Stop the Insanity!

Dear Boo,

Please stop me from eating these chili-lemon pistachios from Trader Joe's. I have not the strength to do it myself, and I fear I am growing a shell. We'll be here, waiting for you to wrest the bag out of my hand.

Love,
The Mouse

Zen and the Art of Guacamole Madness

Dear Boo,

The one thing the Boyfriend asked that I do for my birthday party was to whip up a small vat of my ever-popular guacamole. I was enjoying myself in the kitchen, doing the little fancy-chef trick i can execute about 1 out of 4 times to remove the pits with the blade of your knife, and sliding the buttery green meat out of the skin with my fingers. There is nothing I love more than the calming, repetetive, utterly satisfying activity of chopping vegetables.

I once read a book about Zen Buddhism where a Zen Master assigns a newcomer to the temple the job of slicing carrots. The young monk in training is frustrated because he's there to seek enlightenment, but after a week he has barely seen the inside of the temple. After slicing his way through cases of carrots, the orange beginning to blur across his field of vision, the knife moving involuntarily in his hand, he pauses, hand in midair and realizes he is practicing Zen. I am this monk. Or at least this is how I feel in the midst of chopping the red onions for my birthday guacamole.

You can imagine then, how my Zen glow quickly began to fade as I noticed the tingling, nay, the BURNING in the fingertips of my left hand which had been holding the jalapeno I chopped. I ran my hand under cold water which alleviated the burning temporarily, but once dry, the pain had gotten worse and was spreading rapidly.

I stuff some ice into a dishcloth and wrap it around my hand. It feels a little better but under the numbing cold i can still feel the chile flames lapping underneath. This is where things get stupid. I pull a stick of butter out of the fridge thinking--maybe a base will neutralize the acid of the chile. Please note--I know NOTHING about chemistry and should never be trusted to make such judgements. It seems like wherever I spread the butter, the burning jumps to the next bit of skin until I am chasing it with the greasy wrapper, frantically hoping to douse the flames. At this point, the Boyfriend comes home to find me near tears from the unbelievable pain and frustrated beyond belief that the mildest of the pepper family could get the better of me. ME!

In the next hour, I go through the following attempts at treating my increasingly painful condition:
1) Dunking my hand in a glass of cold milk--sticking with the "base" idea (idiot), it feels like a relief while it's in the liquid but thats probably more about the cold than the chemistry. As soon as I remove it, my hand is worse than ever.
2) Boyfriend looks up solutions online and finds rubbing alcohol. We have none. We have hydrogen peroxide. I try this. Not the same thing. duh.
3) Nailpolish remover. That's kind of like rubbing alcohol, right? And it cuts through all kinds of stuff! Doesn't work.
4) Orange juice--more research online reveals that acids are the way to go. see "milk" for the effects.
5) Vinegar--ditto
6) Baking soda--One person online suggests caking it on the affected area like paper mache and sleeping this way. My birthday party starts in an hour.
7) OJ/vinegar--I am told the liquid will "draw out" the oils which i can then wipe off. The wiping serves to irritate my skin further.
8) Advil--good for cramps, not so much for flaming fingers.
9) VODKA--why didn't I think of this earlier?! Alternate one part down the hatch, two parts for hand-dunking. FINALLY the pain starts to subside. Fingers are red and swollen but no longer tear-inducing.

Perhaps the actual blood, sweat and tears that went into making the guacamole of death was the secret ingredient. Verdict from partygoers: best guac yet. Verdict from me: never again without my Hazmat Suit.

Love,
The Mouse

Hungry for More?
Natalie Goldberg, who wrote the book Long Quiet Highway, also wrote a book called Writing Down the Bones which is about the practice of writing, but is also a good non self-help, Zen-infused guide for life in general or any creative pursuit. Pick it up and be inspired, comforted, and enlightened.

