Blest be those feasts, with simple plenty crowned, Where all the ruddy family around …
—Oliver Goldsmith
I love to travel for pleasure and need to travel for work, but I've spent enough time in hotel rooms. That's why, if I plan to be in an area for a week or more, I rent a place with a kitchen. Nothing relaxes me more after a hard day's work or a long day of sightseeing than to putter around a kitchen creating a wonderful meal.
I once rented a house in Norfolk, England, because it was called “The Mustard Pot” and was shaped like a condiment container. The house was on an estate, and delightful. In addition to a large, fully equipped kitchen, there was a glassed-in porch. The estate called it “The Conservatory.” No matter how rainy and dreadful the weather proved to be, there was a glorious sunset visible from that room. A small dining table and chairs enabled us to eat all our meals and drink our wine overlooking the beautiful fields as the colors changed from pastel to saturated to the velvet tones of night.
In Cornwall, the large farmhouse kitchen was a welcome refuge from traffic lanes that were little more than trails, with room for only one car at a time and hedges so tall one couldn't see past them. A simple trip to the pub or the news agent's was enough to send me scurrying back to the warmth of the large oak table and the nested metal mixing bowls. I was perfectly happy to stay in the kitchen. The long, narrow, well-equipped kitchen at Culzean Castle in Scotland gave me the view over the cliffs toward Arran and Ireland through narrow, sparkling windows while rabbits scurried and pheasants strolled under the window in the warm May sunshine. Cape Cod kitchens retained the pungent sea odors as I sautéed scallops or unwrapped fried clam strips. Suburban kitchens reeked of Lemon Pledge and Mr. Clean, while city kitchens often retained the aromas of Chinese takeout and Mexican salsa.
I venture into the kitchen at parties, offering to help prepare food. I wander in and attack the pile of dishes that accumulate in the sink. Parties are difficult for a shy person. But in the kitchen, I can participate in an activity, and it makes it easier for me to converse with strangers. “'Can you help me find the dishwashing liquid?” is easier for me to say than, “I hear Nobu is still hot.”
Time spent in a kitchen makes me feel included in the life of the community. I'm a participant instead of an onlooker. I can see, smell, taste, feel, and hear the nurturing, nourishing aspects of the time and space I inhabit. That gives me an awareness and appreciation for the world around me. Kitchens make the personal universal and the universal personal. My own hearth is the heart of my home. Other people's kitchens allow me to honor their hearts and hearths.
—Christiane Van de Velde
Some people like to paint pictures, or do gardening, or build a boat in the basement. Other people get a tremendous pleasure out of the kitchen, because cooking is just as creative and imaginative an activity as drawing, or wood carving, or music.
—Julia Child
My mother was known for her meat loaf. Oh, she mastered the art of cooking gourmet dishes as well—always expanding her repertoire, always learning new recipes, she was the master of all that she attempted, and she seldom suffered a kitchen disaster. But, back in my growing-up years, she had not yet essayed the complex or esoteric dishes she learned to cook later in life. What she knew, and knew well, was how to make simple foods taste good. She never failed at any of them, from roast chicken to broiled fish.
In my mother's hands, meat loaf was a company dish. I don't know if it was her recipe or her preparation. I believe it was both. I also believe that in part it was her use of herbs, at a time (the 1950s) when herbs were not a part of every home cook's arsenal, as they are now.
My best friend, a boy (but that's another story), begged for meat loaf whenever he was invited to dinner. I begged for it pretty often myself. My dad scarfed it down whenever we were fortunate enough that my mom made meat loaf for dinner. And the mere smell of it in the oven was enough to make us salivate worse than all of Pavlov's dogs put together.
Even as an adult, when I was asked to have dinner at my mom's house, I hoped it was going to be meat loaf.
Now, here's the funny thing: I'm a pretty darn good cook myself, but darned if I can master my mother's meat loaf. I tried it following her recipe. I tried it following her method without being a slave to amounts. Only once did I come close. And that, I must admit, was a fluke. I couldn't repeat the results in a plethora of tries. I finally decided to give up, admit defeat, and look at it philosophically: My mother's meat loaf was just one more treat—beyond being in her company—to look forward to when we had dinner together at her house. And so, years ago, I gave up trying to duplicate her results.
My mother died a month ago. I don't have her meat loaf recipe, but I do know her method. And one of these days—soon!—I mean to try to make “Meat Loaf à la Mom” again. Maybe this time I can get it right. If it tastes anything like hers, I'm likely to cry as I chew. Sadness will do that to you. But born of the sadness there will be a great degree of pleasure, as well, as I remember my mother and her famous meat loaf. Everyone loved my mother's meat loaf … and everyone loved my mother. What a tribute if I can finally learn to master that one elusive recipe I never could quite get right.
It's time.
—Cynthia MacGregor
Food is the most primitive form of comfort.
—Sheila Graham
Cynthia did figure out her mom's recipe. If doubling, she says, form two loaves rather than one huge one. “If there are any leftovers (unlikely!), this is great cold the next day for lunch.”
1 slice white bread, crumbed
¾ cup tomato juice plus scant ½ cup tomato juice
2 large or 3 medium cloves garlic, pressed
salt and fresh-ground black pepper to taste
½ teaspoon dried rosemary
½ teaspoon dried thyme
¼ teaspoon dried oregano
¼ teaspoon dried basil
1 pound ground chuck
Preheat oven to 350° F. Place the fresh white bread crumbs in a bowl, and add the ¾ cup of tomato juice. Mix well. Add the garlic, salt and pepper, and four herbs, and mix well again. Now add the meat, and knead with your fingers till all is well blended. Shape into a loaf. Do not try to pack it together tightly. This is not supposed to be a dense meatloaf. Place in a loaf pan or any other suitable pan. Pour the scant ½ cup of tomato juice evenly over the top. (Some will collect around the meatloaf in the pan.) Place uncovered in the oven and bake for 1 hour. Serves 3–4.
