A Feast for the Ages

Dear Boo,

Uggghhhh errrrrrr duurrrr mmmmm nneeeeeeehhh
I'm sorry.

This meal may have actually rendered me speechless.

Okay. Here we go. My birthday, as you know, is mid-April. And as you know, this one was a rather big, entering a new decade one. The Mother had implored me to let her plan a family dinner to celebrate, but April and May were monumentally busy months, and June just slipped away too quickly. So we found ourselves in July, three months later, me one-quarter of the way to my next birthday, and you having one of your own! Mom wanted to take everyone out for a steak dinner in the city, but having just rented a place in the country for the summer, it seemed a waste to not take advantage. Here's where I hatched my plan. The Boyfriend and I had already talked with Chef Josh and Lady Kate about coming out to spend the weekend with us some time this summer, so why not kill two Cornish hens with one bushel of stone fruit, and ask Josh if he'd cook? The idea was pitched, the Mother was hooked, and Chef Josh agreed.

On Friday, the Chef picked us up with a trunk full of baby gear for his little lady, tucked between coolers containing a couple of pork butts soaking in a molasses brine. Somewhere between the off-roading detour for lobster rolls and the last minute jaunt for woodchips for smoking the pork, I began to catch a whiff of just how magical this weekend would be.

At around 8am Sunday morning, the day of the party, while the rest of us were still recovering from our dinner of pulled pork, mac and cheese, and grilled corn, the Chef went out shopping for dinner. Upon his return, bearing packages of all sizes, shapes, and colors, he set to work organizing the menu. It wasn't until I stole away to gawk at this scrap of paper that I realized what a treat we were in for. I mean, look at it. It's a thing of beauty.

"I'm thinking Mediterranean," Josh had said, as my head practically fell off my neck from all the vigorous nodding in agreement. Yes, please.

Let's take a visual tour.
The table. 'Scaped by none other than party-planner extraordinaire, Lady Kate, with hideous New Year's Millenium plates unearthed from the back of the cabinets and insisted-upon by the Boyfriend and Chef Josh.

Upon everyone's arrival, a meat and cheese platter was put out on the table in the living room, effectively drawing the crowds away from the kitchen, a feat hard to achieve with our family.
Next, cocktails stirred up by the Boyfriend, with a mix of watermelon, grapes, muddled mint, a healthy dose of Cachaça, a drop of simple syrup and a splash of soda. All topped off with lime. Everyone protested half-heartedly that they were too strong, before guzzling them happily.
When we sat down a few minutes later at the dining room table, bathed in the warm afternoon sunlight, giddy with anticipation and intoxicated by a mix of boozy watermelon slices and the incredible smells wafting from the stovetop nearby, we were met with our first courses: Marinated Beets with Burrata and Herbs, and Lamb Tartare with Oil-Cured Olives and Lemon Labna.
I ask you, how can something so simple taste so good? Or better yet, how can something so simple, that I could probably make myself (unlike most of the other dishes we ate that night), taste SO MUCH better when made by someone with actual skill? Well, I guess I just answered my own question. The beets were slick with oil, acidic from the vinegar, and in a pairing made in vegetable heaven, nestled under a cloud of creamy burrata, the soft curds mingling with a scattering of bright herbs. Even the Mother, who is a lifelong despiser of beets, had seconds, proclaiming she had never had a beet that tasted remotely like this. I like to think it was because of the superb job I did peeling them as Chef Josh's sous chef.

The lamb tartare. One of my favorites of the evening, and a dish that the cousins lovingly referred to simply as "the Labna", or "Lab". I haven't always been a fan of steak tartare, but this was a whole different animal (ahem)--rich and flavorful with olives (again, sliced by yours truly, which I think you'll agree made all the difference) and herbs, and topped with a generous dollop of labna, or yogurt cheese that Josh made--MADE--by draining yogurt through a coffee filter, and then mixing with lemon zest, salt, and olive oil (i think?). I could eat it by the bucket.

