This week, I was on a lychee kick. An Asian market near where I work had bags of beautiful, colorful lychees and I simply had to have some. But other than eating them straight out of hand, I didn’t know what to do with them. They are yet another food item that I did not grow up with and only became familiar with at the end of some Chinese meals. So, I set out to find some good lychee recipes. But first, a little info…

What Are Lychees?

Lychees, also spelled litchis, are native to China. They’re a roundish tropical and subtropical fruit of the soapberry family. The outside rind is pinkish/reddish and is pliable but tough, and has a rough texture. This rind is inedible and must be peeled away. Underneath that rough skin, however, is a soft, juicy flesh that is unlike anything else. It’s sweet, with floral notes and an equally floral perfume, and creamy white with a slight translucence. Despite its softness, it’s also firm, which makes it ideal as both an eating fruit and a cooking fruit (where texture is desired). Beneath the flesh is a dark brown, hard pit, which can be germinated to grow a lychee tree. It’s particularly popular in China, parts of Southeast Asia, and India.

Okay, now that we know what it is, let’s cook with it!

Cooking with Lychees

I found a bunch of very interesting recipes, but my week was busy, so I focused on three: two beverages and a dessert.

The dessert was a Lychee Tapioca Pudding. It called for cooking tapioca pudding and adding the lychees to it. Now, I’m not that familiar with tapioca. Again, it’s not something common in Italian households. And the last time I had it was many moons ago. So, as tapioca puddings go, I’m not quite sure how it came out. It was very thick and sticky, which I don’t think it’s supposed to be. But the flavor was very fruity, although it could have used more sugar. This is it on the right.

The first beverage was Lychee-Coconut Frappe. This is made with coconut cream (not cream of coconut), lime, and, of course, lychees. These are pureed together in a blender, like a smoothie. It was mildly sweet with a decidedly tropical flavor. (It tasted like something I’ve had before, but I still haven’t been able to figure out what that is.) It was reminiscent of a piña colada, so I think adding some rum to it would be fabulous. I’m doing that tomorrow night.  Tonight it’s…

Lychee Margarita. That’s the second drink. Of the three recipes, I like this one the best. It’s like a margarita, but with a delicate fruity edge to it. Yum.

Lychees are a great source of vitamin C and other nutrients. According to Nutritiondata.self.com, 1 cup of raw lychees has 226% of the recommended daily allowance of vitamin C, or 135.8 mg (according to the USDA), as well as some calcium, phosphorus, copper, potassium, and B2 (riboflavin). They’re also high in something called polyphenol, which is an antiinflammatory and antioxidant. In China, they’ve been used to treat stomach ailments and as a source of nutrition to newborns; in fact, the Chinese have even used peeled lychees as pacifiers.

Aside from the fresh fruit, lychees are available canned. Like anything else that’s canned, the flavor is inferior to fresh lychees. But since the season for fresh lychees is summer (May, June, July, August), you may want to avail yourself of the canned stuff in other seasons. You can also find lychee juice, syrup, and puree on the market.

I’m going to get more lychees this week while they’re still around and try out some more recipes. Below is the recipe for Lychee Margaritas, from LycheesOnline.com. If you have a great lychee recipe, feel free to share it here. See you next week, everybody.

Peace

Lychee Margarita

1 cup lychee juice
1 cup lime juice (about 8 limes)
1 1/3 cup lemon juice (about 1 lemon)
½ cup water
2 tablespoons grated lime zest
1 tablespoon grated lemon zest
1 tablespoon grated orange zest
¼ cup sugar
3 tablespoons of salt
1 ½ cups tequila
1 ½ cups Triple Sec

Combine the juices, water, zests and sugar.
Bring to a boil over medium-high heat.
Simmer on low heat, stirring occasionally, for 10 minutes.
Rub the rims of your glasses with the leftover lime rind or lychees, then dip the rims in salt.
Fill the glasses halfway with ice.
Strain the juice thru a fine sieve into a pitcher or cocktail shaker.
Add the tequila, Triple Sec and crushed ice.
Stir or shake 30 seconds and strain into the glasses.

This past week, Melynda told me that she was going to be cooking for an impromptu wedding for her friend and that she would be making mehndi (henna tattoo) cupcakes instead of a wedding cake. I just about fell off my chair when I read that. And I thought, “Yes! That is what I want you to write about.” So, without further ado, here is my fabulous guest, Melynda Huskey, and her cupcakes.

Mehndi and Marigold Wedding Cupcakes

My life as a cook, which started in first grade with white sauce (and why?  I blame my maternal great-grandmother, a turn-of-the-century scientific homemaker whose brooding influence on our dusting, laundry-folding, and canning has not been one whit diminished by more than 40 years of death), has been always been punctuated by unpredictably intense states of obsession with achieving some perfect culinary object.  For five years I was a burden to my friends as I sought the perfect sugar cookie.   Before that, it was the perfect French Breakfast Roll (a sugar-and-cinnamon dipped muffin sacred to my childhood).  Sandwich bread.  Pie crust.  Jalapeno Creamed Spinach. One by one, I’ve nailed them, after arduous labor.

Except vanilla cupcakes.