"Recipe" for Near-Death Guacamole: (one bite and at least you'll die happy)

1) Cut three avocados in half. Remove pits and save one for later. With a spoon or your fingers, scoop each half out of its skin. Better not to cut up but remove entire half. (this is a good way to tell if it's ripe and also makes for better texture later.)
2) Finely chop one small red onion. add to avocados.
3) Mince up one or two cloves of garlic if you feel like it, but it's not necessary as far as i'm concerned.
4) Finely chop half a jalapeno, discarding the seeds and spines. of course, this is really up to you depending on how hot you want it. Throw the whole thing in. Or 4, for all I care. Just, for the love of all things holy, WEAR GLOVES.
5) Using the back of a fork, mash up the avocados with the onion, etc. i like mine a little rustic--aka, kind of lumpy.
6) Squeeze in juice of a lime, or more to taste, add in kosher salt and black pepper also to taste.
7) Chop up a tomato if you like, and throw that in. I like the looks of it myself.
8) Chop up a load of cilantro and mix that in too.
9) If at this point you need a little more flavor (and you will), the answer is usually more lime juice and salt. And maybe a PINCH of sugar. (If you need a little somethin else, a little je ne sais quoi, a little sumpin-sumpin, green tabasco sauce is the way to go. It's heavenly. Try a couple of drops on a plain tortilla chip. poor man's salsa. delicious.)
10) Plop pit in center to keep guac green. Serve with chips. Or just a spoon. :)

Some of My Best Friends Are Juice

Dear Mouse,

Remember back in 2006 when I made my record with Crazy Producer Guy? Remember how I decided he was crazy as soon as I met him, because within five seconds of knowing me he was telling me all about how he healed a devastating back/neck injury through juicing? He'd had two unsuccessful operations and was suffering pain and immobility,and was going to go in for a third when a friend/naturopath/groupie/I forget what suggested he go on a juice fast. He bought a juicer,assembled a bunch of recipes, and within a few months his pain haddisappeared.

So had most of his body weight, apparently, and ability to control his rage, but I digress.

(whatever,the man doesn't eat,he'll never read this.)

No way, I thought,as I searched in my bag for mace. Juice is full of sugar, right? The South Beach diet disapproves. And let's not even get into how I feel about fasting. He's nuts.

Or was he? For one thing,my album ROCKS. For another,I, my friends,now LOVE juice and recommend it highly.

No dramatic healing to relate. I'm just doing a play that demands a lot of energy and I'm trying to cut back on caffeine. I also had these five or so pounds I wanted gone, and am not happy with my skin,ever. En route to rehearsal I discovered a couple of fresh juice places and started having one before commencing work, or with lunch,before eating food.

* I have lost probably 4-5 pounds(this is also due to walking to theatre daily)
* gives more energy than a cup of coffee
* NO sugar crash or bloatiness. Fresh juice really is different than the rows of supposedly "fresh" bottles in the store. Or (yech) Jamba Juice,which is basically an ice cream parlor.

NOTE FROM THE MOUSE: Case in point--as found online: Jamba Juice Chocolate Moo'd Power Smoothie (30 fl oz) = 900 calories, 10 g fat, 183 g carbs (166 g sugar)
"Seventy-five percent of this chain's "power smoothies" contain in excess of 100 grams of sugar."

* causes me to eat less and feel nourished
* skin looking great as of this writing
* mm, mm, tasty.
* NO weight gained. LOST.

Here are a few recommendations - JUICE IT UP!

Best Value: Juicy Lucy, 85 Avenue A
(between 5th St & 6th St). $2.95 for a small!! For fresh juice!! Try the carrot/apple/parsley "Energy Boost", or the Pineapple/Lemon "Hangover Helper".And they have a ton of supplements you can add for $.50 I think
Good VAlue w/better Choices: That Health Place on 3rd Av & 16th Street
Also good prices, slightly more$than Lucy but bigger portions and more interesting flavor/nutrient combos. Try the "Grandma's Veggie Something", a surprisingly sweet blend of carrot, beet,kale,apple and ginger. just do it.
Best Take-Home Option: Liquiteria, 170 2nd Ave at 14th St
ok this one is expensive - a juice here will run you like $6 or $7 but it is the real real thing and is delicious. A friend turned me on to this: Buy one or two of the pre-bottled juice blends in the fridge. Try one bottle of green juice (serious spinach/kale/parsley/chlorophyll concoction) and one "Killer" (lemon, ginger, serious cayenne)and mix at home.It'll be like $14 but it'll last you through three or four glasses. And trust me, you dont want the greens straight.They don't dress it up with anything.
Rolls Royce Juice: Pure Juice & Takeaway
OK I resisted this for a long time because itis astronomically expensive and the staff seems like they are on ecstasy. And once they tried to sell me a SINGLE piece of raw lasagna for $18!!! BUT once in a while I get a juice and I swear I can taste the difference. Instant energy charge and blissful nutrient rush. It's really fresh and they have really interesting recipes.I liked "Green Spice" which was tart and bold and involved serious greens cut with ginger and lime. Not sweet. fabulous. AND was FILLING. AND THEIR DISPOSABLE CUPS ARE 100% COMPOSTED CORN.