After everyone had seconds or thirds, against Josh's gentle warnings that there was much more to come, arrived the Tortino di Calimari.

Let's just say that our family, usually a generous bunch who would rather eat a spam sandwich than allow a guest to go hungry, gobbled every scrap of this dish up before the Chef himself could even have a proper taste. Sorry, Josh. It was just that good. Chock-full of artichokes and calamari, it's essentially a big pancake fried to a perfect golden crisp and garnished with a nice balance of shredded bitter raddiccio, and finely chopped fresh tomatoes mixed with garlic and olive oil. As the Mother said, it's hard to say which dish was my favorite since I said it pretty much every time a new plate arrived, but I think this might have taken the cake.

A few more sips of wine, a stretch, a giggle from one of the two adorable babies in attendance, later, and we were ushered to the buffet for the entree portion of the evening.

In no particular order:
Smoky Chickpeas with Pork. A Spanish-style dish with stewed chickpeas, smoky bacon, wine, and a hefty shot of smoked paprika. I could see this as my lunch or cocktail hour tapas snack for the rest of the summer (because yes, sometimes we do that here in the Mouse House). And yes, since you asked, I did chop the onions and slice the bacon. But let's not make a big thing out of it.
Spaghetti di Aragosta. Fresh pasta with lobster, corn, and tomatoes (sauteed in what I think was a reduced Lobster stock). Not even my unfortunate witnessing of the execution of the lobsters, could stop me from taking seconds. This pasta took my trifecta of favorite summer foods and transformed them into something new and utterly delicious--rich and light at the same time.
Seared Swordfish with Capers, Almonds, and Raisins. "How did you do the Swordfish?" Mom asked. "I love it but I can never quite get it right." "Oh, it's easy," Josh said. "You just throw it on the grill and don't overcook it." And therein lies the difference between a home cook and a really talented chef. Perspective. The fish was topped with a sort of Morrocan-esque mix of toasted almonds, raisins, capers and herbs (maybe there was lemon juice in there too?), an incredible mix of simple flavors that explode in such a vibrant way when put together.
Mushroom Risotto. Creamy, starchy, earthy, cheesy, heaven.
Roasted Cornish Hens. While it's kind of hilarious to watch a 6'2" tall man stuffing delicate individual sage leaves under the skin of tiny birds, there's nothing funny about how good this was. Or how much butter went into making it so tasty.
Seared Tri-Tip Steak. Look at that meat. Is that not the perfect color? Our uncle, the King of Gravy, and quite a discerning steak eater, pointed solemnly at the dish and said, "THAT was good." Oh yes it was.

As we cooed unabashedly over each bite, asking each other repeatedly, "But have you tasted THIS yet??" Josh brought to the table a platter of pristine, white filets of sea bass, barely touched with olive oil. It had been prepared whole, stuffed with herbs and lemon slices, and then caked in salt, a classic way of roasting whole fish to flavor it and lock in the moisture. Here it is, mummified:
And here it is, being readied to eat:
A study in the simplicity of preparation, quality of ingredients, and a skilled hand. The purest, unadorned mouthful was velvety soft, moist, and tasted of the sea. Almost a palate cleanser before the palate cleanser....
Palate Cleanser: Coconut-lime Sorbet with Sugared Cilantro. A refreshing and necessary transition before we undid our top button (okay, that happened after the appetizers) and moved onto dessert.
Peach Tart with Basil and Mint. The Boo's ideal summer dessert, wouldn't you say? A light, buttery pastry crust with just barely sweetened summer peaches, topped with fresh basil and mint. It was like a sweet pizza, with the peaches standing in for tomatoes. I'd eat it for breakfast, or serve it as an appetizer with some crumbled blue cheese on top. But with whipped cream, vanilla ice cream, or just plain, it made the perfect ending to a summer feast.

If only it was the end....

Chocolate Mousse. With whipped cream, Naturally.

Let it be known that Chef Josh had initially planned a third dessert, a plum crunch, which was wisely (if reluctantly) forsaken when he remembered that the Mother and the Aunt had baked a birthday cake for the occasion.

