Baker's Dozen #2: Chef Josh Stokes

Dear Boo,

Bout time for another Baker's Dozen, eh? Sheesh, you'd think we don't have any friends. Well! Chef Josh is no stranger to A Mouse Bouche--you may remember him from such episodes as Hamlet the Pig, the concord grape and habanero jam session, and that time I conveniently broke my elbow and he had to take over cooking the Boyfriend's Birthday Dinner. He's one of my most favorite people, and not just because he feeds me pretty much every time I see him. I've learned so much from watching him cook, and from his company Grill A Chef, which is basically dedicated to helping home cooks (and eaters) with any question, large or small. And believe me, I've asked them all. More than anything, he's an incredible chef. After a spring break trip to New Orleans during college, Chef Josh "saw his booze budget being funneled into restaurants instead", and decided to take a break from a sculpture degree to pursue becoming a professional chef. Since then he's worked in some of the greatest kitchens in Italy, New York, and as a private chef for some of the biggest names in entertainment and finance. But even better, is his totally democratic approach to cooking and eating: Whether it's a bucket of thighs from KFC, or foie gras at Gramercy Tavern (where he just recently did a stint in the kitchen), or something a measly little home cook like me has thrown together, if it's tasty, Josh will eat it and love it. In just a few short weeks, The Boyfriend and I will be in New Orleans celebrating Chef Josh and his lovely and brilliant lady Kate's wedding. Highlights? A crawfish boil the night before, and, drumroll please, a PIG BAR at the reception. Also I hear tell of late night goody-bag muffaletta on our way out the door. Jealous?

Without further ado, it's my turn to grill this Chef...

1) What are your earliest food memories?

I remember as a kid in Missouri, we would pick a lot of corn at an adjacent farm and spend the day peeling it, boiling it, and flash freezing it. I would eat as much as I could, it was like candy.
I also remember BLT's in late summer. Crispy bacon, iceberg lettuce and the perfect tomato on toasted wonder bread. It was one of my favorite things in the world.

2) What was the first meal you made for your lovely wife?

I made her a four course meal around arctic char, there was a tar tare with crispy skin, a sliced cured salad, and a slow roasted course. After the first course she told me that dinner was very delicious and asked what was for dessert.

3) If The Boyfriend were to call you and tell you he wanted to make a romantic dinner for me, what would you recommend? Keep in mind, he knows his way around the kitchen but he's no expert.

I'd recommend super simple fresh preparations. I think seafood works great, oysters, shrimp cocktail, mussels, a simple ceviche . . . . it's easy to do, sexy to eat, and doesn't weigh you down for any post-meal action . . . . if you know what I mean.

4) What do you have for dinner when you're home alone?

I always order Indian. I love it, but my wife will never go for it. So while the cat's away . . . .

5) What are the top mistakes home cooks make that could be easily solved?

The biggest misstep I see is with salt. People seemed petrified by the stuff, but you have to properly season your food, every step of the way. Salting at the beginning or end of a preparation doesn't cut it.

6) What food trend do you find totally irritating?

All of them. I am the ultimate post-modernist when it comes to food. Every food trend I've come across is a is an age old tradition with a new paint job and price tag. Take garlic scapes, last spring they were all over menus, and in magazines. Farmers were charging a premium. The year before, the majority of the public were passing them over and farmers were throwing them away.
The same is true for the other trends in the city over the years. Fried chicken? BBQ? Hamburgers? Ramen noodles?

7) Okay, weigh in on this debate for me: If a special on a menu features a main ingredient that I can find elsewhere on the regular menu, I assume it means they're trying to get rid of too much product that's about to go bad, and I don't order it. Am I being ridiculous?

This is totally circumstantial. It depends mostly on the place, sometimes you'll come across what you described. But more often I would suspect that they just bought a bunch of something that is great and/or has a short season. We're about to have ramps in the market, they'll show up everywhere. Excited chefs, (myself included) are bound to buy more than they know what to do with.
Hence the ramp special on the menu. . . . . I'd order it.

8) Favorite hangover cure?

Biscuits and gravy, no question.

9) The Boo and I grew up as products of a multi-cultural household, with parents from very different religious backgrounds. You recently had an adorable baby girl who faces a similar complexity: Dad is a chef who loves meat, and mom is a lifelong vegetarian. How do you plan on raising the munchkin?

She will eat plenty of vegetables . . . . wrapped in bacon.

10) Favorite pizza topping?

Arugula and prosciutto di Parma.

11) What do you do when you go to someone's house for dinner and the food is really terrible?

Smile and say thank you.

12) I've heard chefs like to play a game of "last supper"--as in, what your final meal would be if you could choose. What would yours be?

It would be something super simple and fresh. Like a perfect peach, or a really nice tomato with salt and olive oil and some crusty bread. Maybe even a BLT.

13) Your company, Grill A Chef, has an awesome tag-line, "advice from scratch". Who came up with that, and does this person's brilliance know no bounds?

