A Magical Root

Dear Boo,

I've spent a considerable amount of time extolling the wonders of the beet, it's sweet, earthy flavor, its deep purple stain, its rough, hairy exterior hiding a smooth, silky texture that is neither potato, nor carrot, nor melon, nor radish, but is also a little bit of all of those things, its ability to pair perfectly with everything from cottage cheese to beef...

But this is not about the beet. 

Sure, the dish you see above was delicious, and got rave reviews: "the highlight of my meal!" said Cousin Sam, "The beets are fantastic!" said our very discriminating uncle, "They weren't disgusting!" said our mother the beet-hater. "I just want to cry while I hold my cookie!" said the wise and self-reflective 3 year old in attendance (also, she ate some beets). But I'd like to draw your attention to the sauce dolloped not so artfully atop this dish (I never claimed to be a food stylist). For in it is an ingredient often overlooked, unsung, or just plain mocked.

Horseradish, people.

who knew it was so beautiful? not I.

What else, praytell, enhances the flavor of both a cocktail, and a roast beef? What is strong enough to blow up your skirt, singe your nasal passages, and put hair on your chest, and yet can be trusted to encrust a delicate piece of salmon or top deviled eggs? Horseradish. 

It makes a frequent appearance at Jewish holidays, atop the oft-maligned gefilte fish or whole and unadorned on the seder plate, and at sunday dinner tables all over the UK. But did you know it is it is also "widely used in research for immunohistochemistry labelling of tissue sections, e.g. in biopsies of subjects suspected to have cancer."? Or that it can be used to treat everything from "urinary tract infections, bronchitis, sinus congestion, ingrowing toenails and coughs." (I'd have to do some more research to know whether one ingests it or rubs it on one's feet to deal with the toenail thing.) And I'm pretty sure that raw, it could be used as a biological weapon. How badass is that???

But seriously. I think it's time we paid more attention to horseradish as a condiment/flavoring/pancaea. I'm not sure hard core foodies would say horseradish actually contains umami, that magical mysterious fifth taste found in things like parmesan, tomatoes, fish sauce, and ketchup, but it comes damn close with its mix of spicy, sour, bitter, and tang (from the vinegar that gets added to the prepared stuff). I'm all for adding it to sandwiches, spreading it on cheese and crackers, stirring it into salad dressing, heaping it on hash browns, dolloping it on a bagel and lox, and introducing it to a few more drinking buddies beyond Ms. Mary. Oh, oh, and what about a take on fried chicken wings with a creamy horseradish dipping sauce!

I'm getting carried away. I just wrote an entire post on horseradish.
But really, ATTENTION MUST BE PAID.

Make this and you'll know what I'm talking about.
If you have an ingrown toenail, let me know how that goes too.

Love,

The Mouse

Roasted Beets with Horseradish Creme Fraiche 
from Suzanne Goin's Sunday Suppers with Lucques 

4 bunches different-colored beets 
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil 
1 tablespoon diced shallot, plus 1/4 cup sliced shallots 
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon balsamic vinegar 
2 tablespoons red wine vinegar 
2 1/2 teaspoons lemon juice 
1/2 cup crème fraîche 
1 tablespoon prepared horseradish 
1/4 cup heavy cream 
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper 

 Preheat the oven to 400°F. Cut off the beet greens, leaving 1/2 inch of the stems still attached. (You can save the leaves for sauteing later—they are delicious!) Clean the beets well, and toss them with 2 tablespoons olive oil and 1 teaspoon salt Place the beets in a roasting pan with a splash of water in the bottom. Cover the pan tightly with foil, and roast for about 40 minutes, until they're tender when pierced. (The roasting time will depend on the size and type of beet.) When the beets are done, carefully remove the foil. Let cool, and peel the beets by slipping off the skins with your fingers. Cut them into 1/2-inch-thick wedges. While the beets are in the oven, combine the diced shallot, both vinegars, 2 teaspoons lemon juice, and 1/4 teaspoon salt in a small bowl, and let sit 5 minutes. Whisk in the 1/2 cup olive oil. Taste for balance and seasoning. Whisk the crème fraîche and horseradish together in a small bowl. Stir in the heavy cream, remaining 1/2 teaspoon lemon juice, ⅛ teaspoon salt, and a pinch of pepper. Toss the beets and sliced shallots with the vinaigrette. (If you're using different-colored beets, dress each color in a separate bowl so the colors don't bleed.) Season with 1/4 teaspoon salt and a pinch of freshly ground black pepper, and toss well. Taste for balance and seasoning. Arrange on a platter and dollop (more artfully than the Mouse) on the beets.

Bringing It: Rosh Hashanah Plum Tart

Dear Mouse,

Happy New Year!

Let it be known that I started writing this post as soon as I walked in the door  from the family dinner where I served the item to be discussed below. I think that's a first.

"... the late August abundance of italian prune plums, which i find better cooked than eaten out of hand."