IMPORTANT: We are talking FRESH JUICE. The more fresh and raw and good the ingredients, the more FILLING and SATISFYING the juice will be. There is a world of difference between a Pure Juice and a Jamba Juice (or Odwalla. Yeah I said it.)

Happy Juicing!

The Boo

P.S. Important Caveat. If,like me, you have decided your life needs daily juice, you will want to get a juicer and make the stuff at home, because this WILL get hard on your wallet. I'll keep you posted on my search for the right appliance.

A Happy and Holy Birthday to me!

Dear Boo,

Despite my youthful demeanor, it is sad but true that i have recently turned the ripe old age of 21. So maybe its not the first time I've celebrated the ol Two-One, what of it? what's important is that as you know, we partied it out like it was Spring Break 1999. The boyfriend in a major brownie-point move, threw a party for me to celebrate with some of my closest friends, and a plastic tub full of champagne. Suffice it to say it was a good time. so good that I woke up looking sort of like Charlize Theron in Monster. But that's besides the point. The point was, it was a great party. One of the highlights was the fantastically gorgeously sugarbomb of a cake made by my lovely sister. I had been eagerly anticipating tasting this creation ever since this conversation with said sister:

Boo: I'm going to make a cake for your birthday. Any requests? You made me the Coconut Rum Cake i asked for for my birthday, so what do you want?

Mouse: No requests, just something yummy. Maybe with frosting.

(time passes)

Boo: I came up with the best cake idea for your birthday! Want me to tell you what it is?

Mouse: Well--

Boo: Or should I keep it a surprise? I'll keep it a surprise.

Mouse: Okay--

Boo: Okay, it's a magnolia cupcake cake!!!!!!

Despite the lack of suspense, the cake did not disappoint. Look at how dreamy and pink it is...





Now I lurrrve me some Magnolia cupcakes and this was like one large cupcake. Which i guess is what a cake is. since a cupcake is just a small version of a cake. Well I think we all learned something today.

NOTE from the Boo: You too can have Magnolia cupcakes without the agony of waiting in a line around the block in the West Village! The recipe is published online HERE

Incidentally, (because I can't seem to write an entry without some religious connotation) Pope Benedict XVI celebrated HIS 21st birthday (plus 60 years) just two days after mine! HE, sadly, did not get a pink magnolia cupcake cake to wish on. Instead, George W. presented him with this:



Not bad, I'd say. A little bland-- I mean, the white is kind of an obvious choice for his Holiness, and it looks to me like it's covered in fondant which as far as I'm concerned, is appropriate only for wedding cakes and only if you're not able to score a cupcake cake for the occasion. That said, what do you get the Pope for his birthday?? And what is he wishing for in this photo? A new toy from Brookstone? Talk about the guy who has everything. Including a direct line to the Lord--which I'd think would trump the ol birthday candle method. I imagine W standing behind him for the photo-op yelling, "what're you waitin for?! Blow em out, Benny! Blow em out and make a wish!!" just before launching into a rousing chorus of "How Old Are you Now"...

Anyway... it was happy birthday all around thanks in no small part to large quantities of butter and confectioner's sugar. Long live the frosting-topped muffin! Let it live in our hearts forever and ever Amen.

Love,
The Mouse

If I had only eaten one serving of Brisket, it would have been enough. DAYENU!