Ha, you have a good point. I couldn't come up with anything good, so I put the word out to my friends and got a lot of response. One lucky rodent (who shall remain shameless) had the perfect tag-line for me. I still owe her a steak dinner.

*****

Well, there you have it--all roads lead back to A Mouse Bouche. Thanks to Chef Josh for taking the time to participate in our Baker's Dozen. Thirteen questions are too brief, I know, so if there's anything I didn't ask that you're dying to find out, Boo, you don't have to wait til the next time we roast a pig. You can always visit Josh at www.grillachef.com, or at Chelsea Market or the Union Square Greenmarket where you can grill him in person. Now, excuse me, I have a ribeye to finish...

Love,

The Mouse

Mexico City, NJ

Dear Mouse,

Hello from Red Bank! I've learned some words.

epazote

queso fresco

salsa roja

pan dulce

chilaquiles. Say that five times fast.

chilaquileschilaquileschilaquileschilaquileschilaquilesineedanotherplateofthempleaseandsometums.

So, it's Spring! Season of hyacinth, crocus, new beginnings, sugar snaps, fava beans, freezing weather, coughing up a lung on stage, and Mucinex DM. As it turns out, it is simply impossible to clearly say, "But here is Orestes, ready to die", with a ricola wedged in your cheek.

Other than that, the remounting of the show in our home state has been a breeze. The theatre is spacious and lovely (and just steps! away from the train station! ahem), the re-staging is effective and exciting, the acoustics rock, the Thursday night cover band at the bar behind the theatre lets me sing with them!, and I'm generally wallowing in NJ nostalgia of the kind I didn't know I had. I mean ...there's a WAWA!!

One thing that I didn't really expect to discover was anything new on the food front. I mean, as you might expect, there is a pizza parlor every three blocks in this town. If you want a hoagie or a meatball parm, you're all set. Natch. Go here for the arancini (risotto ball with mozarella center).

But the Italians aren't the only ones coming to the table. Get off the train and the first thing you'll see (besides the theatre!ahem) is the sign for Juanito's Gourmet Mexican Bakery. Turn left to behold Senor Peppers restaurant. Around the block from that is La Juquila Mexican Grocery. And that's just what I know so far.

I've become a regular at the Mexican Bakery. It's not that the coffee's so great (it's not), it's just cheap, available in vanilla and hazelnut, and is directly in my line of vision upon waking. But I find myself coming back to look at the rows of pan dulce (sweet bread) and imagine biting through the sugary crust.

Then there's the shelf of Mexican junk food - packaged mini-bunuelos with brand names like 'Bimbo'. I have to remind myself that just because it's not American doesn't mean it's not disgusting.

On our third day here, Orestes - who, as far as I know, doesn't cook - announced that he would be making breakfast for our whole crew the next morning. I knew he had some secret Food Plan going (there were furtive phone calls in Spanish and obscure questions like "how do you shred a chicken?"), but I didn't know what.

I came downstairs the next morning to this:

Picture taken with dish already half-eaten. Typical Hart.

Let me walk you through this. Those fiery red-orange triangles? Tortilla chips - NOT Doritos - coated in hot red salsa and fried up in a pan like scrambled eggs. (There were also scrambled eggs). So: Layer of salsa-fied chips. Layer of scrambled eggs. Layer of shredded chicken. Layer of sliced avocado. Layer of crumbled, snowy-white queso fresco. Sprinkling of chopped epazote (dark leafy green that reminded me of parsley, but with an edge.) The result: chilaquiles, a spicy, crunchy breakfast treat that will either kill you or cure your hangover. I loved it.

Now, Mouse, you know me. I like things HOT. I've always felt that there's almost nothing short of profiteroles that can't be improved with a smudge of wasabi or a sprinkling of red pepper flakes. And I made it through a plate and a half of this stuff no problem. But I'm just saying, wow. Citizens, beware, and carry antacids.

Actually, the salsa roja is my favorite part of the whole thing because of its back story. Orestes had risen bright and early and descended on the Mexican grocery, buying up bags of ancho chiles and fresh tomatoes with the intent to make the salsa himself. A block away from the store, he realized he maybe had not given himself enough time to learn to do this and get breakfast on the table in the same morning. He was explaining to the amused and intrigued women at the store, ("How do you know what chilaquiles are?!") that perhaps he would just buy a jar of salsa, when they invited him into their kitchen and made it themselves from the ingredients he'd bought. Now that's a food adventure. Eating the fresh, salty, fire-engine red puree that morning and hearing the story, I felt as if I'd just received a card saying "Welcome to Red Bank"... only much more tasty.

We open tomorrow!! and close April 11. Come visit me. The theatre's really close to the train station. :-)

Love,

The Boo

Blame it on the Berry

Please forgive the photos in this post. I was under the influence. But let me explain.