Coconut. Three layers. Bliss.
There it is, amid the destruction, flanked by our Aunt's absolutely perfect and totally excessive chocolate cookies, which you can find here.

I've had a lot of memorable meals in my life (probably 80% of them with you). Some are memorable for the food, some for the atmosphere, some for the occasion, some for the company. Others are memorable for the unexpected plot twist (remember that meal in Paris when I realized halfway through my entree that the "fish" I was eating was actually frog?), or, the sheer magnitude (my meal in Florence when I found myself doing the unthinkable--waving away a plate of pasta with a look of horror on my face). I think you'll agree we can add this meal to the list of unforgettable dinners. Getting to watch Chef Josh at work, absorbing tidbits here and there, proudly taking over the "zen jobs" of chopping and peeling and grating where I could, having our family around one table to share some incredible food--the whole process from start to finish, was a birthday gift I'll tuck away for years to come. What a great way to celebrate our 21st birthdays together. :) Let's do it again next year.

What do you say, Chefs?

I think they're up for it.

Love,

The Mouse

A Triumphant Week

Dear Boo,

Before we head into this holiday weekend, I wanted to tell you about two important things that happened this past week. One, our favorite chef, good friend and fellow food blogger, Chef Josh, is the latest in the line of esteemed Chopped Champions! Last Tuesday the Food Network aired his episode of the chefly cooking competition in which, unsurprisingly, Mr. Grill A Chef himself grilled those other contenders into charred, smoking submission. If you missed it, you can watch it when it re-airs on July 16th at 8pm on the Food Network.

And secondly, just as excitingly, though surprisingly, not aired on national television: I made this pie. It was delicious.

If you're a food blog reader, or a NY Times dining section reader or a Bon Appetit subscriber (RIP Gourmet), you may have noticed that everyone and their mother is having a conniption over sour cherries and their magical ability to transform into delectable preserves and pies. From the rooftops you can hear the cries of "they have such a short season!" and "get to your farmer's market NOW before you miss them!" Usually I am entirely deterred by this alarmist mentality (as are you). It's just too precious for me, and reminds me of car commercials which every SINGLE time claim that NOW is the best time to buy. Oh really? Better than last month when you said that same thing? Crap--someone get me to my local Hyundai dealer STAT!

But this time, I fell for it. I was shopping for a dinner with our cousins and I spied a crate of these tiny little garnet gems at the greenmarket and before I knew it I was spending way too much on a bag-full. I drew the line at buying what our cousins call a "unitasker", a cherry pitter, which would have sped things up considerably but then sat in the drawer for the rest of the year, laughing at me and crying "Didn't you HEAR they have a short season?"

The apartment was hot as hell. The pie dough stuck to the roller, got goopy with perspiration, refused to cooperate. The cherry pitting took forever and gave me a shoulder cramp. But the pie. Oh, the pie.

Let's just say that when served a slice a day later, post-refrigeration, the actual MOTHER of the CHOPPED CHAMPION declared it the best cherry pie she'd ever had. Period. BOOYAH.

Love,

The Mouse

Classic Sour Cherry Pie (adapted from Bon Appetit)

Crust:

2 1/2 cups unbleached all purpose flour

1 tablespoon sugar

3/4 teaspoon salt

1 cup (2 sticks) chilled unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes

5 tablespoons (or more) ice water

Filling:

1 cup plus 1 tablespoon sugar

3 tablespoons cornstarch

1/4 teaspoon salt

5 cups whole pitted sour cherries (about 2 pounds whole unpitted cherries)

1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice (if using sour cherries)

1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

2 tablespoons (1/4 stick) unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes

1 tablespoon (about) milk

Vanilla ice cream

For crust:

Whisk flour, sugar, and salt in large bowl to blend. Add butter and rub in with fingertips until small pea-size clumps form. Add 5 tablespoons ice water; mix lightly with fork until dough holds together when small pieces are pressed between fingertips, adding more water by teaspoonfuls if dough is dry. Gather dough together; divide into 2 pieces. Form each piece into ball, then flatten into disk and wrap in plastic. Refrigerate at least 30 minutes. Do ahead Can be made 2 days ahead. Keep chilled. Let dough soften slightly before rolling out.

