Martha Meets Lucy

Grilled Radicchio Salad with Anchovy Dressing

For years I was convinced that I hated anchovies. I shuddered at the thought of voluntarily consuming them. I thought they were salty and smelled and tasted like a chum bucket (clearly something I eat regularly). Not something I wanted to eat.

But magazines and blogs and TV kept telling me that cooked I would like them. They were nutty and you couldn’t taste them. They just added that little something extra.

“Lies! All lies!” I thought yelled at the magazines/blogs/TV.

As it turns out they were all right. Anchovies are nutty (in a good way, not like Eddie Murphy in well, anything not animated in the last 10 years). I made a mistake. I love anchovies.

I love them in pasta. I love them in Caesar salad. I love them fresh, salted or packed in oil. What I don’t love is anchovies on pizza. That is gross and not acceptable. My dad spent my formative years ordering anchovies on pizza, and any hint of anchovy on my slice would cause me to freak the fuck out. It still might cause my to flip out, but in the name of maintaining my foodie street cred, I keep it on the DL. No, not the disabled list. On the down low.

Chances are, you’re like most of the world (and definitely me a few years ago) and think you don’t like anchovies. Well, if you like Caesar salad dressing, I think you will really like this dressing. The anchovies, wait for it, are nutty. Not fishy in the slightest. I know, I know, such a cliche, but it is true. Why? Because I said so.

How to Make the Best Hummus Ever

I just had the startling realization that I may be a hoarder. I’m not hoarding cats, or lint dating back to 1995, I’m hoarding beans. If we want to get technical, I’m hoarding beans and legumes.

"Ok. Now on three I need all the beans to smile and say flatulance."

I love beans, but this is getting a little extreme. I am the proud owner of nearly a dozen different kinds of beans. If we add in the lentils, we start getting dangerously close to 20.

There are also canned beans in case of emergency.

I might have a problem.

Luckily,  I love beans (clearly). I love all kinds of beans (also obvious). I like them in salads, soups, stews and dips. And this is the best hummus you will ever make. I 97% guarantee it. The secret? Starting from dried beans.

I know, I know starting from dried takes longer. You have to soak the beans and cook them rather than just draining a can. After an overnight soak, the beans are cooked in salty water with standard mirepoix (celery, onion, and carrot), 16 cloves of garlic and a few chile de arbol.

Once they start cooking go about your day, but check in on the beans once an hour. Don’t think about rushing the cooking, or saying they’re done before they are anything short of the creamiest beans you have ever eaten.

So, now that you have the best tasting garbanzo beans you’ve ever eaten we can make hummus. You better have saved your cooking water because it is the secret ingredient. We aren’t going to need to add any salt or olive oil to the hummus (except to garnish) as long as we have the cooking liquid.

Go get your beans soaking. You’ll thank me tomorrow.

Jambalaya

Somewhere in the awkward mess that we all agree to call my life, I decided I was meant to be Southern. I don’t have a drop of Southern blood in my veins, but ya’ll I want to be Southern. When I was younger, it wasn’t about the food*, or the hospitality. And as terrible as this sounds, I loved the idea of sitting on a pre-Civil War plantation fanning myself someone else fanning me while sitting on the porch drinking sweet tea.

You guys, I want to be Scarlett O’Hara. I will always and forever want to be Scarlett. I will never ever be Melanie.

I've been infatuated with Gone With the Wind since fourth grade. My love of GWTW has existed longer than my love of Harry Potter. Also, my goal of becoming Southern is much more attainable than becoming a wizard. What I'm saying is I've been slighlty obsessed. I went to Margarent Mitchell's house. I've walked around holding a hula hoop around my hips to see if I could handle wearing hoop skirts.

Since reading GWTW, my obsession with all things south of the Mason Dixon line has grown tenfold.

For most of my life, I so very badly wanted to go to New Orleans. I’d been to Atlanta, and it was definitely NOT the charming beacon of the South I expected** so my expectations for NOLA were low. I figured the food would be good, but it was post-Katrina (2006). I figured I would wander around the city eating amazing food and looking at homes that were built over 100 years ago.

I did neither.

Maybe I set my standards too high. Maybe New Orleans wasn’t back on its feet. Maybe the conference I was attending should have let us eat a meal outside of the hotel because banquet food is gross no matter where you are. Maybe I drank too much at night, and my taste buds weren’t awake after two hours of sleep. Really, who’s to say?