Dear Boo,

Lemme tell you about the party I went to a couple weeks ago. Fun bar, nice people, cheap drinks. The food, though, was a little strange: a vast and colorful mixture of raw kale, piles of strawberries, a tub of sour cream, bottles of hot sauce, jars of pickles, watermelon, and raw garlic cloves. But even stranger than the menu was the fact that the guests, myself included, were piling their plates high, happily stuffing their faces, and exclaiming excitedly as they sucked on slices of limes. Blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohollll, you say? Oh no, Jamie. Not this time.

Blame it on the magic berries.

Yes, that's right. At our friend DaveRed's birthday party, I entered the world of Jack and the Beanstalk. Some time ago, the Times published an article about these tiny miracle fruits and the trend they've produced of "Taste-tripping parties". The basic story with these berries is that they alter your sense of taste for anywhere from 15 minutes to 2 hours, during which sour foods taste remarkably sweet and one generally experiences a major mindf$#@k. Yes, that's a technical term. Since reading about them, DaveRed had been dying to try it and thought his birthday would be the perfect occasion. So, ever the organizer, he ordered a batch of berries from some guy in a faraway magical land, found a bar that wouldn't mind if we took over a few tables, covered them with a random (and slightly revolting) assortment of food which we had been assigned to bring, and then drank the collective kool-aid, so to speak.

The spread.

I have to say, as a perpetual goody-two-shoes who always seems to be in the 2% of people with averse reactions to anything from acne medication to jalapenos, I was kind of freaked out about trying this. What if the effects were permanent?! What if I forever lost the joy that comes with a extra sour pickle, a margarita on the rocks? What if the delicate balance of sour/sweet/salty of a good pad thai or papaya salad was forever upset? I'd kill myself, that's what.
I read extensively on the subject and found that while miracle berries are not approved by the FDA, they do contain something called miraculin (no joke) which was at one time sold in pill form as an artificial sweetener. They're also sometimes used by cancer patients undergoing chemo to combat the metallic taste produced by treatment. Armed with this information, a good dose of peer pressure, and a confidence-boosting cocktail, I decided to go for it.

So, you're wondering, how did it taste?

The berry itself was sort of tart and sweet, and we were instructed to suck on it until it mostly dissolved and we could spit out the seed (I never did find out what happens if you eat that part. I suspect something terrible.)

I first realized it had hit me when I took a sip of my vodka soda with lime and found it tasted like someone had splashed it with Sprite. I yelped and grabbed a slice of lime which I stuck in my mouth. It tasted like it had been dipped in sugar--like a very intense limeade. Next I grabbed a grapefruit which was delicious as well--like the ripest, most flavorful citrus with an intense sweetness and none of the bite. I ran around the table, following other people's oohs and ahhs and consuming a slightly dangerous combination of acidic foods only a pregnant woman or a house pet would otherwise consider.

The results?
Sour cream: Amazing, like smooth, creamy cheesecake.
Raspberries: Sweeter than normal, like the ripest, most perfect berry.
Sour cream and raspberries: a deadly and delicious combination, eaten unabashedly in heaping spoonfuls by all present.

Broccoli sprinkled with lemon juice: All the deliciousness with none of the woody, raw, bitter or sour flavors
Salt and Vinegar chips: Tasty as always. But since I particularly like the painful sourness and acidity, I found them a bit lacking in edge.
Mustard: Tasted like it had been mixed with honey. But, since the berry doesn't do anything for your sense of smell, it was kind of gross to eat by the spoonful.
Sour pickles: Weird. Just....weird.
Unsweetened Chocolate: Just as disgusting as it was pre-berry.
Kale: All the bright, green, beautiful flavor, without any of the bitterness.
Cherry Tomatoes: What I imagine a tomato would taste like were I to pluck it off the vine in a sun-dappled field in the Italian countryside. Yes, that good.
Lettuce: Tasted like lettuce.

After about an hour and a half, the effects had worn off entirely. Was it fun? Yes! Would I do it again? Sure! Will this be the gateway to a world full of mind-altering hallucinogens? Probably not. About 15 minutes into the trip, I began panicking that the berry was losing its edge, and with a wild, hungry look in my eye, I turned to my friend and said, "I think it's gone! Should I eat another one?? I think I need another one!! SOMEONE GIVE ME ANOTHER ONE!" She pried my hands off her collar and handed me a spoonful of hot sauce. "I think you've had plenty," she said.

Love,

The Mouse

Keep Shucking That Chicken*

Dear Mouse,

I can't remember the Canadian National Anthem. I'm pretty sure that it doesn't start out “O, Canada, How Are You...?”, but that's how it goes in my mind. ( I could totally look it up right now, but I'm not going to, because I prefer my version.)