Dear Boo,

We missed you at the Seder last night (though somehow it seems apropos that you were out upholding the other half of our blog identity as "performing artist")! Not that there was, or ever is much actual sedering going on. Of course there was the ubiquitous asking of the four questions by our 27 year old cousin since the youngest members of the family apparently haven't taken enough time off from shrieking wildly or standing on their heads long enough to learn to read. (At one point during the reading, I looked over to see one of the youngest of our group face down in the fire place. I sympathized.) But mostly there was eating. Though the general observation was that no one ate as much this year as we usually do. I noted that you were missing and let them draw the conclusions :)

To summarize, there was gefilte fish with the neon red horseradish, and chopped liver to start, matzoh ball soup which was fragrant and salty and studded with carrots and parsley, apple sauce and the ubiquitous orange jellomold, potato kugel, matzoh pudding, matzoh farfel (spell check is not recognizing this word which either confirms my suspicion that it's not an actual word, or my suspicion that spellcheck was developed by the Christian right), three-pea salad (sugar snap, sweet peas, and snowpeas in a light dressing), the amazing pickles (sour and half-sour) and pickled red peppers (heaven), moist and meaty capons with perfectly browned skin and rich gravy, and 2, count em TWO BRISKETS. The second was not even brought out for public consumption which of course made me think--score! Brisket sandwich in T minus 24 hours. Sadly, when the doggie-bags came around to me, everyone else had already cleaned it out. piggies. I had to be satisfied with a tupperware-full of capon and farfel which aside from being delicious is worth it just for the combo of words. capon. farfel. capon. farfel. Three times fast.

Dessert was an exercize in flourless wonder, making the chemistry of baking all the more apparent. There was an orange sponge cake made with matzoh flour, an apple cake made with sweet and sugary apples and cinnamon and who knows what holding it together, pears poached in wine (3 of which were eaten by our 4 year old cousin. Boy am I glad I wasn't in that car on the way home. Drunk people are such backseat drivers), and the two cookies assigned to yours truly. These were, the coconut macaroons, which came out beautifully thankyouverymuch, and the chocolate contribution to the meal in the form of flourless chocolate walnut cookies our aunt had found in last week's NY Magazine. The macaroons went off without a hitch, turning out golden brown fluffy little mounts that I dipped in melted chocolate. The chocolate cookies were another story. I went shopping for the ingredients with the boyfriend in tow who though, generally patient, was a little antsy when i started reading labels of cocoa powder searching for a sign that any were "dutch-processed". Despite my instinct that there is actually a crucial difference between dutch processed and regular unsweetened, in my concern for getting my poor lovie out of the supermarket before 11pm on a friday night I ignored that nagging feeling and bought the unsweetened. BIG mistake. Hear me now, bakers. If a recipe has only a few ingredients and is already playing with fire by eliminating the basics like flour, make sure you get what it calls for. Turns out, the big difference I had forgotten is that dutch-processed cocoa has some kind of alkaline added to it to help it rise--an important element if there's no baking soda and especially if there's no flour. Chemistry, shmemistry. My cookies turned out like chocolate pancakes with little walnut pimples under the surface. Dance=10, Looks=3.

As it turned out, our cousin unknowingly made the same recipe! Looking at the two of ours side by side you never would have guessed it as hers were deep chocolate fudgy mounds which made me consider giving this recipe another shot. It is super easy, after all. In the end I think we all left with some renewed faith in slow cooked meat and the conviction that flourless chocolate items are not just for passover. DAYENU!

Love,
The Mouse

Hungry For More?
I happened to catch this adorable documentary called The Gefilte Fish Chronicles on PBS last year and again this year. If you've ever had a jewish grandmother or known one or have any kind of bossy maternal figure in your family who loves to cook, I think you'll appreciate it. Watch a clip here.

a new year's in killarney

New Year's Eve 2007 Killarney

Dear Mouse,

Let me just say I am not one of those NYE hooligans who believes you absolutely MUST "party down" in some big way, a la Times Square or hotel "black tie" events with strangers who are all uneasily nursing the feeling they've been had. But one year I went to my friend's house for an antiparty where we all sat and watched 80s movies for about 6 hours, and I learned that I'm also not the kind of person who says, a la the B's brother, "It's just New Year's, like." I want, as I said to the B, to do something.

The Boyfriend was meant to orchestrae something but did not as he became paralyzed with indecision. So there we were around Dec 27, in Cork, me thinking i was really going to spend NYE in the house watching them play video soccer. Enter this brilliant web site.

We got a last-minute room at The Malton which is sort of ridiculous but between us it wouldn't be too bad ($220 for the stay and a giant, sumptuous breakfast in the main hall).