To this day, the best Cajun*** food I have had has been found outside of New Orleans. Take for example, my mom’s jambalaya. Until last year, she had never been to New Orleans, but she has been making this for years. I do believe she adapted it from none other than Paul Prudhomme, so it has some authenticity. If you’ve ever had jambalaya down South, you may notice that her’s is fairly loose, more like a soup. That’s how we like it, but if you like it thicker, cook the rice in the jambalaya. If you’ve only ordered jambalaya at a restaurant above the Mason Dixon line, chances are it was served over pasta. That is wrong. If my mom finds out you served her jambalaya over pasta she will hunt you down. Don’t risk it. Serve it over rice.

Macaroni and Cheese-The Only Good Thing I Got From My Ex

I, like so many people, have an ex. I feel confident saying that most people have an ex-boyfriend/girlfriend/wife/husband/friend. And if you happen to live in a small city that no one ever leaves chances are you will run into your ex-boyfriend. Then you might do some Facebook stalking* to see how much worse off his life is now that you aren’t in it, and find out he has a new girlfriend.

Who looks like Andre the Giant in a long blonde wig.**

Not this happened to me.

But if it were to happen, chances are she would work at one the restaurants I regularly hit up for happy hour. Because I am a good okay person I would resist the urge to quote Fezzik whenever she walked by.

“It's not my fault being the biggest and the strongest. I don't even exercise.”

“I’m on the brute squad”

“Why do you wear a mask? Were you burned by acid, or something like that?”

Thankfully, I have fantastic friends who pointed out that my ex was kind of worthless***. And while I wouldn’t go that far, I will say the best thing I got from my ex-boyfriend was a recipe for macaroni and cheese.

This recipe is super cheesy, clocking in at over 2 pounds of cheese to 1 pound of macaroni. Its unlike any other macaroni and cheese recipe I’ve ever seen. Chili powder adds a subtle depth, cayenne provides some kick, and dry mustard adds its particular sharpness to the party. His mom once told me she wasn’t allowed to go to a family function unless she brought this macaroni and cheese.

Rosemary Pine Nut Cookies

At least once a month, my mom and I kidnap my grandma to get her out of the house. My grandfather is a touch of a conspiracy nut, and spends all day in front of the computer, wondering if the world is ending. While I am happy he was able to embrace technology, there are some concepts that seem to elude him. Like Photoshop can be used to make a certain president’s birth certificate look um...dubious?

Anyways, my grandma is very social. She hates being trapped in the house. I can’t say I blame her. So we kidnapped her a few days ago to take her to lunch and a movie. She’s hard of hearing, but The Artist is playing, and I’ve been dying to see it. The silent movie aspect of it helps. Most of the movie has a soundtrack, but it is so weird not hearing footsteps or doors slamming. I didn’t miss hearing the actors speak, but I did miss background noise.

Before the movie, we went to lunch at Pizzeria Mozza. Every single thing I have read about this place was true. It was fantastic. Easily the best pizza I have ever had, and we have some fantastic pizza places. What really stuck out for me was the dessert.

I have been wanting to try the Butterscotch Bundino since last summer when my mom and I saw Hairspray at the Hollywood Bowl. People sitting behind us had gone to Mozza2Go for their picnic supplies, and all I wanted was to steal their butterscotch pudding cup. When I finally tried it this week, it was as good as I had imagined. The bundino was amazing (and I will be making it soon), but what made the dessert were the Rosemary Pine Nut Cookies.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned this before, but I adore pine nuts. They are my favorite nut. I eat them plain, in pasta, and now in cookies. If you come over for dinner and there are pinenuts in the food, chances are very, very high that I made it.

Stir Fried Edamame with Orange and Chili Flake

I love Downton Abbey*. I just re-watched season one, and there’s a scene when Matthew is explaining how he will be a solicitor and learn how to oversee the house simultaneously. His solution is that he will be at Downton on the weekends. To which Maggie Smith’s character responds, “What’s a weekend?”.

 

I’m starting to understand what it feels like to not know what a weekend is. When you’re unemployed and school isn’t in session it’s easy to forget that most people don’t get to lounge around in the backyard on a Friday, reading classic literature a book People magazine and decidedly not working.

(Before you all decide to hate me, please keep in mind I would much prefer to be working and I'm looking for a job)

(Also, as hard as it may be to believe, I played no part in creating this fabulous "winter" weather)

I hope you all have something simply fabulous planned for your weekend. And if you need a snack to keep you going through the weekend, I’m going to suggest you make edamame. Not just any edamame though. This edamame. Which has the flavor notch set to high.

 

Lambstrami (Lamb Pastrami)

There are dozens of reasons someone learns to cook. Perhaps they tired of eating cereal. Or they live in the middle of nowhere. Or their parents couldn’t cook.