For filling:

Position rack in lower third of oven and preheat to 425°F. Whisk 1 cup sugar, cornstarch, and salt in medium bowl to blend. Stir in cherries, lemon juice, and vanilla; set aside.

Roll out 1 dough disk on floured surface to 12-inch round. Transfer to 9-inch glass pie dish. Trim dough overhang to 1/2 inch. Roll out second dough disk on floured surface to 12-inch round. (At this point, Bon Appetit will have you make strips to create a lattice top, but f-that. You just hand-pitted 2 lbs of cherries. A standard crust will look just fine, thank you.) Transfer filling to dough-lined dish, mounding slightly in center. Dot with butter. Lay top crust over filling; trim dough strip overhang to 1/2 inch. Fold bottom crust up over ends of strips and crimp edges to seal. Brush crust (not edges) with milk. Sprinkle crust with remaining 1 tablespoon sugar.

Place pie on rimmed baking sheet (I highlight this because it's so crucial to you not wanting to die when you discover your oven floor coated in molten syrup) and bake 15 minutes. Reduce oven temperature to 375°F. Bake pie until filling is bubbling and crust is golden brown, covering edges with foil collar if browning too quickly, about 1 hour longer. Transfer pie to rack and cool completely. Cut into wedges and serve with vanilla ice cream.

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

My New Favorite Thing

Dear Boo,

I think I first fell in love with beets back at Charlie Browns, when we'd go for dinner during a busy week of teaching, school, rehearsals, lacrosse practice, chorus or whatever else. My favorite, as long as I can remember, was the salad bar. An endless array of iceberg lettuce, shredded carrots, macaroni salad, black olives, sunflower seeds, cauliflower, croutons, breadsticks, jardinieira, spread out before me like a magic carpet, glittering with crushed ice and neon buckets of glossy dressing. I'm not sure what made me try the beets. Maybe it was mom's intense hatred of them. "They taste like DIRT! UCH!" I always had weird ways of rebelling. But it didn't take long for me to incorporate them into the salad rotation, smooth wet purple orbs atop a bed of iceberg, slathered in some kind of creamy italian. Boo: 'Creamy Italian' = Jersey. Even processed, canned, and sitting out for hours under a sneeze-guard, I could taste the earthiness, the sweetness. And in the days before makeup, they dyed my lips a beautiful bloody red, which no complimentary wet-nap could dull.

Now, beets are old news. How many countless goat cheese-walnut pairings have I had at how many countless neighborhood restaurants? But love them, I do. And while they've taken on the familiar and pleasant comfort of an old lover, like any long love affair, there are phases of renewed excitement where you see your love with new eyes. Right now is one of those times. It's a second honeymoon.


PICKLED BEETS. Not a new concept. But my passion for anything that sits in vinegar and sugar and salt for long enough to give that lovely salivating kick in the back of your throat, is powerful. Recently, I had some pickled beets made by our friend Chef Josh, who served them with....cottage cheese. Frankly I wasn't all that psyched about the pairing, but I trust Josh, and when a Chef is feeding you, you do what you're told. How glad am I that I did? The cream of the cheese cuts the sharpness of the beets and lends another layer of texture. Josh douses the pickled beets and onion (or shallots) with olive oil, salt and pepper, then spreads generous dollops of the cheese over the top, sprinkling it with more oil and fresh thyme. It's unbelievably good. I can eat bowl after bowl of the stuff.

I pickled some of my own the other day when I just HAD to have some. Three days later I'm already through half of each jar. It's lunch, dinner side dish, after-school snack, addictive. Trust me on this one.

Of course you can eat them straight or on salad, or with falafel or sausage, or a pork chop. But these days, for me, it's cottage cheese all the way.