On to the next important item. The B and brother looked on in slight puzzlement as I began searching online for an NYE dinner reservation at the 11th hour, a nearly impossible task. I withheld the impulse to shout "Dont you get it?? WHERE will we EAT?" No ham & cheese sandwiches on 12/31 for this girl. NYE is one of those times where it just feels imperative to sit down to something festive and sparkling and relaxed... it's like Christmas without Family obligations.

Also, it was our First New Years Eve Ever Together, in the same country, so there was that. I wanted a Date, for pete's sake.

I called the hotel and was told the main dining room would be closed (black tie ball) but "Peppers", the "more casual dining setting" would be open. Oy Vey (Isheen).

Crestfallen, I watched images of Bennigan's and TGI Friday's pass before my eyes.I was just consoling myself that a New Year's Bacon Cheeseburger might still be fun ("Maybe they'll have a fireplace"), when it got worse: the only time they could take us was 630PM.

I saw us eating in a desolate, cold pub with paper napkins while the daylight spilled through the windows and posh people looked in on us curiously. I saw us finishing dinner and then wandering around the hotel glancing at our watches and waiting for midnight.

I said yes and the B said we could shop for snacks to put in the room for later.

We got to Killarney around 3pm and undaunted by the grey sky and chill wind (you cant afford to get daunted if you ever want to go outside in Ireland) visited the National Park, where I hadn't been since childhood. We walked in the gardens of Muckross House, visited Torc waterfall, and hiked to the Meeting of the Waters, where the three Lakes of Killarney meet in one lagoon. We got caught in the rain. It was beautiful.

At this point, knowing we were going to eat early, we'd had nothing since breakfast. Starving and wet, we were ready to hit the off-license and the grocery store, where we went a little nuts.

They say don't shop when you're hungry. We arrived at the sumptuous, elegant, still-in-Christmas finery hotel hiding a bag from Tesco's carrying warm french loaves, salsa, plain potato crisps (i've had to explain that it is not ok to eat salsa with cool ranch doritos!!!), hummus, soft cheese, smoked salmon, olives & feta, brownies, a bottle of champagne and a bottle of red wine. All riiiight.

We showered and dressed and in finery headed to "Peppers".

GORGEOUS restaurant. Old world, high-ceilings, yellow walls. Not the sad empty pub of my nightmares. Granted, at the start we were the only people there. But it was romantic, not depressing. They turned on the Bing Crosby. We pulled our Christmas Cracker and won a set of measuring spoons. They brought a complimentary champagne which was tasty, a garlicky amuse bouche (salmon crostini of some kind), and a menu. Prix Fixe with five courses. Gorgeous. We ordered a half bottle of cabernet for after we finished the champagne and then they left us pretty well alone to eat and stare into each other's eyes and say witty things. The dining room started to fill up and it was lovely and christmasy and tinselled and candlelit. Kindly and proper waiter. All kinds of silverware I had to remember how to use. Here's what we had.

brown soda bread with butter from basket
Amuse-bouche: tiny garlic crostini with herb/salmon chopped pate whatever
glass champagne
1st course: smoked salmon & prawn thingy (B), goat cheese & red-pepper spring roll with tomato relish (me). It was the only wrong note in the meal. But I actually felt I couldn't eat anymore smoked salmon.
2nd course: carrot & ginger soup for both of us
Snowy, delicate champagne sorbet for each, in a cut-glass dish. Decorated with a single gooseberry. Beautiful.
Mains: prime rib of beef (B), rack of local Kerry roasted lamb w/mint sauce, mashed celeriac and roasted garlic cloves (me!! lucky, lucky me!)

The Mint sauce, far from the weird green jelly you get in the store, was tart and sour like a pistou kind of, with a bite, and the surprising freshness of mint coming through. DIVINE. I ate it medium,off the bone. My advice: if in Kerry, or anywhere in Ireland really, eat local meat.

Dessert: we were flagging at this point so decided to share (my decision, B's acquiesence) a beautiful, delicate, light grand marnier-laced creme brulee with fresh cream on the side. And coffee. Really good coffee in a silver pot, enough for two cups each.

Best New Years Eve Meal Ever. Peppers, my apologies for doubting you.

We then had to walk it off a bit ( we did, after all,have a bottle of champagne and a tray of insane snacks waiting upstairs with no refrigerator) so we went on a mini-pub crawl to work up an appetite.

