smitten kitchen

Seeing as I am never short on opinion on anything–most especially when it comes to many Food Network chefs that so often grace my television set, Alex calls the Sunday noontime shows my “stories”–I can’t believe I haven’t previously said a single word about Giada DeLaurentis. Let me redress that right now: I really want to like her–and no, not in the way that my husband does (busted!). I’ll see her cooking something and it always looks pretty good and like it could be tasty, but never, and I mean ever, do I feel any great need to cook the recipe for myself.

I think what it comes down to is that all of her recipes seem to be missing a little something, something that would make it more interesting. Like, you made pesto and added a swapped out a little mint for basil? Whoa. Where’d you come up with that! You add crushed almond cookies over an ice cream sundae to give it an “authentic Italian flavor”? I’m bowled over, here. But less sarcastically: does this actually improve it, or just make it different?

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I cooked dinner Wednesday night for the first time in over a week. I blame the babka. Oh, and also the red velvet cake, and since we’re pointing fingers, that noodle kugel is looking a little guilty too, isn’t it? And three-hour tortillas? Busted as well.

Here’s the thing with taking on more ambitious cooking projects: when I’m done, even the though of a quick dinner of salad and couscous seems outrageous. I mean, we just worked our way through a pile of dishes that could rival that of the diner on the corner after the leather bars let out, and now you suggest I chop some green onions? Are you mad? Bring on the baigan bharta!

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Considering that my parents will celebrate the 40th anniversary of their first date this weekend, it seems only appropriate to use today shed light on a certain farce: my mother didn’t marry my father for his flamenco guitar, his ability to use a hammer and a nail or his promises to love her for the next hereafter. Nope, she married him because when she asked his aunt for the recipe to her delicious noodle kugel, she was told she couldn’t have it until she married my father. And so it was. And you might think this story cruel or careless, but really, mother has been telling me and my sister this our whole lives and my father seems not in the least offended. “I only married him for that noodle kugel recipe,” she says, and everyone nods and smiles because, well, they’ve heard it a zillion times before but also because the kugel is just that good. What’s to question?

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Alex has been narrowing his eyes at my ever-growing periodicals stack lately, and I don’t blame him. How did someone whose life so fully revolves around the Web end up with so many subscriptions to print magazines? Hint: I am only paying for one of them. Hint: Most of them are available ink-free on the Web.

That said, he has a point. When you’ve got (at best) 660 square feet of floor area, and (at best) 20 square feet of table/counter area, it is less than ideal to give up any of it to dead tree media. So, I finally caved, or more like focused my attention span long enough to quickly breeze through pages this weekend, and Gourmet? I’m sorry. I hope the sixteen pages I bookmarked over three issues will compensate for my allowing you to collect a thin layer of dust. Your photography still makes me whimper with envy.

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burrowed blueberries
baked for an eternity
demolished quickly

i like mine busy
onion, celery, pickles
we crunch, contemplate

red smoky spicy
joy, the broiler and i have
found pork chop heaven

from silver palates
summer pasta salad for
the ages, also: me

eggplant gift, curry
craving, watery and dull
better luck next time

artichoke obsessed
i cannot count the ways, but
just added one more

I’ve gotten behind again, and daunted by the task of catching up on six recipes at once, I have resorted to Poetry 101. Turns out, writing Haiku is addictive. Soon, I’ll be speaking less and choosing my words carefully, and Alex will demand of all of you, “Who is she and what did you do with my Debbie?”

[Oh, and for the love of all that is tasty, if you’re actually looking for some solid food-gazing poetry, this is a far more eloquent place to start.]

Have a great weekend! I hope to reemerge in a day or so with some completely over-the-top birthday decadence.

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