Why, you might ask, am I feeling the urge to sing the praises of our Neighbors to the North? Oh, sure, there was that whole Olympics thing. The actor house did spend a good few hours watching them clog in mohawks and spout slam poetry from atop a glacier (oh, and kick ass at winter sports). We've also ravenously devoured all three seasons of the divine Canadian theatre-geek series "Slings and Arrows" in the past month (I am saving myself for Jeffrey Tennant; so what if he's fictional. And insane.) But the real gold medal for Canada, if you will, for me, came in this form:

Behold: the Raspberry Point Oyster, from Prince Edward Island (home of Anne of Green Gables! Oh its all too much)

This is one of those moments that tests my mettle as a food blogger. I make a delicious, unbelievably affordable, stylish, blogworthy food discovery and ... do I share it in this forum and risk losing, say, any chance of getting a seat at the bar ever again? Or do I simply keep my mouth shut about the HALF PRICE RAW BAR at Old Ebbitts Grill in DC after 11PM on Thursday? Damn! Well, I've never been any good at keeping secrets.

(As it happens, a local DC friend informed me tonight that it is a big ol tourist destination, so the cat was never in the bag to begin with. But for ME it was a big discovery. Read on.)

I don't care if it's touristy. I could go on and on. I remember saying that all it needed was a stage set up for me to perform and there would be pretty much everything I need in life. First off, the lighting is perfect. Almost nothing from above; all warm, amber lamplight everywhere, everyone looks gorgeous. You enter into a vast, seemingly endless labyrinth of rooms, tables, bars, antique paintings... you're immediately lost, but don't mind.The great, classic rock songs playing continuously ( a big plus for me) are at the perfect volume - loud enough to notice, soft enough to hold audible conversation about AC/DC. The snappy-dressed, striped-shirt-and-bowtie-bartenders (ask for Larry), who asked us what theatre we were from (!). And the DRINKS! Two words: pitch-perfect, ice-cold, three-olive dirty vodka martini (ok, I had more than one). The ruby-violet pomegranate martini ordered by my companions: also no slouch. The bold, built-for-two, gorgeous desserts like peanut butter pie and pear crumble.

And, bien sur:

“#3 Walrus Platter”

Clockwise in a spiral: Raspberry Point and Saint-Simon oysters, clams, fat shrimp cocktail, cocktail sauce with horseradish, vinegar and lemon wedge, oyster crackers. Cost during Half Price? $21.

I shared the above with the SM, but I watched Orestes go it alone. Thinking about the relative absence of usual demons - fat, calories, chemical additives - I asked, “What does happen to you if you eat too many raw oysters?Anything?” He looked at me over the cocktail sauce, shell in hand, and said, “You have an orgasm.”

Now, for the uninitiated: I do not consider myself an oyster expert. I'm not going to be able to cover all the history, traditions, etiquette, and superstition in this blog post, and I wouldn't try. I'm not equipped, and there are plenty of other places you can read that stuff. I'm also not going to necessarily try to describe the experience. There are some things, like, oh, say, sex, or whiffleball, that are simply ineffable. When you have not yet been through it yourself, the practice seems bizarre and perhaps even revolting, but ...

I seriously have been trying for 20 minutes to insert a decent "shucking" joke in here, and now I have to get to the matinee. Please feel free to submit your own.

I will say this, for your consideration: Oysters 'respond to irritation' by producing pearls. (Oh, if we all did so!) Their gender is indistinguishable from the outside, and they can change their sex one or more times during their life. And, considering the Oyster Shooter, can be consumed as either a snack or a cocktail. O, sweet mystery of life....!

And, if and when you decide you're ready, allow me to give a few guidelines.

Dress for the occasion. Heels, maybe. Definitely jewelry. It IS a performance. A dance, if you will. Not just a snack. I'm telling you this not to intimidate you but to get the idea across that it's a gorgeous, privileged, activity performed for yourself, not an audience, if that makes sense. All of the hoo-hah contributes to the taste sensation. Really.

Eat dinner beforehand. I know it sounds counter intuitive, and I'm not suggesting you go stuffed and completely anti-food, but oysters should not be eaten for the wrong reason (ie, out of something as base and coarse as hunger.) They are subtle creatures, and , yes, small. If you're starving, you'll scarf them down and miss the whole point. They're also not that filling, and god knows how many you'll have to eat to feel full (and I refer you to the potentially embarrassing result of overindulgence suggested above).

And now...

Take the tiny adorable silver fork in hand, and the beautiful scalloped shell in the other. Savor the sensation that you are, oh, Brooke Astor, or Marie Antoinette, for a moment. Sit up straight in your imaginary corset (holding a full martini glass is good practice for this) so as not to spill any of the oyster “liquor” . Spear the slippery little thing on the fork, dip it into the vinegar and get it back in the shell. Dont panic if you drop it in, but get it back for the love of god. Give the cocktail sauce & horseradish a good stir to mix them up and place a small drop (to taste) atop your oyster. Put the shell to your lips, tilt your head back. Slurp. ...

-I will head off the “chew or swallow whole” debate here by saying I keep my teeth out of it but I do somewhat crush the bivalve against my upper palate with my tongue on the way down to maximize the experience-

...And it's as if the whole ocean suddenly lives at the back of your throat. Mermaids are singing. Aphrodite lifting you into her seashell, rising on the foam. Brine, salt, lemon, horseradish. Mm.