Courtney's on Main Street seemed to be the place to go if you knew what was up. Crowd was young-ish but not students. There was live music - a trio of guys in cowboy hats playing ACDC and counting crows - but not deafening. Low light, great beers, a picture of Yeats on the wall under which we sat, drank Bulmer's and Guiness, texted all our friends, and noticed it was 11pm.

Back at the hotel we popped the champagne, set up our snack tray, and determinedly ate olives and feta and hummus and salsa with potato chips as we coasted into 20o08 on a cloud of gold bubbles and contentment.

No joke- RTE was broadcasting a retrospective of "the LOWs of 2007".Gotta love the Irish.

Winner : best new years ever.

Love,
The Boo

A Child's Christmas in Jersey (Second only to the literary epic, "The Goldbergs' Christmas", written by a very confused 6 year old Boo)

Dear Boo,

MMM, what a bacon-y and delicious first entry! As you mentioned, I'm sure half of our ancestors are davening in their graves while the other half are probably somewhere raising a pint and a bacon sandwich to your culinary adventures. Our christmas feast involved bacon as well, though in smaller, more contained portions than yours. I made the bacon wrapped goat cheese stuffed dates** (aka "Cherubs on Horseback", original name by Mouse,see below) which I am convinced are the key to paradise and probably peace in the middle east. The Boo: Speaking of davening in their graves...

I've heard a lot of vegetarians or former veggies say that bacon is the one thing they would either make an exception for, miss the most, or would run to first if the apocalypse were declared. (For me, my reconversion back to meat-eating came at my first job in New York in the form of little Old Bay roasted chicken wings* which I was serving day after day in the blistering heat at a certain painfully yuppified bakery-cum-restaurant to chelsea moms with enormous rocks and apparently nothing to do on a weekday except feed their brats $15 artisanal mac and cheese and generally make my life miserable. These chicken wings squawked at me day after day until I gave in and took a greasy and delicious bite...So. Chicken wings=delicious=bacon=the intersection between your Christmas and mine.)

Also in attendance at the appetizer party was the ubiquitous plate of shrimp with cocktail sauce, which oddly, was barely touched. that might have had something to do with the plethora of fried deliciousness that came in the form of many many little spring rolls made by our lovely cousins. They were stuffed with a combo of something like pork, cabbage, carrots, something something, and dried crushed angel wings. I ate about 12. seriously. Then there were the dates, (oh, the dates!), and ye olde baked brie with cranberries which I ate simply because I couldn't stand that no one else was eating it, especially since i'd made the topping. How I managed to eat a meal after this is a mystery even to me.

Mom had decided since we were 22 people, a 26 pound turkey was the only one that would do, so the enormous thing was heaved into the oven by our father who required a nap immediately after the effort. For the first time, we fell on the other side of the age old debate about stuffing in the turkey our out of the turkey. This year, due to the heft of the thing, we did out of the bird, which turned out to be easier and just as delicious. Even considering the fact that mother had made one of her first shopping mishaps and bought low-calorie whole wheat bread for the stuffing instead of white (i don't think it was ever detected. which just goes to show you, if you put enough butter and gravy on something, it ceases to matter what was underneath). On the subject of excess, there were not one but TWO enormous hams, one of which was never touched. Then there were minted peas (as a gesture towards something light and green), red cabbage (I refuse to ever do without this dish at Christmas), the best gravy yet, slightly soupy but delicious glazed balsamic onions, sweet potatoes which by some kind of odd chemical reaction, deflated and turned into a saucy kind of potato soup. Mom claimed she knew from the beginning that they were too liquidy and might end up with such a fate, but I suspect it had more to do with my discovery in the oven that they had been sitting at 350 to heat up with the saran wrap still sandwiched between the marshmallow topping and the tin foil cover. A chemical reaction between whatever frightening ingredients go into making and preserving a marshmallow and those that allow for a thin sheet of plastic to glue itself to all nearby surfaces is not all that surprising. Despite it all, they were a delicious saucy accompaniment to the turkey. The piece de la resistance was the brussels sprouts gratin which nearly gave me hardened arteries just from the smell. I think it involved a couple of sticks of butter, like an entire carton of heavy cream and a smaller one of light cream. Oh, and parmesan cheese. Oh, and proscuitto. Dad ate this and only this, which he declared "Brilliant!" and somehow got the idea that I had created it. So maybe I didn't deny it. What of it? Mom, aka Cholesterol-Party-Pooper found it slightly funky tasting and disappointing. But what does she know anyway.