None of those reasons apply to me. I learned to cook because both of my parents are fabulous cooks. I grew up watching them cook dinner every night, and I really, really wanted to help. 

I still remember the first thing my mom let me slice. I was six, and she let me slice the mushrooms for dinner with a paring knife. She could have had it done in two minutes. My dad, demonstrating he cares more about speed and less about his fingers, would have done it in one minute. I’m sure it took me forever to slice the mushrooms, but it was amazing. And it sparked a fire in me to learn more. More about how to make food. More about other cultures. More about where my food comes from. More about how to make it taste good.

After she handed me that knife, the kitchen was never safe from me again. Avocados that were being saved for a salad for that night’s dinner party? I made them into guacamole. Peanut butter and chocolate chips went into the microwave to become... something.

My parents made the food nerd I am today. I had my first oyster on the half-shell when I was a year and a half. By four, I was eating entire buckets of steamed clams, and if the rumors being perpetrated by my parents are to be believed, those were “my clams” and I did not share. When I took meat fab, I was the only person in my class who had tried liver, sweetbreads, gizzard, tendon, tongue, or tripe.

Everything Popcorn

Decisiveness is not a quality that is regularly ever attributed to me. I just don’t have it. I’m always the last person to order at a restaurant. After the 45 minutes it takes me to decide on a restaurant, albeit with the caveat, “Ok we’ll try there, but if there is a wait we’re going here, there, or over-there instead”. Clearly, patience is a virtue I also lack.

Indecisiveness applies to more than just restaurants. Ask me where I’m transferring to school next fall and you’ll get some variation of this:

“Well, I really want to go to University of Texas, Austin, but I won’t get in, so I’ll probably go to University of Arizona or the University of New Mexico, unless I get into OSU or ASU.”

I've had three different majors, not including culinary school.

I wear the same thing everyday (jeans, t-shirt, flip flops), yet it takes me three tries before I’m content with an outfit...and I almost always change my clothes later in the day. To be fair, I’m usually covered in flour* or formaldehyde** and need to change.

Then there is the always epic bagel debate. I love bagels. I love all manner of bagels. Onion. Garlic. Cinnamon. Jalapeno Cheddar. (Do these flavor variations exist elsewhere, or are Jalapeno Cheddar bagels indigenous to the West coast like tri-tip?)

Anyways, my local bagel place has the perfect bagel for people like me. The Cheese Everything bagel. Caraway, sesame seeds, poppy seeds, onion, garlic and salt all on one bagel? Yes please. And let’s talk about the cheese for just a second. You know when you make a grilled cheese and some of the cheese oozes out and gets crispy and kind of sticks to the pan? Yeah, that’s what the cheese on the bagel tastes like. In other words, heaven.

But, alas, it is January. And since beach season apparently started a week ago (seriously, its been in the 80s), bagels are off the menu. I had my last hurrah with them (for awhile) on Christmas morning. So what’s a girl to do when she needs an everything bagel fix?

Italian White Beans

It is the dead of winter right? Sweaters, stews and hot toddies should be staples right now to help get through the short days. Should be, is the key phrase. You guys, it is hot. Its easily 90 degrees out. I’ve been debating going to the beach all day. If I still had a surfboard, I would be at the beach.

I know that living in Southern California, I should never assume what “winter” will be like. I’ve gone to the beach on my birthday (in February). But I’m not ready for this. For starters, I’m really hot because I’m wearing jeans. When you’re single during winter, one of the perks is you don’t have to shave. Sure you could, but if you don’t want to shave for 1 2 months you don’t have to.

Not the bean I used but I just picked them and needed to share. (Christmas Limas)

I’m also in full winter mode for food. I don’t want a perfectly grilled steak. I don’t want a salad. I want stew. I want soup. I want a giant pot of perfectly cooked beans that are hearty enough to make me forget they’re vegan, but light enough to not kill my attempt lose the 5 pounds I gained over the holidays. (Helpful hint: just because you get a hand packed box of See’s chocolate doesn’t mean you have to eat all of it in one sitting. But its easy to do with a bottle of wine and a string of bad romantic comedies.)

So, if you live somewhere where the thermometer is going to drop below 60, go make a pot of beans. The base is a delicious Italian flavored sofrito (that I’m going to make a giant batch of next time and freeze) which takes some time, but the beans are simmered unattended. I thought they were going to take a couple of hours to cook so I went to a dance lesson, and they were done when I got home an hour later. Did I mention there is no soaking required?