follow at the end of the post.

Grilled cheese. Say it slowly. Doesn't it just sound like oozy happiness? I made this sandwich with a rustic sourdough bread, sundried tomato pesto and a gently smoked Spanish cheese called San Simon. Crusty, with oozing cheese counterpointing the savoury tartness of the pesto, alongside a salad with favourite things like avocado and mushrooms, this was a champion lunch for one. But really, with great ingredients like these, it would be hard to make a bad sandwich.

A real meal. Yes, a sit down, knife and fork, meat/starch/veggie entree. I sauteed a chicken breast, seasoned with salt and pepper, until browned on both sides and moist inside. I deglazed the pan with a little wine, checked for seasoning, added a bit of milk, reduced it to sauce consistency and poured it over the chicken. I sauteed some chopped vegetables in a little lemon avocado oil. Meanwhile, I nuked a red, waxy potato, and when it was done, cut it open, topped it with butter and salt and pepper. Nothing fancy schmancy, but a solid, respectable meal. For one.

Okay, so I do still resort to chocolate on occasion. But this is health food! - the Nutella people insist that their chocolate hazelnut spread is not just delicious, it's good for you. And when slicked onto a baguette from Manuel Latruwe bakery - well, it becomes positively gourmet health food. (roses from Hubby; maximizing their beautification potential by sharing them visually)

I wrote this down long before I realized attributions were appropriate, so I don't know who developed the recipe. I love these meatballs because they're tender, flavourful and baked, and I usually double the quantities and have a meditative afternoon rolling small balls. The base recipe is delicious as is, in a cream or sweet bbq sauce over rice or noodles. To Italianize them, I kept the taste of Sploumbo's spicy Italian sausage in my mind when composing the spices. Those ingredients are listed separately at the end.

Swedish Meat Patties

I large onion, chopped
1 small green pepper, chopped
1 clove garlic
2 Tbsp fresh dill
2 Tbsp fresh parsley

Cook the onion, pepper and garlic in a tsp of oil until tender. I usually do this in the microwave. Add herbs, cool slightly. Blend in food processor with 1/2 cup beef broth.

In a large bowl, add the above to:
1 lb ground beef
1/2 pound ground pork
1/2 cup dry bread crumbs
1 egg
1 tsp nutmeg
salt and pepper

Optional Italian seasoning: (adjust to suit your taste, of course!)
2 tsp dried basil
1 tsp dried oregano
1 Tbsp fennel
1 tsp chili flakes

Mix with hands until smooth. Shape mixture into 1" balls and for 'Swedish Meat Patties', flatten slightly. Italian meatballs should be, well, balls. Bake on a foil-lined, ungreased cookie sheet 10 minutes at 475 degrees, or until browned and cooked through. If you place them closely on the cookie sheet, they will take longer to brown. Drain and let cool. They keep in the fridge for 2 - 3 days or in the freezer up to 2 months.

French toast the way I like it

I was introduced to French toast at summer camp, where the church ladies who volunteered to cook were limited by the lean pantry of the - affordable, shall we say - camping scenario.

It was day old sandwich bread moistened by a miserly spit of mostly milk, was flabby and, not uncommon with food for the masses, cold. I always liked things that were served with syrup but this - this was seriously bleh.

When I had my own kitchen I got to thinking - there has got to be a better way. These days, when I make French toast it is with leftover bread, which I pre-slice about an inch thick and stick in the freezer until wanted.

Then on the lazy morning requiring late breakfast, I will beat up one less egg than I have bread slices, so in the case of the frying pan above, 3 eggs. I will add twice the volume of egg in milk and a healthy slosh of flavour - vanilla (I'm still using some deliciously spicy stuff from the Dominican Republic), or your favourite liqueur - Kahlua, Grand Marnier, rum. When the mix is smooth, I pour some in a plate or pan big enough to hold all the bread (whole wheat baguette in this case), nestle the slices into the mix and pour the rest over top.

Yes, there is a lot of liquid, but if you want bread transmorgified into something beyond it's present humble state, that slice of day-old blehness must become infused with the egg and milk, so that when you flip it in 10 minutes to ensure equal soaking time on each side, it is already hard to handle.

Heat your frying pan to medium hot, put in some cooking oil - not olive, something mild, like canola - and a bit of butter: just enough fat to thoroughly coat the bottom of the pan. When the oil is hot, gently lower the saturated bread slices into the pan with a spatula. Turn the heat down to medium, put a lid over half the pan, and sizzle until the bottom of each slice is gorgeously brown. Flip and keep the magic going.

When both sides are toasty brown, serve up with maple syrup, bacon and fruit. What's lip smacking about French toast this way is that while the exterior has a nutty crust, the interior is fluffy, creamy and altogether almost unrecognizable as bread.

Life imitates movies

I remember deciding a few years ago to get over going to a good restaurant alone. I was in Vancouver by myself and made a reservation at Le Gavroche, full-on French cuisine, where I was seated upstairs in the renovated Victorian, in front of the fireplace. Determined to have the full solo experience, I ordered the three course dinner, which was a leisurely 2 1/2 hours of service. Bookless, I watched the servers, the other patrons, thought my own thoughts.

The waiter was far more uncomfortable with my situation than I was. He kept popping by, telling feeble jokes, asking how I was...and I was, truly, fine. I enjoyed each dish they presented, I watched the snap-shirted, tight-Wranglered cowboys saunter in and suavely navigate the menu. I watched the hapless man in his out of season white linen suit with his pretty Asian date return from the washroom with toilet paper trailing from his shoe...it was all fascinating, the kind of vignettes you think only happen in movies.

So when Hubby was gone a month ago and I was ready for someone else to cook, I went to neighbourhood foodie joint Brava Bistro and the accommodating hostess asked a larger group at the bar to make room for me. Thank you.