For dessert, no pudding singing in the copper, as we decided to go light and simple this year. ahem. Remember that conversation, mom? So it was just a light snack of Ina's Outrageous brownies with ice cream, palmiers, a creamy lemon tart, a two layer coconut cake (baked by our fabulous aunt), and cognac balls which we made and then lost about 3 times somewhere between the kitchen and the basement fridge. I had a jolly old time wandering around yelling, "Mom! Where are my balls!?". Childish? perhaps. But it's only once a year.

Love,
The Mouse

* "Recipe" for Cherubs on Horseback (dubbed "Devils on Horseback" by the New York Times food editor, though his version involved stuffing them with almonds which i think sort of misses the whole point... Incidentally, "Angels on Horseback" are bacon-wrapped fried oysters with horseradish which is kind of amazing and which I had at a place called Fish in the west village).

Quantities are up to you--though I suggest making more than you planned since there was a near coup at my new years party when we ran out...
Use a soft goat cheese so it's easier to stuff into the dates. Take your pitted date and widen the hole with your pinky. take a pinch of cheese and squeeze it into one end until it's filled, kind of like spackling a hole in the wall. I use half a strip of regular-sliced bacon per date. Wrap around each stuffed piece and lay end-side down so you don't have to bother with toothpicks. Fill a tray with the dates about an inch apart. Put in the oven for about 5 minutes and when you're about to swoon from the aroma, use tongs to roll them over so each side gets crispy. I like my bacon on the well-done side so I'd leave them in another 7 minutes until they look browned and crispy and you can't stand it anymore. NOTE: people will want to grab these right out of the oven but for liabilities sake, dry them on a paper towel and let them cool SLIGHTLY before popping them in your mouth.

"* Recipe" for replicating Old Bay Chicken Wings (or drumsticks which I often use instead)

Take your chicken pieces. wash them. Yeah, yeah, I've heard you don't have to wash chicken, but come on. Gross. Dry and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Not too much salt because the Old Bay does a lot of that. Mince up some garlic and rub that on those birdies too. and some olive oil and maybe a squirt of lemon juice, but don't let it get too wet. Now, open a container of Old Bay seasoning (ask at the supermarket because I find they sometimes put it in a weird place, like by the ketchup instead of with the spices, or with the "ethnic" foods. (P.S., dont you just love that we still call it that??)) Sprinkle very generously with the Old Bay. Really, like go to town on those drumsticks because you really want them coated in the stuff. Now, stick them in the oven at like 350 or so. When they're partway done, squeeze a little more lemon on and maybe sprinkle more Old Bay on the bald spots. Then about 5 minutes before they're done, put them in the broiler to crisp them up. Serve with some glazed carrots or broccoli with butter and parmesan. Bring me some.

Uncharted Terrine: Christmas in Ireland

Dear Mouse,

Nollaig Shona Dhuit! and Happy New Year from Ireland, where as you know I've just spent my first Christmas ever in our lives away from our family, the States, and our mom's kitchen. ie, it has been my first Christmas without.cooking.anything. I feel the way I imagine some people might if they missed Church. The Boyfriends' parents seem slightly bemused at what must seem a crazed obsession with food on my part, which is really withdrawal. At the moment am setting up Baked Challah French Toast for the morning, using a loaf of challah that I found sitting incongruously in their bread box next to the regular "Family Pan" and biscuits. I think maybe it was an attempt to welcome me. Twice now whenever the word "jew" has come up in conversation, someone has rushed to point out the loaf on the counter with almost spastic eagerness. I digress.

The lack of food prep for me this Christmas, however, has left me with a lot more time to, well, eat... and to observe, and learn a bit about The Boyfriend's culture on the most important level of all: gastronomic.

To your right you will see a picture of the food I have come to understand as the essence of Christmas in Ireland: the Mince Pie.



OK. See if you can stay with me. "Mince" in Ireland usually refers to ground meat, ie., hamburger. This is certainly a part of the world where they make meat pies. However, a Mince Pie contains dried fruit, nuts, dark sugars, butter...no meat at all. Despite this, the term for Mince Pie filling is "Mincemeat". What the hell.