On our first trip to the Greek island of Karpathos where we make our home, a stranger in the street approached us and handed us two artichokes he had just picked. He wished us Godspeed in our travels and disappeared, thus introducing us to this mar velous vegetable.
As luck would have it, our backyard is filled with artichokes growing wild. We hadn't noticed any of the strange vegetables the first time we looked at the property. The second time we saw the house, some four months later, was when we moved in. By then the backyard was a carpet of deep purple puff balls about the size of a fist. The stalks were more than a foot high and bone dry, about fifty strong. Our own artichoke field. Greece has poor soil conditions due to erosion and a shortage of trees, so the deep roots of artichoke plants play an important role in holding in the earth on hillsides.
Each year, deep green artichoke leaves show up, and the vegetable core becomes evident in February or March. Most plants have just one large artichoke, though some plants sport two smallish ones. Both the stalks and the artichokes themselves are prickly. In May we gingerly harvest this crop of ours. With little intervention on our part, our crop increases year by year. This spring we expect we'll have more than 200.
At the outset, we were unsure what to do with the buckets of artichokes we'd collected, for our experience eating this vegetable had been limited to a pizza topping.
Most of the first year's crop landed in salads. One spring day a kindly neighbor invited me into her kitchen for artichoke school. She showed me how to rub the freshly cut and peeled heads with a lemon so they wouldn't brown. (Vinegar also works.) She showed me a one-pot vegetable dish—potatoes, broad beans, and artichokes. The other important point, she told me, was to add generous amounts of sea salt and olive oil when cooking, and you can't go wrong.
We've completely given up on those artichoke salads, due to the overabundance of lettuce, tomatoes, bell peppers, onions, and cucumbers in our garden. Our favorite dish is artichokes simmered with lamb, carrots, and onions, but half our yield ends up in the freezer. Though we're wild about artichokes, two people can consume only so many in one season.
—Roberta Beach Jacobson
LOVE: A word properly applied to our delight in particular kinds of food; sometimes metaphorically spoken of the favorite objects of all our appetites.
—Henry Fielding
The Passover holiday observed by Jewish people celebrates freedom. About 3,000 years ago, the enslaved Israelites followed Moses out of Egypt and into the Sinai Desert, where they wandered for forty years until they were prepared to enter the Promised Land.
There were no supermarkets along the way. As the story of Passover unfolds, we learn that the escape from Egypt was a very hurry-up affair. In those days people baked their own bread, and since the journey started very early in the morning, the yeast prepared bread did not have enough time to rise. The flat dough was baked in the sun and became what we know today as “matzos.” Stories of the Exodus tell us that whatever the people considered necessary for survival was taken along, which included water, wine, vegetables, fruit, nuts, and animals.
When the people were finally settled in the desert after their hazardous journey, they prepared a meal and rested. This later became known as the “Seder,” the first night of Passover. Passover is traditionally observed for one week, and during that week only foods kosher for Passover are eaten. This means no wheat, flour, or leavening.
Jews around the world have created recipes for Passover. Desserts are particularly challenging. Since leavening is forbidden, recipes use nuts as a medium, although some bakers use matzo meal or potato starch, which makes for a lighter cake, plus more than the usual number of eggs, which encourages the leavening process since baking powder can't be used.
I used to make a sponge cake with twelve eggs. If I was successful, and that was a big “if,” I would adorn my creation with whipped cream and strawberries. Before beginning, I would make sure that I would not be disturbed for three or four hours. One hour for preparation, one hour to bake, and one hour for the cake to cool in the oven with the door partially ajar. Heaven help the person who entered the house and slammed the front door. A sponge cake is fragile, and a sudden jarring could make it sink. It is very painful to see all of your hard work collapse.
After years of experimenting, I discovered that nuts and egg whites could create a perfect cake that would not collapse. I found that if I did not overbeat the eggs, it allowed for a lighter cake. For the best results, whip the whites only until their peaks quiver and give a firm appearance, and add them to the other ingredients very slowly. I also discovered that if you don't want all the cholesterol in eggs, Egg Beaters work just fine too!
—Carol Greenberg
Nothing would be more tiresome than eating and drinking if God had not made them a pleasure as well as a necessity.
—Voltaire
Cake
1 cup sliced almonds
¾ cups matzo meal
1 cup granulated sugar
1 tablespoon orange zest
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
4 large whole eggs
6 large egg whites
Orange Soaking Syrup
3 cups orange juice
1¼ cups granulated sugar
Garnish
3 tablespoons sliced almonds
Preheat oven to 350° F. Grease a 9 × 13-inch baking pan. In a food processor, combine ½ cup of the almonds with the matzo meal, ½ cup of sugar, zest, and cinnamon, and pulse until the nuts are ground. Add the whole eggs to the food processor and continue to pulse until they are incorporated. Carefully transfer the almond mixture to a large bowl, and stir in the remaining ½ cup of almonds.
Using an electric mixer, beat the egg whites and the remaining ½ cup of sugar until they are stiff. Fold the egg whites into the almond mixture until just combined. Scrape the batter into the greased baking pan, place in the oven, and bake until a toothpick inserted in the center of the cake comes out clean, about 25 minutes.
In a medium saucepan, over high heat, combine the orange juice and sugar and bring the mixture to a boil until sugar dissolves. Set aside.
Remove cake from the oven, turn it out onto a cutting board, and cut into 24 squares. Return the squares to the pan. Pour half of the syrup over the cake squares and set them aside to soak for 10 minutes. Turn the squares over and pour the remaining syrup over them. Garnish each square with 3 almond slivers. Cover the squares and set aside at room temperature to soak for 3 hours. Serve at room temperature. Makes 24 squares.