                                    -Sarah Leah Chase, Nantucket Open House Cookbook

(Longtime readers will recall that the above words signify The Boo's unhealthy  obsession with said Chase cookbook, since she committed them to memory upon first reading Chase's "Purple Plum Crunch"   recipe (yes, republished by Ina) years ago. She now cannot mention, eat, or think  about prune plums without muttering this phrase inanely like some kind of fruit mantra. Oh, and lest she forget, The Mouse also likes to helpfully repeat it every time plums come up in conversation (surprisingly often). It's like that South Park when Cartman can't even think of the song "Sail Away" without having to sing the entire thing...? Anyway.)

As I mentioned in my last post and will probably repeat, I am Super Excited to greet Fall. And  I'm just going to keep it real for a second and say I'm maybe more excited than usual this year because, for me, the summer of 2012 .... sucked. Yep.  Winter/spring was great (work! love! income!). Then, come June, all of it, in the words of the great Eddie Izzard, "slowly collapsed, like a flan in a cupboard."
(He was talking about the Austro-Hungarian Empire, but that's basically the same thing as my life.)

Fortunately, I'm a big girl now and I recognize these droughts for what they are: droughts. End of career and personal life? Probably not. Hard? Yes. But there's always a choice. I could have spent all summer lying on my floor complaining to the fan.  Or,  I could do what I did: lie on the floor 60% of the time, and spend the rest in Spiritual Boot Camp. I read kind of every helpful Text I could get my hands on. I went on Yoga Retreat (Thanks Mom!) . I talked to various Advisors.  I - yes - cooked. And..

I re-enrolled in "Shouting Aerobics"!

...which is totally not what it's called but it makes me giggle every time I say it to myself.
And when you're sweating through 60 -75 minutes of cardio while also shouting positive statements like a New Age Cheerleader ("I GIVE! MY BEST! THE REST I LET GO!!"), you feel A) AMAZING, there's no way around it... and B) SO RIDICULOUS that it helps (at least the first time) to keep a little NYC snark on hand for balance. Whatever gets you through the squats.

                                                         Best Plum Tart (pre-cooking)

I think I really thought I was so out of shape that if I went back to class I might actually die. Like, I just flat-out couldn't and wouldn't make it. Then I did. And THEN, after not dying,  I had two Big Thoughts. One was "I am capable of more than I think"...  and,  right on its heels: "... and I should be acting like it more often."

Attention Must Be Paid: The Mother's showstopping version of  Beatty's Chocolate Cake (L), (so light and fluffy yet so deeply chocolatey!) and your take on Smitten Kitchen's Apple Charlotka ("more apples than batter") (R), both of which graced the Rosh Hashanah table. (Why don't I have a picture of The Aunt's cheesecake? Too busy eating.)

What if, I thought, I really, actually, did my best, in everything I do? What if I brought my best game to every task, no matter what, even if my best isn't that amazing on everything?  What would that be like? I decided I am going to spend this Fall finding out. Or, as I put it to Mr. Poet at our lunch the other day:

" I'm making a plum tart for Rosh Hashanah... 

and it is going to be the Best Damn Plum Tart I can possibly make! "  

                                                                   Here it is.

We clinked our (second round of) bloody marys together, and I went off to buy 14 italian prune plums...whichifindbettercoookedthaneatenoutofhandohmygodicantstop.

The experience was a great mix of improvisation and careful attention to detail. I went basically with Dorie Greenspan for both the filling (layer of jam, layer of plums, walnuts and sugar on top) and the crust (her Sweet Tart Dough). But I threw in a little cassis liqueur as homage to Chase. And I mistakenly bought an 11.5-inch pan when the recipe is meant for a 9-inch pan. ("Oh no don't burn it!" - alarmed Mouse Text.) But I decided I would just refrain from preheating too long, and then watched it like a hawk. It worked out great - I like a thin crust.  

Moral of the story? Success! The crust did not burn or tear. The plum juice did not ooze excessively. And it was consumed - almost entirely! - by our discerning family!  And I felt GREAT for having given my all to something and done it to the best of my ability. On one level, you could say it's just a small thing that doesn't have anything to do with Big Life Issues. On another, it makes me realize again how everything, actually, IS connected ... because the feeling of Kicking Ass in one area just makes you want to Bring It in others. A good reminder to always Give Your Best ... then, the Rest You can  Let Go. 

Happy Fall (again),

Love
The Boo

The Boo's Best Plum Tart

Ingredients

Crust:

Make Dorie's "Sweet Tart Dough" (scroll to bottom of page for recipe). Follow her instructions exactly except the part about the 9-inch pan. For this recipe, you want my happily wrong proportions (11.5 - in tart pan with removable bottom). Crust-making-phobics (of which I am one) will note joyfully that you don't have to roll it out -- just press it into the pan with your fingers and chill that s*t for at least 30 minutes.