I'll miss you, DC. Next stop: Red Bank NJ. Do you think they have oysters there?

Love,

The Boo

*with apologies to much-mocked anchorman Ernie Anastos and to anyone here who hasn't seen this clip and thought this post would be about chicken.

Grandma's Stuffed Cabbage

Dear Boo,

Don't you love how everyone says their Grandmother was "the best cook!"? We'll spare their feelings by stifling our smug laughter, but well, they're just wrong. Sylvia Paley was the. best. period. Her chocolate chip cookies were transcendent, eliciting coos from every virgin taster, her pancakes the perfect mix of airy fluff and thin crispy edges, her brisket unlike any I've tasted since (sorry, auntie and mom), her gravy liquid gold, her fried kreplach superior to any soup dumpling, pierogi, or ravioli, and her fried chicken and corn fritters utter bliss drizzled with maple syrup. Oh, and the apple pie. Need I attempt to describe it? Let's just say it has lead to a lifetime of disappointment every time I take a bite of an apple dessert. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING can compare.

One--maybe the only--dish that she used to make that I would happily pass up as a child was her stuffed cabbage. I just wasn't into cabbage, period. And the rest of it--the sweet and sour tomato sauce, the rice and meat, didn't do it for me either. Ah, the follies of youth. Flashforward some years later:
1) I go to Prague for a semester and come to adore all things cabbage, a love I suspect was lying there dormant all along, entwined inextricably with my eastern european roots.
2) I start cooking, and appreciating all kinds of tastes I had previously rejected.
3) I go to Veselka in the East Village and seeing stuffed cabbage on the menu, am struck with a painful case of nostalgia. Unfortunately, what arrives is a brick of dense cabbage-wrapped meat and rice, covered with a gluey, white, mushroom sauce that I just cannot comprehend (those crazy Ukranians). Where is the tomato sauce? The moist seasoned meat? The perfect sweet/sour/bitter/juicy combination that only a Polish Grandma, and only OUR Polish Grandma could conjure? The desire for her stuffed cabbage practically gnaws at my insides.

Two years later, I actually get up the nerve to make it.

First, I email mom and Auntie A, and ask for the recipe....

I should have known better. Recipe? HA!

The email I received back from mom read as follows:

here's what I have on a faded piece of yellow pad paper, it says:

"Parboil leaves

meat

l sm. can tomatoes

2T rice

1/2 sm onion grated

garlic

balls into leaves"

"cut up onion and sautee

add 1/2 can tomatoe sauce w/ 1 can boiling H2O

little ketchup

1/2 lemon

brown sugar

T orange jam or ginger....

cook 1 hr."

enjoy...my mouth is watering...i'll have to be making this too...xoma

The only other clue I get is that the "ginger" referred to is crushed gingersnap cookies. amazing.

Oh, Mom. So thorough. "meat"? How much? What kind? Should I season it? Brown it first? How much garlic? What is a "small can" of tomatoes? With their juice? Without? Cook 1 hour? In the oven? On the stove? Covered? Uncovered? Singing the Polish national anthem?

Okay, so maybe I was overthinking things. But to be safe, I looked up some recipes. Nothing I found remotely resembled the ingredients or proportions mom had sent me. Complicating things were that every eastern european country (and some asian) has their own version of stuffed cabbage, and while Grandma's is pretty traditionally polish, it's kind of its own thing (aka the best you will ever eat). Finally, I came upon this recipe which was comparable in its proportions and filled in some blanks for me.

To be sure, it was an involved process, but oh so worth it. While I know Grandma's little hands would have moved like lightning through the "balls into leaves" step, I think she would have been proud of the result. There were some missteps, some torn leaves, some complaints from the living room of "are you done yet? I haven't seen you in like an hour." But all was forgotten once the aroma of tomato, garlic, and meat started to fill the apartment, our stomachs started grumbling happily, and something deep inside me--call it heritage, call it genetics, call it nostalgia--said gently but firmly (possibly with a slight Polish accent, in an octave a tinge higher than most), "You hungry? Eat some of this cheese. It'll be ready soon."

Love,

The Mouse

Grandma's Stuffed Cabbage (adapted slightly only out of necessity by the Mouse, with consultation from Gourmet)

1 onion, thinly sliced
1 28 oz can of whole peeled tomatoes
1 T ketchup
3 T brown sugar
1-2 T crushed gingersnap cookies (if you're going to use 2, reduce brown sugar)
juice of half a lemon
2 teaspoons salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1 medium/large head of green cabbage (about 2lbs)
1 lb ground beef
1 clove of garlic
1/2 small onion, grated
3 T white rice
2 teaspoons salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper

Making sauce:
Cook onion in oil in a 12-inch deep heavy skillet over moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until golden, 12 to 15 minutes. Add tomatoes with juice, reserving about 3 Tablespoons of the juice. Add lemon juice, ketchup, brown sugar, ground gingersnaps, salt, and pepper and simmer, uncovered, breaking up tomatoes into smaller pieces with a wooden spoon and stirring occasionally, 30 minutes.