Here's a link to Josh's recipe. I made mine slightly differently, influenced by Alton Brown's recipe, part as experiment, and part because I was out of a few ingredients. Both versions are delicious.

Pickled Beets with Cottage Cheese

8 medium beets, roasted (I used half golden and white beets, and half red)
1 small red onion (1 small yellow onion, if you're doing golden too)
2 Cups rice vinegar
1 Cup water (or a little more if you don't like it super vinegary)
1.5 tblespoons kosher salt
3/4 Cup of sugar

To roast beets: drizzle generously with vegetable oil, salt and pepper, wrap in tin foil and roast in oven at 400 for about 50 minutes depending on the size of the beets. While still warm, using a paper towel, rub skins off. They should come off easily.

Slice onion very thinly. Slice beets to about 1/4 in thick. Pack two jars with beets and onions, alternating. If you're using gold beets, keep them separate from the red ones or everything will just turn out red. Heat the rest of the ingredients until boiling and dissolved. Pour into jars over beets, leaving a small amount of space at the top, but letting bubbles escape. Wait 24 hours before tasting.

Drizzle beets and onions with olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Pile cottage cheese on top, and add more oil and s&p to taste. Scatter fresh thyme over the top.

Love,
The Mouse

My Left Arm

Dear Boo,

I really miss my left arm. A wise woman once sang, you don't know what you got til its gone. Well, being a righty, my left arm has always seemed like an inferior appendage. Its only really there to assist the right one, no? I'm ashamed to say this is how I used to think. But all that changed on Monday evening. Or maybe on Friday evening when a guy at a bar told me I was like a young Daniel Day Lewis.

Let me back up.

Monday evening I was on my way uptown to do a reading at New Dramatists. I was looking forward to it and had a little bounce to my step as I walked down to the subway. Perhaps it was this fatal bounce that led me to step directly into the small puddle of NYC gunk that someone had spilled on the platform. Whatever it was, in slow motion I felt my legs fly up in the air in front of me and my body turn midair landing entirely and directly on my left elbow. It hurt so much I wasn't even embarrassed by all the people staring at me, or the huge mess my iced coffee made when it hit the concrete. Or the fact that an old lady came up to me to tell me she does that all the time and then criticize my insubstantial footwear. Shaken, I got on the train and went to the reading, which went well, though I probably looked like an ass, being the only one on stage seemingly refusing to clap for the likes of Marian Seldes.

Afterwards, over a glass of wine at the reception, I was convinced to go to the ER if only to confirm my belief that this was merely a bad bruise. Well, you can probably guess the rest. A sling, some xrays, and a wondrous percocet later, the verdict came in: Radial head fracture of the ulna. Dirty. Arm: out of commission for two weeks. No flying to Indiana the next morning as scheduled to perform my show. No moving. No funny business. And, as the Boyfriend pointed out in the ER, no home cooked birthday dinner for him.

I had already planned a whole menu for the occasion that I was getting really excited about. My plan was to make one of his favorite dishes from childhood that I've always wanted to try--Bistec Empanizado, or breaded steak, served with black beans and rice, and tostones (fried plantains). I was lamenting the plight of my elbow to our friend Chef Josh (of Secret Eats fame--come back to us, Josh!) when he suggested that he could help me cook. I said, "Oh I couldn't possibly ask you to do that" a couple of times before leaping at the tantalizing offer. Of course, "helping" me cook dinner really meant cooking dinner himself while I occasionally offered to to assist in a one-handed task (there really aren't too many. That is, other than tasting, of which I did my fair share).

Our journey began at the Whole Foods in Union Square where we picked up the essentials and rolled our eyes when the produce manager explained they didn't have plantains or yucca because it's too hard to keep them. They do, however, have a full supply of Ostrich eggs at $39.99 a pop. Well thank god for that. Can you imagine how people would take to the street in protest if they were to run out??