Filling

12-14 italian prune plums (ok if they're large you'll use fewer, I think I had about 10 in there. If you have extra, roast them and put them on your oatmeal, your chicken, anything.)
1/4 C plum jam (I used Sarabeth's "plum and sour cherry spreadable fruit", but my tart was quite tart. If you like things sweeter, maybe use regular sugary jam)
3 tbsp sugar
3 tbsp chopped walnuts
A splash (2 tbsp?) of cassis liqueur if you have it
1 tbsp cornstarch

Halve and pit the plums and put them into a bowl. If they're big plums, maybe slice each half again. Toss with cassis and cornstarch and set aside.

Mix walnuts and sugar in a bowl. Set aside.

Take out chilled tart shell and set on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper, or a silpat, or whatever.

Spoon jam into chilled tart shell and spread across bottom. 


Arrange plum halves or slices in concentric circles on top of the jam, starting at the outer edge of the shell and working your way in.

Scatter sugar/walnut mixture over the fruit.

Cover in plastic wrap and let sit in a warm place for 30 minutes. 

Now, maybe with like 5 minutes to go, preheat the oven to 425. 

Remove plastic wrap from tart! (I almost forgot to do this), and put baking sheet with tart on it in oven for 20 minutes. (at 10 minutes give it a glance and check speed crust is browning).

After 20 minutes, take it out, tent it loosely with foil (to keep the crust from getting too dark) and put it back in for another 10.  It's done when the crust is a lovely golden brown and the fruit is bubbling. 

Let cool for at least 45 min, then remove outer ring of pan and slide the rest (with bottom) onto platter, Serve warm or at room temp.    

So Long, Summer. It's Been Real.

Dear Boo,

Have I told you about my realization that our country's school system has ruined my life?

No, not in any of those boring child left behind, teaching to the test, slipping through the cracks kind of ways. Mine is a far worse affliction.

I cannot, no matter how many years of real life I have under my belt, get past the feeling that summer = free time and fun, while fall = anxiety, anticipation, homework. As a result, I spend two months of the year feeling perpetually ROBBED as I truck myself to and fro, home to work, work to home. And then, come this time of year, I suddenly kick into overdrive, ready for something to HAPPEN. As the weather gets cooler, I find myself practically at the edge of my seat, picking out my first day of school outfit and cracking open that composition notebook. So while in some ways it's hard to say goodbye to summer (AGAIN), having as usual, not eaten enough tomatoes, not wiggled my toes in the sand enough, with three sad peaches (the first I've had this season!) languishing on my kitchen table looking a little sad and out of place, and only about a hundred freckles to my name, I'm also sort of ready for a change, you know?

But let's not be too hasty.

Below: the summer smorgasbord of loveliness that has become somewhat of a tradition...

Shrimp tossed with some fish sauce, lemon, cumin, coriander, and garlic, grilled on our lovely All-Clad grill pan, a wedding gift which is a summer savior for those of us cityfolk with ZERO outdoor space. (Again, ROBBED.)

Grilled flank steak and chorizo with a different version of my new favorite sauce. 

Potatoes with butter and herbs, endive, avocado and mango salad, and off to your right--don't be deceived by the terrible placement--a bowl of the most delicious, indulgent, thumb-your-nose-at-fall corn dish. 

So, our friend ED, who technically knew the Husband before he knew me, but who, as it turns out, is dating my old co-worker who I knew and loved way before I knew him, and who I wrangled into joining my theater company and who then got conned into playing the love interest in that little play I wrote and who I recently spent a weekend in the wilds of the Poconos with, reading a hundred plays in four days and cooking up a storm, and who is currently the tyrannical leader of some fantasy football nonsense  endeavor that my Husband, aka Dream Act This, is valiantly competing in, prides himself on the fact that he makes one dish very well. He is an odd eater, to say the least, with objections to perfectly harmless things like POTATOES and BEANS and TOMATOES, which makes it difficult for me to count him among my friends. But, he makes a killer Mexican corn. As he's originally from Mexico City, I feel safe in claiming this dish has some authenticity to it. At least when he makes it. 

Here's the deal:

Cut the kernels off a bunch of earns of corn. Throw them in a pot/sautee pan with a bunch of butter (like a whole stick for let's say, 6-8 ears?) and salt and let em cook. Stir in a great big blob of mayonnaise, and one of sour cream. Dump in a bunch of chili powder, "so it changes color some", and cook to your liking. Taste and adjust, taste and adjust. Throw in a generous amount of grated cheese (queso fresco or cotija or some such), and squeeze in the juice of a lime. Taste again for salt. Serve. Summer street food at its best.

Boo, I know fall is your favorite season, and I have to say after the blazing summer we just survived, I'm eagerly looking forward to the turning leaves and turned-up collars. But before we succumb completely, make a batch of this and hold onto summer just a little bit longer. Maybe we can eke out one more lazy day before it's back to school. 