Stuffing cabbage:
Carefully so as not to tear them, remove leaves from cabbage and parboil in a pot of salted water until tender, a few minutes. If it is too hard to separate leaves, you can also boil the head whole for about 5 minutes, though the inner leaves may need another dunk to soften them. Transfer cabbage with a large slotted spoon to a large bowl of ice and cold water to stop cooking, then drain in a colander. Separate leaves, then cut off and reserve tough stem ends. Discard core. Pat leaves dry with paper towels.

Stir together beef, rice, 2 Tablespoons of tomato juice and 1 T of water, grated onion, garlic, salt, and pepper. Spread out 1 large cabbage leaf on a work surface and put 2 tablespoons filling in center. Fold both sides of leaf toward center (over filling, kind of like a taco), then fold bottom up over filling and roll tightly into a cylinder. Stuff remaining cabbage leaves in same manner, using less filling for smaller leaves.

Arrange stuffed cabbage rolls, seam sides down, in 1 layer over sauce and simmer, covered, 1 1/2 hours.

Serve by itself, or with mashed potatoes if you need two starches, like me.

P.S. I gave mom a taste for later, since she'd already had dinner, and she proclaimed it tasted "just like Grandma's." Thanks, mom. And thanks, Baba.

When Life Gives You Apples...

"Comrades - real comrades - are your family. Bonds of the spirit are stronger than blood, and a true friend is worth a thousand kin."

-Euripides, 'Orestes'. (Written 2,400 years ago.) (Yes, this includes Mice.)

"I guess you're just what I needed/ I needed someone to feed" - the Cars

Dear Mouse,

There were quite a few contenders for the title of this post, most of them along the lines of "Happy Valentines Day To Me", "Snowpocalypse Now", or the ever popular, "Really??!!??" But none of these had anything to do with food.

I'm thinking of selling the movie rights to my week/end. You can't write this s**t. Of course, I'd have to alter it somewhat. No one would believe it all, and I would be sent home from the pitch meeting with a stern admonition to review all of Sex & the City's plotlines before attempting so blatantly to steal. I believe it would read more like Sex & the City meets 'Lost' with a sprinkling of 'Planes Trains and Automobiles' and a soupcon of 'Schindler's List'.

I can't possibly write it all out. I just tried like five times and erased it all, boring myself. How bout this tried and true format instead?

Things To Remember:

* Cabin fever is real. Snowmaggeddon hit us in DC resulting in 4 cancelled shows and 3 days housebound. I stopped making eye contact and hid in the bathtub.

* "Snowmaggedon" is ridiculous.

* If your band meeting gets rescheduled more than 3 times, it's not going to happen, even if you came into NYC for it.

* It is possible for a theatre to both cancel your show AND call you back to DC a day early so you can be there to not do it.

* Amtrak will never ask to look at your ID, unless of course you have to get back to DC to not do your show, and have left your ID there and only realize this when it's too late.

* Amtrak will not accept a frantically faxed photocopy from your stage manager.

* Nothing could close the Post Office. Not rain, nor snow, nor sleet, nor - oh, wait, except snow.

* If you get up at 530 for the 7AM bus, all buses will be canceled.

* If you are planning to break up with someone, it's best to turn your phone off while discussing this with friends, lest you accidentally call her and leave this conversation in voicemail form ... on Valentine's Day.

* When life gives you bad apples, make this:

Ye Olde Ina Garten Apple Crisp. Perfect.

Resist the temptation to take it out early, and eat it with vanilla ice cream.

I know I say this all the freakin' time and it's probably why we don't have a book deal, but I am just consistently and joyfully amazed by the power of community and by the simple and significant role that food/cooking has within that. As you noted in the past post, there's something about transforming raw materials into delicious sustenance with your own two hands that gives one hope and perspective. Thanks to the little transient family in the actor house, what could have been a really bad day ended with a glowing table, good stories, and a delicious, sweet spiced apple crisp with orange zest and bubbling caramel edges. This morning, our Orestes pointed out a bag of apples he'd bought that were in danger of going south and asked "Do you think we could make something out of these?" With a big smile on my face, I set to peeling ... and healing. Happy Valentines Day after all.

Love,

The Boo

P.S. I have also now eaten fried Milky Way at this "Pittsburgh Style" (What??) dive bar. Not quite as healing.