3 tablespoons matzo meal
6 large eggs, separated
teaspoon salt
1½ cups granulated sugar, plus 2 tablespoons
2½ cups coarsely ground walnuts
½ teaspoon orange zest
1 teaspoon honey
½ teaspoon vanilla extract
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
¼ teaspoon ground cloves
Preheat oven to 325° F. Grease a 10-inch springform pan with the margarine; dust with the matzo meal, and shake out any excess.
Using an electric mixer, beat egg whites and salt until they are stiff. Transfer to a bowl and set aside.
In a large mixing bowl, whisk the egg yolks and 1½ cups sugar until the mixture is thick and lemon-colored. Then mix in the walnuts, zest, honey, vanilla, cinnamon, and cloves until fully incorporated. In three batches, fold the egg whites into the nut mixture.
Scrape the batter into the springform pan, and bake until a toothpick inserted in the center of the cake comes out clean, about 1 hour.
Remove the cake from the oven and set aside to cool. Unmold the cake and transfer to a cake platter. Sprinkle with the 2 tablespoons of sugar. Makes 8 servings.
Sounds of laughter and the clatter of pans from the kitchen herald another cooking lesson with my daughter. The recipe file is out, although the results will not be exactly like the card. She is learning to make brownies, Kitchen Sink Brownies.
A tongue protrudes slightly as she measures out the ingredients, each one exacting concentration worthy of the budding scientist. Mixing them together, laughing at the way the batter swirls in the bowl, adding the “extras” that make them her brownies. Chocolate chips, some for the batter, some for later. “Raisins,” she says, “to make them moist,” with all the seriousness of a professor. Marshmallows for fun and a few bits of candied fruit peel. Into the oven, the timer set. She pours a glass of milk, waiting for the finished product to come out of the oven. Dishes in the sink are ready for washing amid giggles as she licks the beaters and spoon. Wiping the counters down, she nibbles on a few nut bits that missed the bowl.
The bell rings to let us know the brownies are ready. She dances around with impatience, waiting for them to cool enough to cut so the results can be taste tested. Smiles when finally they are cool. She carries a plate with a single square and a glass of milk to the table with grace that I envy. I can hardly wait until next week; we will be making bread, and the contentment of learning in the kitchen with my girl will once again be a balm to the hectic week that has passed.
—Margaret Helmstetter
My tongue is smiling.
—Abigail Trillin
6 tablespoons baking cocoa
½ cup melted margarine
2 tablespoons peanut butter
1 cup brown sugar
2 eggs
½ teaspoon vanilla
¾ cup flour
½ teaspoon baking powder
2 cups total of any or all of the following: chocolate chips, raisins, marshmallows (cut in small pieces), candied fruit peel, crushed pep permint candy, nuts
vegetable oil
2 tablespoons cocoa for pan
Preheat oven to 350° F. In a large bowl, mix cocoa and margarine until smooth. Mix in peanut butter, sugar, eggs, and vanilla. Sift flour and baking powder together and add to cocoa mix. Stir in whatever chips, raisins, marshmallows, fruit peel, candy, and nuts you are using.
Prepare an 8 × 8 × 2-inch pan by greasing with vegetable oil, then sprinkle 2 tablespoons baking cocoa on bottom of pan. Spread cocoa mixture evenly in pan.
Bake for 30–35 minutes until sides start to pull away from edges. Cool on wire rack for 20 minutes, cut into 2-inch squares. Makes 16 2-inch brownies.
While we were eating dinner one night, my husband took it upon himself to provide entertainment by tossing hot tortillas into the air, from one hand to the other. Our two young daughters expressed their approval with giggles and grins. As dinner neared the end, my husband got up to help me clear the table. He picked up the tortilla package, in which two tortillas remained. Tempted, he decided to take his tossing talent a little further.
“Watch this, girls!” he said as he stood in the middle of the kitchen, holding the packet in his right hand. The girls looked up expectantly from their bowls of chili. He held the package behind his back, and with all the finesse of a circus clown, tossed it up and over his head, intent on catching it with his other hand.
The tortillas flew through the air and headed straight for the kitchen table. As if guided by some unseen force, they landed on a spoon that was sitting in a bowl of chili. The spoon catapulted its contents into mid-air, spattering meat, beans, and tomato sauce onto the ceiling and all over my husband.
My husband looked around with a sheepish grin on his face, while the rest of us burst into laughter. That laugh was worth all the cleaning up!
—Rebecca J. Gomez
A messy kitchen is a happy kitchen, and this kitchen is delirious.
—Anonymous
This would make a great gift for a chef in your life.
1 14-inch wide new kitchen towel
1 30-inch long, ½-inch-wide ribbon in a coordinating pattern and / or color, cut in half
matching thread
Pin a piece of ribbon across the width of the front of the towel, 2 inches from one end of the towel; turn the raw ends of the ribbon under ½ inch. Sew the ribbon to the towel. Repeat with a strip of ribbon on the other end of the towel.
I'm weird. My favorite food is not chocolate or anything with sugar. It's not comfort food like potatoes or noodles. It's pickles. Pickled asparagus, pickled cauliflower, pickled onions. And of course all the cucumber pickles—half sours, dill, sweet. I love them all, but when the vinegar craving hits what is most satisfying is my grandmother's old-fashioned mustard pickles. They are the most pucker-your-mouth pickles I have ever tasted.
When I was growing up, for a special treat, my mother would break out her mom's recipe and we'd make a crock. The waiting—they must sit for at least a month—was excruciating for a kid. But finally the day came when I could open the lid and take that first bite of the new batch. Heaven! As an adult, I have tried to find pickles with a similar taste, to no avail. The closest are French cornichons, which do have a bit of mustard flavor. But when I want the full-on intensity, I have to make them myself. If you like very sour things, you might want to give them a try too. If you don't have a crock with a lid, try a gallon jar with a screw-on top.