Love,

The Mouse

Back to School (Almond Flour, NYC)

Dear Mouse,

"Sorry when I go dark

It must have been I forgot about the spark

Sorry when I go lame

I got no reason I should ever complain..."

-Don Chaffer, 'Son of a Gun', coming SOON to NYC's Theatre Row (November 1-18)

It's happened. Our Auntie's Labor Day BBQ has come and gone, everyone's putting up "first day of school!" pictures of their kids on FaceBook, and I just brought home a striped burgundy cardigan from the Free People sale rack. True, the Equinox is a couple of weeks away and there are still peaches at the Greenmarket... but there's no denying that Autumn is nearly upon us.

I, for one, am thrilled. For one thing, orange-yellow-wine-colored-smoky-windy Fall has always been my favorite season, and for another I'm going into rehearsal again!!!  after a Very Quiet Summer (not my favorite).

My friend Mr. Poet has this great way of describing the phenomenon of the way creative jobs often lead to other creative jobs...

... or, as he puts it, "Gig Babies".

Actual (not Gig) Baby: Newest Addition to the Poet Family! Just had to share.

I woke up thinking about the show, and how this particular Gig Baby, like so many, came not from any conventional hiring process but from relationships:  a recommendation from another artist who knew me and thought someone else should too. And, because there's almost nothing I can't connect to food, I was also thinking about the "gig baby" phenomenon as regards recipes; how new/shared recipes naturally lead to other new discoveries. 

Also, I just met our costume designer and there's nothing like the word "lingerie" to make you get Very Interested in Lower Carb Alternatives to your favorite dishes. 

The point is, I made this chicken. 

                                  The Boo's Parmesan Chicken: A Family Staple Makeover. Read on.

Now, Mouse, I know you think you recognize this from, say, any weeknight at our house growing up, when The Mother would come in from a long day of Living Truthfully Under Imaginary Circumstances and have to put something on the table. That simple dish, of chicken breasts dipped in melted butter and rolled in 'Italian-Style' breadcrumbs and Kraft Parmesan from the green can, has always been one of my favorite meals of all time. It could not be easier or more comforting, and I often whip this up in my own kitchen when Circumstances have gotten just a little too Truthful.

Then, Enter my New Best Friend:

                                    

Almond Flour. It's Flour ... Made of Almonds .

I'm sure you see where this is going.

Long story short, the "gig baby" that resulted from my recent love affair with Dorie Greenspan's Isphahan Rose Cake was ... well, anything and everything that can be done with this nut flour. One night, I was making sweet potato fries in the oven and I impulsively rolled the little orange sticks in almond meal as well as olive oil. OMG. Sweet, nutty, textured, high-protein and delicious. A revamped version of The Mother's classic chicken recipe seemed inevitable.  Here it is, below. In my version, almond flour replaces the breadcrumbs, olive oil replaces the melted butter, and a layer of "Enjoy" (caramelized onion jam, which The Mother likes to call by one particular favorite brand name)  added just to liven things up.  

And now I'm off to make a peach tart with (you guessed it) almond flour crust.

"Enjoy".

Love ,

The Boo

The Boo's Almond-Crusted Parmesan Chicken With "Enjoy"

(Warning: There are no measurements in this highly forgiving and improvisational family recipe. But you kinda can't go wrong)

Ingredients:

boneless, skinless chicken breasts (i sometimes cut in half to make them skinnier/crispier)

Kraft Parmesan Cheese from the can (this ingredient stays)

Almond Flour or Almond Meal

"Enjoy", or your favorite brand of savory onion jam

olive oil

salt/pepper

Preheat oven to 350.  Make a pile approx half parmesan, half almond flour on a plate, enough to coat all your chicken. Add salt and pepper to this mix, to taste. Sometimes I add herbs de provence too, if I have them. Coat a chicken breast in olive oil and spoon/slap some Enjoy all over it as well (it won't all stick and it'll be messy - recipe still in progress) and press each into parmesan/almond pile. Flip and press the other side. Place in baking pan/roasting pan. Repeat with each chicken breast. Feel free to add more parm/almond coating to the breasts when they are in the pan, covering up bald spots. Bake in oven for 45 minutes. They should be golden/brown and a little sizzly, and juicy not dry (but done!! No pink! of course). ENJOY.

Getting (un) Busy...

Dear Boo,

There was this article a couple of months back that made its rounds in social media circles, all about the "Busy Trap"--the fact that being overly booked and scheduled and worked and committed has basically become a social ill, where we collectively push each other to be so busy that we hardly have room for friends, pleasure, deep breaths, a meal uninterrupted by phone calls, texts, or that nagging sense that we better hurry up and get to the next thing that needs doing. Basically, the author asserts, we've voluntarily whipped ourselves into a collective frenzy of (often purposeless) activity as a way of protecting against that ever-present anxiety that if we stopped for a second we might realize just how empty, pointless, and worthless we and our lives are.