Baked Pasta Kitchen Therapy

Dear Boo,

I've recently developed, entirely by accident, a sort of unlikely ritual. On my way home from work at my field placement, exhausted emotionally and physically by a day spent in a middle school, I stop at the farmers market or supermarket (or both), pick up ingredients for dinner, return home, and while listening to the Boyfriend's stories of the day, spend a good hour or two in the kitchen, making dinner. At first I thought I might really be losing it. Why on earth, after a day in which my every store of empathy, compassion, energy, sanity, and sense of order has been taxed, challenged, and employed in mysterious and beautiful ways, do I find myself compelled to navigate the treacherous and narrow aisles of a supermarket and stand in the kitchen and peel potatoes and carrots, or fry endless batches of eggplant, in preparation for a much too elaborate weekday dinner? Wouldn't it be so much healthier and more normal to come straight home, flop onto the couch, demand the Boyfriend mix me a drink, put my feet up and order some thai? I mean, don't get me wrong, we do that a fair amount too. But lately it seems, what my body and heart need is this decompression, a couple of hours to put between my day as a social work intern, adrift at times without a map, desperately using instinct and compassion to fight the rising tide of hopelessness that threatens at regular intervals to lap at my pant legs, and my time as me: the Girlfriend, me: the Friend, me: the Daughter, me: the Sister. When I realized the dinner phenomenon was not some psychotic break, but rather served a real purpose, I kind of wanted to hug myself for being so smart. Not my brain, mind you, but my survival instinct, which knew just what it needed to keep things balanced. There are times throughout the day when in the midst of a screaming pack of 11 year olds, or after a particularly difficult session I find my mind drifting briefly to what I want to make for dinner. I feared for a while that these fantasies which seemed to be so necessary to get me through the day meant I was in school for the wrong thing entirely. But I've realized they're actually just the part of me that knows sometimes its necessary to shut the brain off, take a breath, and think of something delicious. Like a good night's sleep, it's one of those seemingly selfish acts that actually--duh--makes it possible for me to be better to those around me.

But enough about me. The point of this really, is to tell you about two baked pastas I made during two nights of this new ritual. I got rather obsessed with the idea of making baked pasta after watching a Martha Stewart Every Day Food show on the subject. The first I tried was a vegetarian penne from a Mario Batali cookbook I have, and the second is a much simpler, more time-friendly soccer mom type recipe from the very episode of Every Day Food I watched. I liked both, though the second was so fast I had to make a time-consuming chopped salad to go with it. Both, though, are delicious.

Martha's baked orzo. Throw it all in a casserole and let the magic happen.

The Martha Stewart one is a baked Orzo with feta, dill, lemon and chicken, for a greek-style flavor. Speckled with dill, bright with lemon, and warm feta crumbled throughout, it inexplicably has a creamy texture that gives the whole thing an extra dose of comfort. Great with a nice vinegar-y cucumber salad or some other crunchy chopped veggie on the side.

Not the best shot, but what can you do.

Mario Batali's is a little fussy what with all the steps--with all due respect to Big Red, I'd change a few things next time--but so satisfying and hearty without the heavy, sick feeling you get from a lot of overly cheesy baked pastas. Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course (I consumed some delicious cheesy mac at this bar last night which was well worth the bellyache).

Of course, after all the meticulous layering of eggplant and pasta and dotting of sauce and sprinkling of toasted breadcrumbs, I neglected to take a picture before digging in. But here you go: a delicious cross-section.

Served with a dollop of fresh ricotta drizzled with olive oil, and a plop of extra sauce to combat the slightly dry nature. I recommend doing both.

You can find the recipe for the orzo and chicken here. A great thing to make for a group of friends when you're short on time and money. The Mario Batali one is below, for when you need a little extra time in the kitchen, breathing, listening to a friendly voice, and packing away the day's events one at a time, with the flip of each slice of eggplant.

Love,

The Mouse

Mario Batali's Pasta Alla Norma, from Molto Italiano

2 Lbs small or med eggplant, ct into 1/4-in thick slices
6 Tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 Lb penne
2 Cups Basic Tomato Sauce (recipe below, or use your own)
1 Cup toasted breadcrumbs
1/2 Cup freshly grated pecorino romano
10 fresh basil leaves, roughly torn
8 oz piece of ricotta salata, for grating

-Bring 6 quarts of water to a boil in a large pot, and add 2 Tablespoons salt.
-Meanwhile, in a 10-12 in saute pan, heat 3 tablespoons of oil over medium-high heat until almost smoking. Working in batches, saute the eggplant slices, seasoning them with salt and pepper, turning once, until golden brown on both sides. Transfer to a plate lined with paper towels to drain. (Note from the Mouse: I had to keep adding oil to the pan for each batch since the eggplant soaks up any liquid like a sponge. There's probably a culinarily-savvy way of avoiding this, but Mario doesn't offer any.)
-Preheat the oven to 375. Grease a 9x12 in baking dish with 1 tablespoon of olive oil.
-Cook the penne in the boiling water for 2 minutes short of the package instructions; it should still be quite firm. Drain and rinse under cold water until cool. Drain very well, place in a large bowl, and toss with 1 cup of the tomato sauce.
-Cover the bottom of the baking dish with 1/4 cup of the tomato sauce. Top with half the bread crumbs, then add half the pasta. Arrange half of the eggplant slices, overlapping them slightly, on top of the pasta. Dot about 1/4 cup of tomato sauce over the eggplant, and top with half of the pecorino and half of the basil. Top with the remaining pasta, arrange the remaining eggplant over the pasta, and dot with the remaining tomato sauce. Sprinkle with the remaining pecorino and basil, and then the remaining bread crumbs, and drizzle with the remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil. (Note from the Mouse: Fussy, no? The layers are nice, but really it all comes out in the wash. You could just toss it all together and have a great end serving as long as you get the top right. Also, here's where I'd add more sauce next time. Baking a pasta dries things out, and this was a little naked for my taste. The sauce recipe makes extra, so just be generous.)
-Bake for 45 minutes. Let rest for 10 minutes before serving. Place a generous portion of pasta on each plate (oh, Big Red), grate ricotta salata over, and serve.