—M. J. Ryan
On a hot day in Virginia, I know nothing more comforting than a fine spiced pickle, brought up trout-like from the sparkling depths of the aromatic jar below the stairs of Aunt Sally's cellar.
—Thomas Jefferson
Wash and dry the cucumbers. Combine remaining ingredients in a large crock. Place the cucumbers in the crock, making sure all are submerged. Cover and store in a cool, dry place for a month. Makes 1 gallon.
My mother loved knick-knacks. She had two plaques hanging in her kitchen. One said, “Work fascinates me, I could sit and watch it for hours.” That wasn't exactly true, since she and her German mother always had a project going—quilting a bedspread, hanging wallpaper, making sauerkraut or jam or wine, in addition to the regular housekeeping they kept up at a fer ocious pace. The other plaque said, “No matter where I serve my guests it seems they like my kitchen best.” And they did. In those simpler 1950s days, the coffee pot was always on. She was always baking something. Women dropped in on each other. At least once a week, she'd feed my grandparents, assorted aunts and uncles, and cousins. She loved spur-of-the-moment picnics in summer. And my father always bragged that he could bring customers or business associates home for dinner at a minute's notice.
She's been gone since 1958, but her kitchen lives in my heart.
—Jan Johnson
A pleasure is not full grown until it is remembered.
—C. S. Lewis
Want a new look now that spring has sprung? Try this incredibly easy drape.
20-inch × 95-inch silk scarf
2 hooks for pierced earrings
thread
2 wall hooks
Place the scarf horizontally on a table on the long edge. Sew one pierced earring hook 25 inches from the left edge of the scarf on the long edge. Repeat on the right side with the other earring hook. Screw the wall hooks into the wall above the window, 2 inches closer together than the distance between the earring hooks on the scarf. Hang the earring hooks on the wall hooks, and allow the scarf to drape on both sides of the window.
Who's up for a great, big helping of pikkuleipienperustaikina?
What's that? Your mom never whipped you up a piping hot batch of pikkuleipienperustaikina? Well, neither did mine, and for more than fifty years that's been a running joke in the Clark family.
It all started when my parents, two Cambridge intellectuals who had somehow produced seven kids, hired a taciturn Finnish woman to help run the household. Once Bettina took over, buttery pastries flew out of the old-fashioned green enameled oven as if by magic—tarts and turnovers pricked in floral designs and bulging with fruit.
When I came home from school with a mimeographed letter asking the mothers in my class for family recipes, I went straight to Bettina, who promptly reached for the pencil by the telephone. She wrote for a few minutes on the back of the sheet, folded it, and handed it back. “Thanks!” I said, stuffed it in my pocket and ran out to play.
The cookbook came out just in time for Christmas. A stack of them, dutifully ordered by my parents, arrived in a brown package direct from the local publisher. Mother plucked one out. “Good Lord, I've submitted a recipe for butter cookies,” she spluttered, and started laughing again. “In Finnish.”
To this day, one of the favorite family recipes is for “Peruvian pickle cookies,” even though nobody's tasted one since 1964, the year Bettina retired.
—Tom Clark
I refuse to believe that trading recipes is silly. Tuna fish casserole is at least as real as corporate stock.
—Barbara Grizzuti Harrison
Here's a way to keep your swapped recipes all in one place. Make sections with categories so that you can find recipes easily and either copy or paste them into the book. It's a great gift too!
blank book
wrapping paper, in two coordinating colors or patterns
spray mount
Open one piece of wrapping paper and place it face down on a table. Open the book flat and place it on top of the paper. Cut the paper 1 inch larger than the opened book on all sides, and remove book. Cover the paper with spray mount. Place spine of book in center of paper; press gently. Working from spine to edge of cover, smooth one side of paper over front of book. Repeat for back. Fold excess paper from sides of front and back covers to inside of book; press and smooth paper to the inside of covers. Cut notches in paper along top and bottom of book at the spine. Fold excess paper to inside of book.
Cut the second piece of wrapping paper into two pieces slightly smaller than the inside of the book covers. Spray backs of wrapping paper with spray mount and press onto the inside covers of the book.
When I was in my twenties, I lived on a commune with twenty-two people. We were vegetarians and made virtually everything from scratch (once someone even had an ill-conceived idea of making our own tofu, which I can tell you is not worth the effort). Not from any sense of moral purity or health concerns, but because we couldn't afford anything—we lived on $10 a week per person for food. (I was very thin in those days.) The place we lived was a former fraternity, so the kitchen was perfect for cooking for crowds: a bank of fridges, an industrial dishwasher, long stainless-steel counters. We each took turns making dinner for the group. Fortunately my turn came only once a week, as it would take an entire afternoon for the crew to prepare dinner. All I remember is endless chopping.
We also had weekly chores. It was my job to make enough yogurt and sprouts to last the week. It was a cushy job—others had bathroom cleaning or vacuuming; I guess even in those days I gravitated toward cooking as a preferred task. I loved my job— making something nutritious out of virtually nothing without a whole lot of effort, what a satisfying feeling. The yogurt recipe has gone from my brain now; all I can remember is that it called for taking a bit of the batch from the previous week and placing it with some dairy product and letting it sit in the fridge until yogurt miraculously was created.
The sprouts were equally fun and easy. In a matter of a couple days and a few pennies, you could make enough sprouts to feed the multitudes. I would gloat every time I walked into the health food store and saw the high-priced versions.
To this day, the pleasures of the kitchen for me continue to be about making simple tasty things—I'm the quintessential fifteen or thirty minute chef. I revel in what's easy—as long as it tastes great. And finding that perfect combination of ease and deliciousness—why that's where the fun lies.
—Susannah Seton
I adore simple pleasures. They are the last refuge of the complex.