Maybe once in history it took the form of a pie as we know it, a large round crusted thing from the oven, meant for an entire party. I haven't seen them that way here at all. The role of the Big Family Christmas Dessert is ably played here by the 'Christmas Cake', which comes from the same family of flavors: dark as molasses, spicy, rich, with a heavy moist character and usually a trace of alcohol, as in the Brandy Butter that is often the accompaniment. We had such a pudding on Christmas, from Marks & Spencer's: dark, cut into slices and steamed over a pan of water on the stove, generously doused with the drunken buttery topping. God Bless Us, Every One!

The Mince Pie is EVERYWHERE during this season.It's not really a pie. It's a snack. Perhaps it's the size, but it seems no one regards it as dessert per se.. more something you can eat AFTER dessert. Or anytime. The Boyfriend has a tray in his pantry, as does the B's Brother. The shops sell them in the "Christmas" section alongside pates and stilton. Best of all, when we alighted from the train in Cork (3 hours from Dublin) there was a smiling, apple-cheeked, santa's elf beneath a glittering tree, welcoming travelers home with a tray of mince pies. Not selling them. Just giving them out... because it was Christmas. (And no one was like "are you kidding, they're probably dosed"... because it's Ireland.)

On December 20, I got a ride home to Dublin from a show in Waterford with another band. When I was climbing into the backseat the guitarist pointed to the seat and said "help yourself". There they were, in a lovely white box, snowy from confectioner's sugar and slightly frozen on the black upholstery of the back seat. I had one. Rock & roll? Maybe not, but lovely manners.

(There was also a ham & cheese sandwich, which I declined. By the way, what the hell is up with the Ham & Cheese Sandwiches? How is it possible for an entire country to subsist on basically this one kind of meat, in this one form? Is it just The Boyfriend's Family? I can't believe how many of these things I've eaten over the last three weeks.)


In closing, I would like to say that I also cannot believe how much bacon this country eats. Ireland is changing, for sure, at a remarkable pace... there are gourmet shops and restaurants and martini bars and fancy coffee chains and an "Italian Quarter" in Dublin with some great food. It's not the bacon, cabbage and stout situation of yesteryear. With immigration and the Celtic Tiger came globalization and the hunger for new, more, and better. I for one am thrilled for them that the FoodScape is changing.... But it does warm my heart to see some things remain SO IRISH. The country's relationship with bacon, to me, is the prime example of this.

Last week in Waterford, I ate a plate of rigatoni dressed in tomato sauce with chorizo, red chilies, and bacon. (Leave alone the "mexican sausage in the italian food" issue for the moment; Ireland is freakin' crazy for the stuff and it is in everything). Bacon. Not pancetta. Not, mind you, chopped into the sauce or flavoring the meal. Five or Six healthy strips of honest to goodness meaty, crispy bacon, PILED on TOP of my pasta as if it were a plate of scrambled eggs.

I have also -- swear to the gods of trayf and innovative cuisine - seen bacon on the menu in Dublin's most popular JAPANESE restaurant, YAMAMORI. In the sushi section. I think it was wrapped around shrimp or something.

OK. Gotta go. I have a tray of french toast batter to prepare for the morning. I am also going to prep the ingredients for the loaf of "Spotted Dog" I will be making to give to the Boyfriend's Fam, who aren't going to eat it as it heretically replaces the raisins in the traditional "railway cake" with chocolate chips. But it IS a recipe from the Darina Allen book, which they gave me, and Ballymaloe is right here in Cork. Maybe there's hope.

HAPPY NEW YEAR! How was your holiday?

Love
The Boo

P.S. I forgot to say that for Xmas Dinner we had turkey and ham slices sandwiched together with stuffing (sliced from a tube), potatoes roasted and mashed, carrot/parsnip mash, brussels sprouts and red pickled cabbage just like at home! For a first course we had shrimps and locally smoked salmon from right here in Cobh, and a fish terrine (which was the whole reason for the title for this blog in the first place).

Hungry For More?
Lodgings Suggestion: Harrison's Gastropub in London (bacon sandwiches brought up to your room in the AM. Near King's Cross Station)