I didn't appreciate just how many people asked me if I'd read this article, with a knowing nod of the head. No, I'd answer. I haven't. Some of us are too busy to read.

The thing is, for the most part, I love my busy life. Or I should say--I love the different things that comprise my busy life. I can't imagine giving any of them up. (Except, of course, my job, but then I know from my clients just how time consuming and tedious and life-sucking going on public assistance can be, so I'm not sure that would solve much.) I'm very, very lucky. But I also fear that if I don't find some way to slow down and make room, I will a) burn out and be of no use to anyone, b) lose all of my friends for lack of attention (I mean, there are people with babies I have not met yet!), and/or c) Eat all of my meals standing at the kitchen sink, alone, slurping cold pad thai.

So I'm working on it. Little by little. I am starting to set limits for myself. And prioritize. And take breaths. And make room. And make dinner.

Above, the perfect dinner for the cook caught in the Busy Trap. A piece of fish, seasoned with salt and pepper, slapped in a blazing hot pan for a couple of minutes on each side, squozed with lemon, served alongside this quick corn salad (if it's really good corn, which it has no excuse to not be at this time of year, cut out the cooking process entirely and serve it raw with a bunch of citrus, herbs and olive oil), and topped with a chimichurri-esque sauce which comes together in literally two seconds with a quick flip of the vitamix. It's all so laughably fast that with relative ease, I was able to find the time in my busy schedule to sit down with a glass of wine and eat this, one slow, tasty bite at a time. If I can do it, any busy-ness addict can.

Love,

The Mouse


The Mouse's Quick Chimichurri-esque Sauce for those not Quite Ready to Retire from the Busy Life. 


1 cup (packed) fresh Italian parsley, or a little bit less
1/2 cup olive oil
1/4 cup white vinegar
Juice of half a lemon
1/4 cup (packed) fresh cilantro, or a little bit more
2 garlic cloves, peeled
Healthy dash of dried crushed red pepper
Nice pinch of ground cumin
Salt to taste

Throw all ingredients in a blender. Puree, pulse, or blend to desired consistency. Pour over whatever protein you've grilled, seared, or pan-fried up. Taste. Breath. Taste. Take one small thing off your to-do list. Eat dessert. 

New Salad, CT (Sisters are Doing It For Themselves)

"Art/Love is the desire to narrow the space between two people

To solve the only problem there has ever been

in the world:

That you are not me." 

-Aaron Jafferis, 'How to Break' (NY Hip Hop Theatre Fest, upcoming) 

Dear Mouse,

I often blithely tell people who ask about this blog that I'm what you might call the "field reporter". "I travel a lot for work," I'll say breezily, spilling coffee down my wrist. "The Mouse is the one who is doing most of the actual inventing and, oh, cooking. I'm the one who's usually posting about A Sandwich I Ate Once in Kentucky, or Best Vending Machine Snacks in DC."  I imagine they walk away either impressed with my self-deprecation or resolved to ... not to read this blog. Why don't I maybe stop doing that.

I have been thinking a lot about collaboration lately, and how important it is both to delegate clearly AND to be able to relax the roles. Right now, I'm composing songs for a show in the NY Hip Hop Theatre Festival... (here's where I usually pause for effect and then say "I know! and THEY called ME!") Composing, to me, usually means holing up in my Songwriting Cave and then delivering my Song Babies fully formed to the world.  Here it's sometimes taking place on my feet, guitar in hand, in the presence of a director, a singer, a lyricist, a loop machine and a guy holding a microphone against his neck. It's awesome. I'm The Composer... but I don't have to come up with all the answers alone.

Oh, and also, I went to New Haven.

                              

                               Admittedly terrible shot of Mashed Potato Pizza at Bar, New Haven

                                                                     I think I was eating with the other hand.

I spent a week up there workshopping a hilarious new play with these great people, and I was definitely looking forward to some blogworthy times. I already knew that The Have is a food lovers' town. (The Pizza! Oh my god. The adorable, competitive coffee shops! I tried four and was utterly charmed. The 'sweet cream' flavor at Ashley's Ice Cream! The menu at the bizarre, postmodern sushi joint everyone talks about! I planned to hit all of these up at least once in between rehearsals.) Oh, I'd find writing material for sure.

And I did... but not in any of those places. 

We had it all. The coffee at JoJo's  is reeeally good, though it didn't make me forget The Commons (or, for that matter, The Roasterie Kansas City... I'm just gonna have to order a case.) We had quirky rectangular pizza at Bar (tasty though it doesn't touch Modern), and Miya's Sushi ... ok, full points for creativity, but I don't want Havarti cheese anywhere near my fish. Ever. And, after we finished dinner there, my director turned to me and whispered "I ate here for lunch today too ... and I'm still hungry." Nuff said.