Josh picked up some steak which he had the butcher slice thin and pound out--something I'm always shy about asking for though really that's what butchers are there for, no? When Josh informed me he already had some of the ingredients, including some whole trout from the farmers market, sausage, and heirloom tomatoes, I knew this dinner was going to be beyond anything I could imagine whipping up in my sweaty little hot box of a kitchen.

Once home I was set to work slicing peaches and hulling strawberries for a cobbler Josh wanted to throw together. So far, so good. If I lifted my left arm onto the work surface with my right I could hold down the fruit while slicing with my good hand--triumph!

When the cobbler was in the oven and the black beans brought to a boil on the stove, we set out to find some plantains and yucca. With a bodega on every corner, you'd think these wouldn't be that hard to find. WRONG. We tried every food establishment large and small from 14th to 6th and 3rd to Ave B. Nothing, despite the fact that pretty much everyone working in these stores was latin. Finally, as a last gasp on our way home, we stopped at a food emporium in Sty Town and hallelujiah--there they were.

Back at the house, I was put to work slicing and peeling the plantains for the tostones which have to be fried twice.


Meanwhile Josh cut and steamed the yucca which is just such a beautiful bright white that I've always been tempted to buy it long before I ever imagined what one might do with it. I got a great lesson on how to fry something without having it turn all greasy on you (secret is in keeping the oil hot and the object of frying circulating in the pan. That way the moisture inside the food heats up and out, keeping the oil from seeping in) while I crushed ritz crackers for the breaded steak.

Somewhere in the next hour, here's what happened:

The steak got seasoned, dredged in flour, then dipped in an egg wash to create a sticky surface for the bread crumbs which it got covered in next. Here it is frying up to perfection:

Once the oil was hot, the plantain pieces were fried, then cooled slightly, turned on their sides, and squashed into little pancakes by yours truly. Then, back into the oil they went until they were crisp and golden and impossible to keep our hand(s) off. The yucca went in next, crisped up like little squat french fries.

Josh pulled out the fish--two whole fat trout who looked like they'd just leapt out of the river about an hour ago, and happily, at that. He quickly snipped off the head and fins and threw them into a cast iron pan with a couple of sausage links.

My elbow beginning to ache, the birthday boy took over slicing some gorgeous heirloom tomatoes from the greenmarket, and sprinkled with salt and pepper. Then creamy blobs of ricotta were spooned on top and finished with olive oil and a chiffonade of basil (I've always wanted to use that word). Oh, and did I mention there was some leftover pulled pork? Oh yeah. We sat down to what was surely a feast about 500% bigger and more beautiful than my attempt would have been. And man oh man was it good. Here's my plate:

After making myself horizontal on the couch in an attempt to digest faster, I was handed a glass of homemade strawberry infused vodka to help it all go down a little easier. It sort of helped. Enough to allow me a few bites of the cobbler before my body began to shout NO MORE! and we rolled home to bed, our bellies full, and I for one, feeling a little less sorry for myself.
Moral of the story: How do you cook dinner with one arm tied behind your back (or slung across your front)? Get someone else to do it for you. If he happens to be a chef, and also AWESOME, that helps too.

Love,

The Mouse

P.S. Special love and thanks to Kate for being an awesome special lady and letting us invade her home :)

Josh's Kickass Breaded Steak: A Prose Poem by Chef Josh

The meat is Sliced Sirloin Steak (ask the butcher to pound it out).
I seasoned the meat with salt, pepper & a little sazon.*
Then to bread it I dipped it in Flour then eggwash (1 egg to 1 tbsp water ratio) then finely crushed ritz crackers.
I did this process twice to make it extra crispy.
to fry i add just enough oil to cover the bottom of a 9-10 inch pan and then added medium (to medium low) heat.
Let it get hot, then add 1 1/2 tbsps butter. Butter should melt easily but not turn brown right away.
drop the breaded steak in and let it go slowly until golden brown. flip it and repeat. mmmmmmm.

*Editor's footnote: Sazon=Goya Sazon, those little orange packets you can get at the supermarket