One of the men from the group was very focused...on me. While he never smiled, he had the undistracted stare of a cat in a blinking contest. Ahem. Oh well, I can edit my enjoyment of the room to skip over that group...until 'Bill' came over and introduced himself. "My friend is very shy, but he'd love for you to come over and have a glass of wine with us." "Ummm...thanks, but I have a Skype date. With my husband." Thanks anyway, I guess, please move on now so my neon pink blush doesn't irradiate the room.

So tonight, with Hubby away again, I was ready for a nice little supper made by not-me. Back to Brava. Again, a seat was found for me at the bar, where the service is exactly how I like it and ordered - surprise! - the scallops to start and then the lobster gnocchi. Mid-scallop I start to wonder, does that kind of look like - Bill? You have got to be kidding me. This is is usual Friday night stop! Oh well, he's at the opposite side of the bar talking in the other direction to his friend, I'm hedged in by other diners, I should be safe.

The the waiter swoops in with a glass of wine. "From the gentlemen at the end of the bar." Blast. I've been spotted. Does this really happen outside of movies? So what does Emily Post say about this situation? I nod at the two of them to acknowledge the gift, but then I am distracted from enjoying the sweet pop of the fresh peas in the lobster cream sauce as I wonder - do I have to go speak to them? Surely the nod was enough for a unwanted drink from a stranger? And my beautiful wedding ring is sparkling away. Grrr. I force myself back to my dinner - I need to be sure my potatoes are mashed into silkiness when making gnocchi next time, these are delightfully light - when Bill stops by. He apologizes for the interruption, introduces himself, says his friend is really shy and he'd like me to come over for another glass of wine. I smile politely and decline.

Inwardly I am howling! This is clearly part of his schtick, he doesn't remember me and I wonder if I went back in a month on another Friday night whether he'll do another round with the shy friend overture and elevate this to farce. No more solo dinners at Brava for me - at least on weekends.
http://www.legavroche.ca/default.asp
http://bravabistro.com/

Batterie de Cuisine

When Hubby came home, our reunion meal was sablefish. I adore sablefish and saw successfully cooking this as a related move towards scallop domination.

Reflection had brought me to a change in tactics - I needed a new pan. For years, I have enjoyed my anodized aluminum Anolon pans - the steady heat, the low simmer temperatures, the non-stick finish - because easy clean up is essential to making my kitchen a happy place. I remember grudgingly washing stainless steel pots as a kid and finding that the scouring of dried potato inspired Cinderella fantasies.

But watching chefs at work has shown me they use steel pans at high heat and sear is not the same without it. So okay, one 40% off sale later I have in my possession a copper sandwiched, heavy bottom stainless saute pan, and I'm not afraid to use it.

Cue the high heat. I even chilled some of the muscadet. And voila - ! yes, I got sear. I got crust. I got Hubby's downright disloyal eyes-rolled-back-in-his-head appreciation - a look I feel should be reserved only for me.

Watch out, scallops. I'm coming for you.

Table for One

Hubby has been away, which I hate. Oh, I've been good, I cooked for myself - most enjoyably a pot of curried cauliflower soup, given body and creamy mouthfeel with a handful of rice cooked with the broth and a big dollop of gorgeous Greek yogurt from Kalamata Grocery.

I've been moping, and now he's unexpectedly returning tomorrow. Re-energized, I went out to see 'Young Victoria', which I enjoyed, being a story of true love, and walked home via Farm on 17 Avenue for a little bite. I was ready for people, and the warmly lit room, full of talk and laughter, was perfect. Over a glass of Viognier, I pondered how coppa, so overwhelmingly rich on it's own, becomes a savoury counterpoint to crisp hazelnuts, dried cherries and Piave when served over greens. Mmmm.

My love is coming home and all is right with the world. Okay, so the 'Tahitian Blonde' chocolate from Epiphanie I finished with didn't hurt either.

Sunday Night Supper

It was cold and blustery. We were hungry. Break out the comfort food - in my mind, grits and sausage ranks high on the cosy/yum index. The Alabamian who was my grits conduit has never eaten them this way and I'm not sure where I got the idea - they may indeed be nothing like authentic Southern grits. But oh man - when you start eating, you lean back, body and soul, into an easy chair of enjoyment.

Grits and Sausage

Cook grits or cornmeal or polenta (what's in your cupboard?) made in the proportions of the package directions, according to how many will be eating BUT using milk and butter, and intensify the savouriness with 1/2 cup a person of sharp cheese. Cheddar, asiago, even chevre would do, use your favourite. The consistency should be like thick porridge.

While the grits are slowly plopping in the pot on simmer, prep the sausage mix.

For every two people you're serving, prep several - or all - of the following, depending on what's in the fridge and your preferences:

1 hot Italian sausage, sliced small

1 cup of raw, peeled shrimp

a handful of sliced mushrooms

a cupful of sliced grape tomatoes - or sundried would be great, too

1 diced yellow onion

1 diced red pepper

1 crushed garlic clove

1 big handful fresh spinach

a couple of green onions, chopped

Saute onion and sausage in a frying pan until the onion is translucent and the sausage is browned. You might need to start with a little oil but usually the sausage gives off enough fat. Add the garlic and stir. Toss in the shrimp and red pepper; stir until shrimp are pink, a minute or two. Add the spinach and fold in gently until all the leaves are wilted. Taste the mix and add salt and pepper if needed, and some red pepper flakes/hot sauce/chili powder if you didn't have the hot italian sausage.

Ladle the grits into bowls; top with the sausage mix. Grab a spoon and dig in. Exhale. Yes, life is good.

Monday will be alright.