—Oscar Wilde
These are a snap to make.
small piece of muslin
glass jar
1 tablespoon seeds for sprouting, such as mung or alfalfa
water
rubber band
Cut the muslin so that it fits over the glass jar. Place the seeds in the glass jar. Cover the seeds with water. Place the muslin over the jar, fasten it with a rubber band, and place on kitchen counter. Rinse the seeds three times a day through the muslin cover. When the sprouts are long enough to eat, take them out of the jar. Wash and dry thoroughly. Store in refrigerator. Makes 2 cups.
My little brother and I used to watch Mom make scrambled eggs. We'd stand at her elbows, fascinated by the way she casually cracked the eggshell on the edge of the countertop, then split the shell down the middle without shattering it into splinters. We loved watching the clear egg white and perfect oval yolk fall into the porcelain bowl with a small glop. Mom would then beat the eggs with a pair of chopsticks, add chopped green onions and salt, and then pour the yellow liquid into the oiled pan. We would wait around impatiently until the eggs were done, then I would grab the plates and my brother ran for the ketchup.
It was a weekend, and I was freed from my time-consuming homework duties of reading for thirty minutes a day. I stood importantly at Mom's elbow, because today was the day I was to be allowed to crack the eggs. Mom got out the bowls, and my little brother grasped a pair of chopsticks excitedly.
I went to the refrigerator and carefully took out three eggs. Cradling them in my arms like the most delicate of newborn baby kittens, I set them down on the counter. Then I took one in my hands and grasped it firmly. I brought it down on the counter in a timid little knock. Nothing happened. I looked again at Mom, and she smiled at me. Mustering up my confidence, I put a little more force behind my action. Crack.
“I did it!” I cried, proudly separating the eggshell and watching the egg fall into the bowl. I passed it onto my little brother, who immediately started enthusiastically beating it with the chopsticks. The other two eggs went just as successfully into each individual bowl. While my brother and I beat the eggs “into a light creamy froth” as I once read, Mom chopped up the green onions with the huge rectangle Chinese knife that my brother and I were not allowed to touch under any circumstances. I stood on tiptoes to get down the little jar of salt with the red lid, and my brother and I put salt into the beaten eggs. I sprinkled salt into a bowl, and my brother put some into the others. Then I went to help Mom scoop the green onions into each bowl. When we finished, my brother was still adding salt.
“Are you sure those haven't had salt added yet?” Mom asked him. He looked up, indignity bristling in his eyes.
“Of course,” he replied. “I know which of these have been added with salt and which haven't.” Mom smiled at him as he turned back to his work.
He carefully dropped the last few grains of salt into the bowl, and we beat the eggs together. Mom heated the pan, and finally three plates of scrambled eggs were waiting, steaming, on the table. My brother and I poured ketchup on the side, and we started to eat. I was munching my way through my eggs when Mom suddenly got up with a funny expression on her face and ran to the sink.
“Salty eggs,” she choked out after downing three glasses of water.
Mom and I looked at my little brother and cried, “Andrew!” He cringed and shrunk in his chair, trying to look smaller, grinning his head off all the while. Oh well. The memory is worth it.
—Tammy Lee
I had an excellent repast—the best repast possible—which consisted simply of boiled eggs and bread and butter. It was the quality of these simple ingredients that made the occasion memorable. The eggs were so good that I am ashamed to say how many of them I consumed…. It might seem that an egg which has succeeded in being fresh has done all that can be reasonably expected of it.
—Henry James
Make eating soft-boiled eggs more fun with these decorative eggcups.
2 cups warm water
2 teaspoons vinegar
white eggcups
cold ceramic enamel paints
small paintbrush
Combine the water and vinegar. Wash each eggcup carefully in the vinegar water. Dry completely. Paint a design of your choice on the eggcups. Do the lightest colors first.
1 dozen eggs
large needle
1 package Easter egg dye
Shake each egg to make it easier to blow. For each egg, make a hole at one end of the egg with the needle and another one a bit larger at the other end. Hold the egg over a bowl, and blow gently into the smaller hole until the yolk and white are completely out. Wash the shell and stand it on end to dry. Dye and decorate as you like. Because they are hollow, these can be stored and used as decorations year after year. Makes 12.
Love and eggs are best when they are fresh.
—RUSSIAN PROVERB
Yet, who can help loving the land that has taught us six hundred and eighty-five ways to dress eggs?
—THOMAS MOORE
An egg is always an adventure; the next one may be different.
—OSCAR WILDE
Eggs are very much like small boys. If you overheat them, or overbeat them, they will turn on you, and no amount of future love will right the wrong.
—ANONYMOUS
Probably one of the most private things in the world is an egg until it is broken.
—M. F.K. FISHER
A hen is only an egg's way of making another egg.
—SAMUEL BUTLER
The vulgar boil, the learned roast, an egg.
—ALEXANDER POPE
Put not your Knife to your mouth unless it be to eat an Egge.
—SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY ETIQUETTE TEACHER HANNAH WOOLLEY
For better or for worse, in sickness and in health, until death do us part … unless we kill each other first over who has the bigger portion.
After two months on the Atkins diet, trying to adhere strictly to the Induction Phase, this was the night of the Big Treat for my husband and me. My goal far exceeded that which Sam had set for himself, but together we were supporting each other in our quest for better health and better bodies. Both of us were attempting to stay within the twenty-carb maximum allowed in the first phase of Atkins, both of us were exercising, and both of us were happily measuring losses in weight and in inches. Although, my husband was losing more than I was, we were in this together, and I was seeing just how lucky I was having Sam as my husband when I knew he didn't really have to lose a lot of weight. I had heard that weight loss was easier for men, so I was not allowing his success to distract me. Besides, he was doing this for me.
I'd been at the grocery store earlier in the day and did my usual stalking for new items to include in our diets. On a regular basis, I would find myself searching the aisles for new products that were low in carbohydrates and high in protein. I was trying to beef up our menus without the beef.