Mario's Basic Tomato Sauce
(makes 4 cups)

1/4 Cup extra virgin olive oil
1 spanish onion, diced in 1/4 in
4 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
3 Tablespoons chopped fresh thyme
1/2 medium carrot, shredded
2 28-oz cans whole tomatoes
salt

-In 3-qt saucepan, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the onion and garlic and cook until soft and light golden brown, 8 to 10 minutes. Add the thyme and carrot and cook until the carrot is quite soft, about 5 minutes.
-Add the tomatoes, with their juice and bring to a boil, stirring often. Lower the heat and simmer until as thick as hot cereal, about 30 minutes. Season with salt.

Pathetic Snack Discoveries, Ch. 1

Dear Mouse,

Ok. I'll admit it. I have nothing to say. This is a first, and also probably not true. But the Blog Must Go On.

Turns out that in DC Theatre, Previews (as you know, the week of shows before opening night) are actually taken seriously and treated as a week of continued rehearsal and fine-tuning with the benefit of an audience.

I mention this not to bore you into submission but in order to paint a picture (read:excuse) of why I have not been blogging. We have been called to the theatre for 6 hour rehearsals daily during Preview week in addition to the shows at night. Today is an exception only because we have a matinee as well as an evening performance. Added to this are one back injury sustained during movement rehearsal (almost healed and then unfortunately renewed with vigor due to prematurely attempting the "8 Minute Pilates" video sent to me by The Date) and the strange (probably related) phenomenon of never.really. going.out.anywhere. I have not really left this 10-12 block radius since arriving. Because I am living with nearly all my coworkers, we usually just retreat to our living room and the several brands of bourbon currently on the kitchen shelf. I buy groceries, I eat the groceries, I run out of groceries, realize this halfway through rehearsal, scrounge for snacks that can be eaten on a five minute break or prepared with 1.5 hrs for dinner & digestion. Here are a few of my discoveries.

* Cocoa Roasted Almonds. Surely a snack of the gods. Almonds dusted with cocoa. They come in a shapely canister and have no more calories than regular almonds.

* Salt-Free rice cakes drizzled with honey. Yep, that's it.

* Dill Pickle flavor Pringles. Yes, these are real. No, I do not like them. My dressing room-mate keeps saying "But it tastes like a hamburger!" This does nothing for me.

* 1 Package Amy's Organic Brown Rice & Vegetables Bowl. Microwave while ch0pping up a precooked chicken sausage. Pick out the four thin tofu slices if, like mine, your body rejects soy, and discard. Add sausage. Mix. Eat.

* 1 Can Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup. Heat on stovetop. Chop up a big handful of kale, 1 tsp fresh ginger, maybe 1/2 clove garlic. Add to soup. Eat.

* Instant Oatmeal w/Peanut Butter and sliced banana. I have not eaten this myself -- I don't do instant - but people here swear by this as an energy-packed, lifesaving breakfast food and a great way to avoid hotel breakfasts on tour.

* Regular Oatmeal with rice milk, walnuts, and dried cranberries. This is my breakfast of choice. Boil the rice milk in place of water, and cook with the walnuts and berries in from the beginning. This will get you through at least a couple of hours of "Hold! Take it again."

*Good Stuff Eatery. The only really blogworthy local dining establishment so far. Brainchild of Chef Spike from Top Chef, it is down the street on Pennsylvania Ave. I have had the turkey burger twice (comes with guacamole and muenster cheese). Both times I have been appalled by the length of time waiting for food, and both times I have forgotten my wrath instantly as I bit into my burger. "Village Fries" are coated in rosemary and salt, and the 'Snack Fry' size is enough for one.

That's it for now... off to our first matinee. Gotta grab a rice cake.

Love,

The Boo.

P.S. On another note, as I spend my evenings lamenting the corruption of democracy in Ancient Greece, The Date is spending his days in Haiti with this organization probably cutting someone open (you know, for their own good) as we speak. I have also linked to it in our 'Things We Like' sidebar for anyone looking to donate/support/learn/whatev.