No, I'm proud and happy to say that the food experiences I'll really remember from this trip came from the folks around me. Proud because my 'collaboration' theme in this post is actually going to get followed through. Proud because what could be more A Mouse Bouche than artists thrown together by fate, eating with and teaching each other about food? And happy because now I know how to make this salad:

Watercress, pine nuts, red onion, clementine slices, oil, red wine vinegar, dried marjoram. Elegant, beautiful, easy, and tasting mysteriously somehow like there is bacon in it, though there is not. 

The awesome program directors took us - all - out to dinner at local haunts like Thai Taste AND brought Insomnia Cookies to our various rehearsal nights. My lovely Flatmate introduced me to 'broken-yolk' fried eggs and the concept of the Kale Smoothie (haven't tried it yet: almond milk, banana, kale, honey). But the definitive MouseBouche moment of the trip for me happened when The Dancer told me the Salad Story.  (The Dancer is not a dancer at all as far as I know, but her graceful presence and, I don't know, lithe - ness?, reminds me of a ballerina.)  We got to talking, I mentioned the blog, and somehow wound up telling her the story of your Husband making the Christmas Pork Roast for his family in Florida, a story I love because It Has Meaning On So Many Levels, blah blah blah. The Dancer totally 'got it' - "I might cry!" she said in her soft voice looking at me across the beer pitcher. And then she told me a similar story. One year around The Holidays it dawned on her that, as the Unmarried Sister in her family, there seemed to be a different set of expectations for her when it came to holiday meal prep. While her sister would get various cooking assignments, she said, "nothing was really expected of me." The Dancer didn't really consider herself a Person Who Cooks, but this didn't feel right. So she decided to get in the game. She would not wait to be asked, she would just pick a recipe, bring it, and see what happened. She chose a salad from Bon Appetit, and brought it to the party. And:  "I know it sounds silly," she said, "but my brother-in-law's mother asked me for the recipe. And it was So. Validating!" It rounded out the meal beautifully and got great reviews. Not only that, but the following year said mother-in-law's house burned down -!! - "not to be a downer here" - and she called and asked for the recipe again, having lost it in the fire. "So I know she really liked it", The Dancer said. "She told me she was only collecting the recipes she really wanted."

It's a great moment when you realize your voice counts, that you have something to offer, and that it is a valuable part of a whole. It's been said before, but we can do things in community that we can't - or won't -  do alone. For example: closing night of the workshop, the company threw a lovely party for us at a super-hip hotel in town. Beautiful nighttime views, open bar, and a TON of food. As the night wound down, we were staring at a mountain of untouched crudites, a basket of bread and crackers, another basket of prosciutto and huge chunks of cheese. One of the younger actors boldly asked for a to-go container and was denied - department of health regulations, blah blah blah. FlatMate and I locked eyes across the table. We knew what we had to do. We had napkins, bags, a guitar case, and each other. 

The next day we enjoyed a lovely picnic lunch on the Metro-North train home, which we were only too happy to share with our friends. 

Here's to collaboration, at and away from the table.  

Love,

The Boo

PS A shout-out to The Dancer for not batting an eyelash when I asked if I "could use butter instead". I thought she'd said "margarine" instead of "marjoram". She just suggested that olive oil would be better.

• WATERCRESS, ORANGE AND RED ONION SALAD
• via Bon Appetit
• 
  
• 4 Servings
• 2 bunches watercress, stemmed
• 3 clementines, peeled and sectioned
• 1/2 red onion, thinly sliced
• 1 tablespoon sherry wine vinegar (or 
• red wine vinegar) 
• (Note from The Boo: I used red wine, but I think it'd be better with sherry)
• 3 tablespoons olive oil
• 1/2 teaspoon dried marjoram
• Salt and pepper
• 1/3 cup pine nuts
• Combine stemmed watercress, orange slices and 
• sliced red onion in large bowl. Place sherry wine
• vinegar in small bowl. Gradually mix in olive oil.
• Add marjoram. Season dressing to taste with salt
• and pepper. (Can be prepared 3 hours ahead. Cover
• salad and refrigerate. Cover dressing and let stand
• at room temperature.) Pour dressing over
• salad and toss to coat thoroughly. Sprinkle with pine
• nuts and serve

  

A Dance with Dragon(fruit)s

Dear Mouse,

I ... am flummoxed.

                                                                        New friends.

Ok, we've been doing this a while now. We've experienced and blogged about some certainly out-of-the-ordinary (at least for me/us) food experiences. We've traveled to strange places, eaten exotic foods, had to think fast and be creative, and certainly have logged many bold new steps within these pages (screens?oh, pages I guess). And while I'd never say we've Seen It All (and I hope we never do!), I had, I confess, come to think that we'd ... Seen It Most. I mean, for two non-pro, busy-with-other-things, squeamish-about-animal-insides, had-the-same-sandwich-every-day-for-thirteen-years type gals. (Ok maybe one.)