On one such trip, I discovered Carb Control Ready-To-Drink Shakes (100 calories, 15 grams of protein, and 1 impact gram of carbohydrates). They were like a sign from above that this diet was not going to be so bad after all. I chose chocolate fudge for me and vanilla and strawberry cream for Sam. On days when I knew I would have little time for lunch, these drinks became a delicious and satisfying staple. Sam, who rarely stopped for lunch, had discovered how revitalizing it was to stop for a half-hour and sip down his vanilla or strawberry indulgence. On our days off, we would visit the local supermarkets in search of these carb-control, ready-to-drink beverages so we could stock up on them, before another couple discovered our low-calorie, low-carb, high-protein secret.
On this day, I found the four-packs on sale for $3.99; normally, they could cost as much as $6.99. I filled my cart with as many as I could justify in my budget.
Then I discovered a new product: Carb Control Nutrition Bars. I had seen them before and others like them, but I'd ignored them. With this diet, I was mentally trying to change my approach to eating. If I started buying what looked like candy bars, it was just substituting one bad habit for another, I thought. I had always been one who binged. I was known to eat several bagels in a sitting. It was not out of character for me to finish off a bag of chips or a loaf of fresh Italian bread. I was a bad eater, and I was trying to change.
Nevertheless, I could not help noticing that these tasty-looking treats had only two, three, and four impact carbs. Since I was well under my twenty-carb limit each day, how could these hurt? I saw that each had around 25 grams of protein, too. That was more protein than the Ready-To-Drink shakes had. I could eat a nutrition bar and be burning fat at the same time.
And then there was the clincher. They were on sale—half-off if I used my Super Shopper card. In addition, there was no limit to how many I could buy. Someone was out there looking after me, giving me the thumbs up on this product.
So I bought a few.
Well, okay, a few is understating what I bought, but there were so many tasty choices. There were apple cinnamon and cookies and cream and chocolate chip brownie and chocolate cream pie. The package said, “Carb Control for your low carb lifestyle” and I was out of control in Low-Carb Heaven.
While loading the cart, I noticed one more choice: blueberry. Blueberry might be Sam's all-time favorite taste. I've heard him saying “Blueberry, blueberry, blueberry” while he talked in his sleep. I have heard him describe furniture with sentences like, “The chair was an interesting shade of blueberry.”
That brought me back to reality.
I unloaded what I had put in my cart and only kept two of each flavor in my basket. My thoughts were simple: What harm would it be if Sam and I shared a bar after dinner with our decaffeinated coffee?
When Sam got home from work, I had the bars laid out for him on the kitchen counter. His first reaction was, “I thought we weren't going to do these.” Then he saw the blueberry. Suddenly the bars got Sam's seal of approval.
After dinner, we prepared coffee. Then Sam got out his ruler and his sharpest knife and divided the Cookies and Cream Nutrition Bar in half. “I'm picking a chocolate one for you,” he said, as if this was going to be a sacrifice. Each half went on one of the dessert plates we use for company. Each plate got a fork and a knife. Each half measured about an inch and a half.
“Small bites,” Sam said, “will make it last longer.”
We took little bites of our first treat in months as we sipped our coffee. We compared notes and opinions on this new discovery. We were both still under our twenty-carb limit.
“Another one?” my husband asked as he finished.
“Nope,” I said. “That would be cheating. That would be going back to our old ways.”
“But your piece was bigger,” Sam sulked.
I pushed my last tiny morsel toward Sam. “Here,” I said. “This should make it even.”
Sam looked at me as I nodded my head for him to go ahead. Then he swallowed the last crumb and patted his newly flat belly.
—Felice Prager
So far I've always kept my diet secret but now I might as well tell everyone what it is. Lots of grapefruit throughout the day and plenty of virile young men at night.
—Angie Dickinson
Be sure that you don't submerge this in water or get it too wet. Just wipe with a damp cloth to clean.
large china platter to use as mold
petroleum jelly
newspaper
wallpaper paste
knife
paintbrushes
white matte emulsion paint
assorted poster paints
clear gloss varnish
Grease the china platter with petroleum jelly. Tear the newspaper into strips and soak in wallpaper paste. Carefully place strips of newspaper on the platter until it is covered with six layers, with an overhang of ½ inch around the edge. Let dry for three days.
With a sharp knife, cut off the overhang. Gently remove china platter from the papier-mâché one. Cover the edges of the papiermâché platter with two layers of newspaper strips soaked in wallpaper paste to make a smooth edge. Let dry. Paint the platter with two coats of white matte emulsion paint. When dry, decorate as you like with poster paints. When paint is dry, seal the platter with two coats of varnish and let dry completely before using.
I guess I'm old-fashioned, but I firmly believe that what makes a family is sitting down together at dinner. Maybe it's because dinner is my favorite meal—I have never been a breakfast eater, and lunch tends to be a solitary, on-the-fly experience. But dinner! Nothing beats finding just the right recipe, making it while sipping a glass of red wine, then seeing the looks of pleasure on my family's faces when they taste my latest creation. It's my creative outlet, an escape from the mental focus of my workaday life. On Saturdays, I create the menus for the week and shop for ingredients. I tend not to repeat myself, except for certain dishes my family clamors for, because I love the challenge of making something new. This week's menus include a pepper-crusted lamb, a walnut chicken salad, and a pasta sauce with spicy sausage and goat cheese.
As my daughter gets older and her activities increase—ballet, soccer, piano—I find myself a bit testy. They're interfering with dinnertime! Rather than throw up my hands and ordering in a pizza, I've decided to look at it as a creative challenge: how to cook and eat together in a much-reduced time frame. I can't claim total success yet—but I refuse to give up. Maybe I can redirect her to activities that happen only on weekends—after all, dinner is sacred!
—Susannah Seton
Show me another pleasure like dinner which comes every day and lasts an hour.
