December, 2006 Archive

Saturday, December 16, 2006

zucchini latkes

zucchini latkes, wasabi sour cream

Despite the fact that it takes some kind of crazy to cook a separate meal while embedded in preparing a multi-course meal for a dinner party, yet another night of take-out — even from my beloved Kitchen Market — seemed unbearable last night, and seeing as it was the first night of Hanukah, it was only appropriate to make a batch of latkes. But tradition is so boring, isn’t it? Thank goodness for Food & Wine’s deliriously enticing latke-vodka party (this is the second year in a row I am kicking myself for not having one — 2007 Deb, get on that!), pairing them with the wasabi cream topping, the suggested accompaniment for the sweet potato variety. Awesome, awesome. We skipped the caviar and what-not on top as only one of us would have loved that and it was not the person standing over the stove, tra-la-la. It all went perfectly with a lightly-dressed napa cabbage salad and, you betcha, a hefty glass of wine.

And now, the kitchen yet again beckons. Soup! Tarts! Salad! Cheater’s creme anglaise! Those croutons aren’t going to toast themselves, lady.

Continued after the jump »

Thursday, December 14, 2006

new york, i’m yours

cook? but, why?

Why Deb can’t come to the blog today

  1. Dude, the errands, they never stop.
  2. I got permission last week to stop wearing my sling, which is awesome since I kinda hadn’t been wearing it for some time before then. My shoulder is almost 100% better as are my ick-tastic bruises. Good news, right? Let’s celebrate! Let’s go chop some very difficult things! Meh. Now that there is no risk of permanent damage/deformity, no flagrant disobeying of the doctor’s orders, it’s so much less fun.
  3. The discovery of Kitchen Market. Why should I cook? I could live on their black bean soup and perfect cumin-sherry vinaigrette green salads for the rest of my life, or at least this month.
  4. We finally got the kitchen clean and I just see no reason to rattle it.
  5. I think those 9-stick of butter pecan bars officially pulled me under. I mean, it’s got to be like making that timpano or Death by Chocolate. What is there left to offer after such indulgence? I think I have a baking hangover.
  6. I’m cooking a rather large meal for both of our families this weekend, and I need to conserve my energy.
  7. I’m so far behind on responding to comments, do I address those or just move onto the Next New Thing? I am torn and will instead do nothing.
  8. I actually have been working on a couple things discreetly, but as they are gift-y treats, you’ll have to wait until I actually gift them out to tell you about it.
  9. Cooking is a leisure-time activity. These are not leisurely times. See #1.
  10. Cooking might cut into my snowflake-crafting time.

crafts break!

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

onion soup

onion soup

We could speak about the meaning of life vis-a-vis non-consequential/deontological theories, apodictic transformation schemata, the incoherence of exemplification, metaphysical realism, Cartesian interactive dualism, revised non-reactive dualism, postmodernist grammatology and dicey dichotomies. But we would still be left with Nietzsche’s preposterous mustache, which instills great anguish and skepticism in the brain, which leads (as it did in his case) to utter madness. I suggest we go to Paris instead. — The Principles of Uncertainty

It’s really not news to anyone, but I have an unhealthy obsession with Paris. I would move there in a second. I want to live in a place where flavor, history and culture of food is more important than the policing of it; where the old buildings aren’t torn down to make room for the new and the granite counter-topped and where I would never eat hundreds and hundreds of dollars in medical fees and be told I should be glad to have insurance at all. Making pastries, bread, cheese the very old way and other exhausting endeavors are considered honorable professions and I know, I know I only see Paris through rose-colored glasses but this is the unending gift of getting engaged there, two years ago today.

Also, ahem, this lovely husband.

Continued after the jump »

Sunday, December 10, 2006

boozy baked french toast

alex is sick

Jocelyn, come over. I’m making baked French toast for Dave and I.”

“I’m too hung over. I’m dying.”

“Bailey’s French toast will cure anything.”

“I can’t do it. I can’t handle daylight and outdoors yet.”

“Just call a car service. You’ll be here in 30 minutes. Come on, you know you want to.”

“I’ll never make it. It’s too far.”

“Do you want me to call for you?”

“No, I’ll have Jacqui make me French toast instead. How do you make it?”

“Milk, eggs, bread, sugar…”

“Oh my god! Jacquelyn!” Jocelyn starts banging on her sleeping roommate’s door. “We have eggs! We have milk! We have bread! Why aren’t you making me French toast? Debbie’s making Dave French toast!”

Jacquelyn locked the door and hid under the covers.

“You people are terrible friends,” said Jocelyn. “And you both owe me French toast.”

Continued after the jump »

Friday, December 8, 2006

pecan squares

pecan squares

You know, most people would look at a recipe that required more than a box of brown sugar, more than a teddy bear full of honey, two pounds of pecans and nine sticks of butter and say, oh hell no. Ina Garten is clearly trying to kill us. And while I thought that to myself many times, I really just saw this as a challenge. Could this be The Most Fattening Thing I Have Ever Made? I mean, this makes chocolate caramel cheesecake look like a Weight Watchers 2-point popsicle. I must make them.

made a mess here, too

Because if we’re all going to go sooner or later, I believe everyone should be allotted a few of these first, not that we ever doubted that pecan pie baked slathered over a thick shortbread base would be anything less than worth it’s weight in coronaries. And while I know our arteries are clogging and our scales groaning at the thought of such an avalanche of ingredients better taken in moderation, keep in mind that this makes a half-sheet pan full of bars. That’s a freaking lot of cookie.

Continued after the jump »