Well, it's great to keep being surprised by Life, is what I guess I'll write if I can't think of a less maudlin sentence. This has been a week of Firsts. For one thing, I found out I have to play piano for an audition, something I haven't done in, I'm gonna say as many years as I ate that sandwich. And I have now learned an entire Tori Amos song on the piano, from sheet music I had lying around. Skills I thought long-dead: revived. Sleepy little neural networks in dusty corners of my brain... still kickin'. That is really exciting ...

... But maybe not as exciting as what I'm here to post. Mouse, you know me. I may be prone to exaggeration, embellishment, confabulation. I sometimes remember things a little too vividly, or conflate two anecdotes into one, or tell people autobiographical stories that actually happened to Frodo Baggins. But in what I am about to tell you, I am deadly serious. I am adding nothing to this tale, nor leaving anything out. It is as additive-free as a rice cake.

                                                                  Real. And Edible.


Right now, there is a fragrant, fantastical, heavily spiced bubbling pot of mystery on my stove top, filling my house with odors of ginger and uncharted terrain. There is a hot-pink, scaly, discarded, well, skin in my garbage can. There are cubes of white, ink-spotted sweet vegetation piled in a bowl on my kitchen table. There are seductive, translucent little globes the texture of oh why not say it eyeballs in a watery perfumed pile on the cutting board. "Oh", you might say here, "The Boo is trying a new recipe. Well why didn't she just say so? I wonder where she got it from."

Well you might ask!! Where, indeed? And this is the crux of the story, Mouse,  and proof that maybe there are more than just piano chords being kicked up in the coils of my brain. Because I've gotten recipe ideas from many places - cookbooks, blogs, friends, The Mother, you - but this one

                                                       CAME TO ME IN A DREAM. 

                                                                       Yep.

I'll wrap this up so I can get back to the eyeballs... But, yep. It was sort of a garden-variety Actor's Nightmare, which is to be expected with this audition coming up. Except ... there was no Acting in it at all. Instead, I was a guest (or so I thought) at a lavish banquet. Menus were passed around. I opened mine in anticipation, only to realize that I was supposed to have prepared one of the dishes being served. What was I to do? I'd have to come up with something. As a guideline, I saw only one word in the printed program - er, Menu: "Ginger". I turned to the person next to me and casually answered their query about what I'd be serving:

                                   "Oh, poached dragonfruits and lychees in ginger syrup."

                                                                       (!!!)
And then I woke up.

And then I went to the store and bought a dragon fruit (which cost me NINE DOLLARS, so thats how much I love this blog, nine dollars' much). And a small box of lychees.

And then I googled dragonfruits, and, yep, the first recipe I saw was "dragon fruit in ginger syrup", and I sort of followed that recipe, and my apartment smells awesome, and I just ate a small bowl of poached CRAZY and enjoyed it, though it needs tweaks. Dragon fruit tastes like a more grown-up kiwi. And lychees are just the sexiest fruit ever, eyeball-ness or no. They are like what you wished fancy perfume would taste like as a kid, but it didnt. If you're put off by the texture, at least drop them in a martini or let them flavor your prosecco.

To sum up... I have psychic powers. Also, I think two things: 1) that agave syrup DOES NOT WORK as a substitute for sugar when making, um, SYRUP, so don't do that. And 2) I think the fruits would have been better either raw (or just barely poached) then drizzled with syrup, rather than the boiling-fruits-in-reducing-syrup route that the online recipe suggested. Adventurous Midsummer Nights Dreamers - experiment, and then tell us about it.

May you find ripe lychees and affordable dragons.

Love,

The Boo


The Boo's Actual Midsummer Night's Dream Fruit Cocktail


Ingredients
1 dragonfruit
1 small container lychees (like, 6?7?)
1 piece peeled fresh ginger cut into 3 or 4 slices
2 cinnamon sticks
a few cloves if you like
1/4 -1/2 C brown sugar (not agave syrup, what are you thinking you hippie)
3 C water


Cut dragon fruit in half. Run a knife around the inside of the skin on each half to dislodge the fruit (you can't eat the skin). Cut up flesh into chunks. 
Peel lychees, slice in half and remove pits. 


In a good size pot on the stove, boil water, sugar, spices and ginger pieces til  reduced to syrupy goodness. Pour over dream fruits. 


 (or, halfway through, as I did, remove spices and add fruits and continue boiling til reduced again by half. But I kind of wished I hadn't.)