—Charles Maurice de Talleyrand
All human history attests That happiness for man,—the hungry sinner!— Since Eve ate apples, much depends on dinner.
—LORD BYRON
The hour of dinner includes everything of sensual and intellectual gratification which a great nation glories in producing.
—SYDNEY SMITH
Sir, Respect Your Dinner: idolize it, enjoy it properly. You will be many hours in the week, many weeks in the year, and many years in your life happier if you do.
—WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY
The art of dining well is no slight art, the pleasure no slight pleasure.
—MICHEL EYQUEM DE MONTAIGNE
Oh, the pleasure of eating my dinner alone!
—CHARLES LAMB
Try this take on a candlelit dinner. You can use any size can. In fact, if you make several in various sizes, they can be placed together for a beautiful table arrangement.
tin can
water
paper bag
masking tape
towel
hammer
nail
candles to fit
Fill the can with water to ¼ inch below the rim, and freeze until hard.
Cut down a paper bag to fit around the can and draw a design—stars, hearts, whatever you like—big enough to fit around the can. Tape the paper around the can and place the can on a towel. Following the design, punch holes into the can with the hammer and nail. If the ice starts to melt before you're done, place it back in the freezer until it hardens again. When you've finished decorating the can, remove the paper, and discard the ice. Drip some candle wax in the bottom of the can and attach a candle.
For weeks before my bar mitzvah, my mom lovingly melted chocolate into plastic molds, making candy that would serve as table decorations and favors at the party that would follow my special ceremony. What started out as multicolored discs—not just brown, but light blue, and white, too, to match the party room—emerged from the freezer in the shape of Hebrew letters, stars of David, and other Jewish symbols.
Mom had been making homemade candy for years, and my brother and I were always excited to accompany her to the crafts store to examine new molds that would result in solid chocolate in the shape of baseball gloves, soccer balls, and Pac-Man! It was a special treat to help her drizzle warm, liquid white chocolate over a muffin cup full of freshly picked blueberries, usually within a few days after we had all returned from a visit to a nearby farm, our fingers stained purple.
We thought she wasn't looking, but Mom always knew when we'd steal one of the perfect chocolate circles from the bag, or when one of us would swipe a small finger acr oss the top of a glass measuring cup full of the melted sweet stuff.
Each night after work, Mom busied herself in the kitchen in the weeks leading up to my big day, double boiler bubbling, tiny spoons dripping with different colors, tray after tray stacked carefully in the freezer between sheets of waxed paper. The activity distracted her from the stress of the impending event, not to mention the arrivals of our many wacky relatives.
While my family and I were at synagogue, the caterers carefully arranged each table, and capped off each beautiful display with two dishes of Mom's homemade chocolates. But there were so many! Her distraction technique had proved even more productive than any of us had imagined. Rather than let the treats go to waste, though, a resourceful waiter set dishes of chocolates in unexpected places: around the reception area, on the bar, and on tables in the lounges outside of the rest rooms.
The event went off without a hitch. Everyone commented on how beautiful everything looked and tasted, and lots of folks made a point to compliment Mom on her homemade candies.
Then my great aunt Ethel came out of the bathroom lounge with a strange look on her face.
“Are you having a good time?” my father asked her.
“Yes,” she said, “what a lovely event. But some of Eric's friends are a little odd.”
“Why do you say that?” Dad asked, offering her a dish of candy.
“A group of girls are sitting around in that lounge,” she said, helping herself to a piece, “and they're doing the strangest thing.”
“What is it?” he asked, nervous.
She bit down on a brown, milk chocolate Torah, and whispered conspiratorially, “There's a dish of pretty little blue and white soaps, and those girls are eating them!”
—Eric Pliner
There are four basic food groups: milk chocolate, dark chocolate, white chocolate, and chocolate truffles.
—Anonymous
Nothing beats homemade fudge. If you prefer it with nuts, add them before you pour onto the baking sheet. To cut fudge easily, dip a kitchen knife in warm water between each slice.
1 pound granulated sugar
cup milk
¼ cup cocoa powder
2 ounces bittersweet chocolate
½ teaspoon vanilla extract
¼ pint cream
½ cup unsalted butter
Combine the sugar, milk, cocoa, and chocolate in a pan over medium-low heat, stirring until smooth. Add the remaining ingredients, stirring until the butter melts. Remove from heat, and beat with a wooden spoon until the mixture thickens. Transfer to an oiled baking sheet and spread out evenly. Allow to harden overnight. Cut into even squares. Makes 40 2-inch squares.
I confess, I self-medicate with chocolate. I have a veritable apothecary in my kitchen. I have a Winnie-the-Pooh tin filled with Dove dark chocolate squares, which are perfect to treat sweet cravings and anxiety attacks. I always have to refill my tin at the end of each semester. Then there's grown-up's chocolate milk (Godiva liqueur with a splash of milk), which complements a bubble bath's indulgence and makes for a relaxing evening, although nothing beats a cup of mocha while curled up in a blanket when it's raining. I even have a special mug for chocolate only, ready for use, on my kitchen counter.
Tucked down in the cabinets is my emergency box of Ghirardelli's double dark chocolate brownies. They are the richest, most delicious, most emotionally soothing brownies ever. Just the smell from the oven is enough for me to crawl out from under my blanket and put on a brave face, if only to limp into the kitchen and steal a piece before my husband eats the best part, the center of the pan.
Best of all there is chocolate mousse. Was there ever a better dessert created? The lightness of whipped cream with the richness of chocolate blended in to a silky treat. I love making chocolate mousse, watching the chocolate boil on the stove. I never got around to buying a double boiler, so I improvised by placing a clear glass mixing bowl over a saucepan. It's hypnotic to watch the water form bubbles and pop up with the warm brown cocoa melting into a puddle above. Then I fold whipped cream into the chocolate liquid, pushing back and forth, rhythmically blending the two until the vibrant stripes of white and brown meld into a rich taupe. No matter my mood, my kitchen is always ready, and my chocolate is always waiting.