Humble Fish

Dear Boo,

On the Fourth of July, my first day off from work in some time where I wasn't traveling, rehearsing, or writing against a deadline, I decided I would make a cake to bring to our friend's house for a little casual grill-out (of course, since this friend was Chef Josh, "casual" meant a shrimp boil, steak, pork loin, jerk chicken, corn on the cob, mac and cheese, and a watermelon salad.). True to our family's traditions, I picked Ina's Flag Cake, a delicious and patriotic endeavor the founding fathers would have loved. Partway through the process, when the 1.5 hour estimate turned into 2.5, and I obsessed about how one can know for sure that there aren't miniscule bugs in your flour even though you can't see them, when I read the recipe three times and still put all the dry ingredients in at once, when I turned on my beautiful kitchen aid mixer and was hit with a tidal wave of buttermilk, when I tried in vain to get the lumps out of my icing, I paused and thought: It's happened. I've actually forgotten how to cook. 

You see, if my absence from these pages didn't make it abundantly clear, I haven't been doing much cooking these days, on account of this play I wrote (and a few other things). The past few months (months?!) have been a blur of work, writing, rehearsals, shows, late nights, lost sleep, anxiety, joy, bar food and leftover thai delivery. It would take a better writer than I to accurately convey just what all of this meant to me. It was at turns pure joy, pride, growth, pain, insecurity, fear, and triumph. But most of all, like my recent tentative return to cooking, it was a lesson in humility in the best and most valuable sense.

Having your theater company care so much about you as an artist and believe so much in you as a writer, that they opt to put all of their money, heart, and energy behind a production of the very first play you've ever written? Humility. 
Watching incredible actors work their butts off auditioning for your play? Humility. 
Biting your nails as one after another amazing professional, highly acclaimed designers sign on to work on your play for far less than they are worth? Humility. 
Having a star of film and TV and broadway agree to play one of the roles in your play because he likes the script, the part, and the fact that you're a 'group of young artists getting together to make something creative happen'? Humility. 
Sitting in a room with a brilliant director and wonderful cast, arguing passionately about the script because they want it to be better? Humility. 
Realizing those lines you wrote that you are absolutely in love with are going to have to go because no one else is, and really, they just don't work? Humility. 
Knowing that your husband who is as busy as you are, will read the twelve different endings you've written for one scene outloud for you, playing all the parts? Humility.
Complaining that you are SO BUSY and EXHAUSTED from working all day and rehearsing all night and rewriting in the wee hours and then talking to your clients whose struggles on a daily basis are in a whole other ballpark than the stress you've brought on yourself by doing what you love? Humility.
Watching a massive group of company members rally together to build the set for your play, bleeding, sweating, and emptying their apartments to make this happen? Humility. 
Having an opening night party in which you are weighed down with flowers and drinks and kisses but you float home anyway, and then wake up to your alarm the next morning and sweat through your clothes on the subway platform to go to your job where you are overworked and underpaid and no one cares what you did last night? Humility. 
Asking your family to sit and watch a play you know may be hard for them, and then having them hug and kiss you and tell you how proud they are? Humility.
Good reviews. Humility.
Bad reviews. Humility. 
Bad reviews that make good and fair criticisms? Double dose of humility.
Watching the final show of this play with tears in your eyes both because its over and you are so so happy and because it is over and there are some things in your life that are undeniably sad and broken that you cannot fix no matter how many wonderful nights like these you are blessed with? Humility.


Naturally, now that the play has closed, I have found myself in that familiar dull panic of 'what next'? I have been filling my newly acquired free time with redecorating our apartment, doing fantasy searches for new jobs, taking naps, reading the paper, shopping online, and yes, tentatively tiptoeing back into the kitchen. With gratitude and humility, I will begin to reacquaint myself with my pots and pans and remind my hands how to knead, fold and stay out of the way of the blade. 

The cake, though it turned out to be quite tasty, may have been a bit too much too fast. Perhaps I should stick with something simpler and work my way back up. In that spirit, I'm sharing with you the most satisfying, delicious, and humble lunch (or appetizer) one could ask for, and one which the Husband and I have taken to eating for its cheapness, simplicity, and ease of assembly in these busy months, but which is now a permanent staple of our repetoire. 

Canned sardines in olive oil (we like King Oscar brand), eaten on Wasa toast (or saltines or crusty bread if you prefer) with a slather of butter and generous sprinkle of salt. Did I mention its also environmentally friendly and healthy? Eat it with a good conscience. [On a side note--the Husband has a certain fondness for sardines that dates back to when he was a little boy and his family would come home from church on Sundays. His sisters would usually be occupied helping his mom with dinner or some other chores, his older brother off with his friends from down the block, and he, the youngest of the six, would sit quietly with his dad, eating sardines on saltines, a treat which none of his siblings would go near, but which he loved, not only because it meant a rare moment of time alone with his father. A simple and special earthly reward on a day devoted to humility. How perfect is that?]


One more thing before I go: Closing night of our show, we went to a bar which shall remain nameless, where we snacked, raised a glass, and said farewell. Late that night, on the way out, as I was saying goodbye to some friends, I turned and looked through the propped door into the empty kitchen. There, sniffing around delicately on the stove, was a mouse. I knew then it was time to say goodbye, move on, and get back into the kitchen. Mine, that is...


Love,


The Mouse