—Jaime Johnson
Other things are just food. But chocolate's chocolate.
—Patrick Skene Catling
You can keep everything on hand in the freezer and make whenever the mood strikes.
¾ cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 tablespoon water
2 teaspoons vanilla flavoring
2 cups Cool Whip
Melt the chocolate and water in a double boiler, stirring constantly. When melted, remove from heat and stir in the vanilla. Fold in the Cool Whip and enjoy (or if you'r e patient, refrigerate for a while first). Makes about 2½ cups.
As a new resident of Mexico, I wanted to try everything that was new and different for me in my new home—food being of primary interest. I'd heard all the warnings and questions: Don't drink the water; the food's too hot and spicy; they eat strange things, like corn fungus; do they have McDonald's in Mexico? All of which made me more determined to enjoy a new cuisine. So, first thing, I bought an English / Spanish Mexican cookbook, spending hours just leafing through the colorful pages. Until I came to one recipe that caught my eye because of a particular ingredient that has always been a passion of mine—chocolate.
When I first scanned the recipe I thought I was reading a dessert: chocolate, cinnamon, allspice, almonds, and sesame seeds. But then I looked closer and saw chicken, Jalapeño peppers, onion, garlic, chili powder, cumin … even barbecue smoked seasoning. Where my taste buds had been primed for a sweet chocolate treat, they now were intrigued by the prospect of a dish flavored by picante chocolate sauce—the Mexican mole Poblano.
Chocolate may have originated in Mexico, but it had to be imported back into the country for the sweet taste of today's varieties. Even hot chocolate, drunk by the Maya centuries ago, was a thick, somewhat bitter beverage, not at all the now-so-familiar sugar-enhanced drink.
Eager to try the flavor combination, I chopped, blended, diced, slivered, sautéed, chunked (the unsweetened brick of chocolate), skinned, and fried the chicken. Except for the chocolate, all the ingredients were familiar fare in “normal” cooking, so I was looking forward to discovering how a single item would make any truly noticeable difference.
When all the ingredients but one came together and began to meld, the aroma that filled the room was of lush flavors joining to entice even the pickiest diner. Well enough, but then came time for the chocolate, which I scattered over the simmering chicken parts and spices until it began to melt and thicken the entire dish with its deep, dark color.
Plain white rice was the preferred choice of “background” that my family enjoyed, so I accommodated. As I spooned the chicken pieces with the dark sauce onto each plate, I sprinkled all with the sesame seeds.
“Chocolate for dinner,” I announced, and waited for the response—which was silence, for a moment. The luscious smells overcame the hesitancy of each family member in turn, however, leading to timid forkfuls. These gave way to surprised eye contacts, larger forkfuls, and cries of How come chocolate's spicy? How'd you make chocolate into food? Hey, cool … I mean hot!
My family's not exactly shy when it comes to new food, but this was truly something different. Thank goodness my experiment worked for them—and for me.
—Allen McGill
Chemically speaking, chocolate really is the world's perfect food.
—Michael Levine
If you prefer chocolate for dessert, try these (almost) instant treats. They are done in the microwave; be sure to follow the power suggestions or the chocolate will burn.
2 10-ounce packages semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 8-ounce carton frozen whipped topping, thawed
1¼ cups ground graham cracker crumbs
In a microwave-safe bowl, heat chips in the microwave at 70 percent power for 1 minute; stir. Microwave 10–20 seconds longer or until melted, stirring occasionally. Cool to room temperature, stirring several times. Fold in whipped topping. Drop by rounded teaspoonfuls onto waxed paper-lined baking sheets. Freeze for 1½ hours or until firm. Shape into balls; roll in crumbs. Refrigerate in an airtight container. Makes about 1½ dozen.
If I had to choose the most beautiful word in the English language, it would be blender.
The word blender projects the delicious promise of many sumptuous food-related words beginning with “B,” including bread, batter, butter, Bundt, baklava, and brioche. From the compression of the lips to the curling of the tongue, these words linger in the mouth like foretastes of the food itself.
I remember the anticipation on Saturday nights in the late 1950s when my father would reach up to the top kitchen cabinet and take down the brand-new blender. It wasn't too far removed in form or function from today's appliance except for the paucity of push buttons to determine the level of transcendence the raw material would achieve. Our blender had one speed—On.
The rubber lip of the lid made a creamy popping sound as he lifted it off to pour chocolate syrup—Bosco, of course—into the thick, opaque bell of the glass pitcher. The glistening pool buried the twisted metal star of the blade, followed by the white cascade of milk. When he flicked the switch, there was a moment of magical transformation in all of us, the syrup, the milk, the maker, and his children.
Food processors do more complex things than a blender, no question. But just as some writers insist that what they produce is better on an old typewriter, refusing to churn out a story on something called, so crassly, a word processor, I swear by that old blender. I use it not out of sentimentality but because it still has the capacity to make sweet magic, the chocolate kind, gliding easily down the throat in a flood of childhood ecstasy.
—Nancy Brewka Clark
As with most fine things, chocolate has its season. There is a simple memory aid that you can use to determine whether it is the correct time to order chocolate dishes: any month whose name contains the letter A, E, or U is the proper time for chocolate.
—SANDRA BOYNTON
Chocolate is a perfect food, as wholesome as it is delicious, a beneficent restorer of exhausted power.
—BARON JUSTUS VON LIEBIG
What you see before you, my friend, is the result of a lifetime of chocolate.
—KATHERINE HEPBURN
If you are not feeling well, if you have not slept, chocolate will revive you. But you have no chocolate! I think of that again and again! My dear, how will you ever manage?
—MARQUISE DE SÉVIGNÉ
There are two kinds of people in the world. Those who love chocolate, and communists.
—LESLIE MOAK MURRAY