I’m well known, in a small-town way, for my cupcakes. Everyone who has eaten my cooking has had a cupcake, and mostly, they’ve loved them.  Which would be great, of course, except that, honestly?  Not an achievement.  It’s just the soft tyranny of low expectations, to coin a phrase. Like a curly-headed child actor, all a cupcake has to do is show up in a cute outfit and wave.

But that’s not enough for me.  I want CUPCAKE.  Like this:  Perfectly mounded tops, with a sugary-crisp crust that yields to the teeth with just a hint of modest reluctance.  A moist, tender, clinging crumb, and a spongy, springy texture.  Yellow like a buttercup, a primrose, a bowl of thickly-clotted cream.  And with a fragrance of vanilla, butter, and first love.

The essence of cupcake.  It has eluded me for years. It has become my Holy Grail.

Three weeks ago, I found out that two dear friends had decided to get married, more or less on the spur of the moment—except they were going to have to do it at least twice, to accommodate everybody else’s physical, legal, and familial geography, and neither performance was going to suit them much.

“Come to our house,” I said. “We’ll have a nice picnic, Joan’s got her internet ministerial credentials, and . . .”

“You’ll make cupcakes??” asked the bride with a gleam in her eye, who once told a roomful of people that if I made cupcakes out of dirt, she’d be first in line to get one.

What else? Three weeks to the perfect cupcakes.  The happy couple had no wishes, although when I pressed her, the bride thought it would be fine if the cakes matched her outfit—turquoise and chocolate brown.

That was not enough for me.  These cupcakes needed to be perfect.  I wanted them to reflect the incredibly quirky, fraught, hilarious, geeky, adorable bride and groom, and their sweet, self-conscious devotion.  Somehow I wanted the cupcakes to contain every cool, weird, unpredictable thing that I love about these two.

Inspired by the bride’s gorgeous Indian silk stole, I settled on marigolds, the traditional Indian wedding flower, and turquoise-frosted cakes piped with bridal henna designs in chocolate frosting.  And the cake, snagged at the last moment from the King Arthur Flour website, uses a technique as off-center as my friends and as sweet.  Not perfect, but real—just like them.

Adorably Odd Vanilla Cupcakes (freely adapted from King Arthur Flour’s Golden Vanilla Cake)

Two hours or so before you want to make your cake, take out all the ingredients and line them up on the counter to reach room temperature.  When you start mixing the cake, preheat the oven to 350 F.

2 cups sugar
3 ¼ cups all-purpose unbleached flour
2 ½ teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
¾ cup (1 ½ sticks) butter
1 ¼ cups milk
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 teaspoon high-quality bourbon
4 large eggs

Sift the dry ingredients into the mixer bowl.  On low speed, beat in the very soft butter.  It’ll look and feel like you could make a great sand castle with it. Pour in the milk, vanilla, and bourbon and mix at medium speed for one minute.

Add the eggs one at a time, beating thoroughly between each addition.

Fill your paper-lined cupcake tins about 2/3 full.  You should easily get 24 cupcakes.  I got 2 dozen plus an 8” square pan that the kids ate at snack time. Bake them about 20 minutes, but watch them carefully in the last few minutes.  Nothing is sadder than a dry, overbaked cuppie.

Frost however you like.

In my part of the country (New York), summer has been a fleeting thing the past several years. I remember the days when it was hot in May, and it would stay sunny and hot throughout June, July, August, and even September. Now, it’s cold and rainy through June, then we finally get some heat and sunshine in July. By September, it’s already cooling off. Just last week, New York experienced an unbelievable wind and rain storm that left hundreds of broken umbrellas lining the streets like blankets. And look what’s going on in the rest of the world: earthquakes, tsunamis, tornadoes. Global warming, people, is messing with us.

So, with the weather making us all crawl back inside and hibernate, my mind turns to the topic of comfort food. It’s funny how people consider many of the same things as comfort food.There are differences that have to do with the region or country you grew up in, the cultural make-up of your community, and your economic status growing up. (Of course, your heritage or nationality will play a huge role in this—someone who grew up in a Chinese household, for example, will have different ideas of comfort food than someone who grew up in an Indian household.)

Yet, despite these conditions, many things we consider comfort food in this country seem to be across the board: Mac ‘n’ cheese, anyone? What’s interesting is that restaurants are responding to this need for comfort food. One of the most prevalent crazes, in my opinion, of the past few years is the transformation of comfort foods into “gourmet cuisine.” Take that good ol’ mac ‘n’ cheese, for instance. Chefs are turning this favorite into a specialty by using different and/or multiple cheeses (sometimes expensive ones) or enhancing its depth by employing different cooking methods. And by adding new ingredients, chefs can change the flavor profile. Some green chiles will turn it into a Southwest dish; Indian spices will yield curried mac ‘c’ cheese; and use some shaved truffles for a decidedly French twist. In fact, you can add just about anything to macaroni and cheese to turn it into your own personal dish. I like the idea of veggies. If you’re a meat-eater, you can add ground beef, chicken, or turkey. How about shredded salmon or tuna? Mac ‘n’ cheese is pretty wide-open to interpretation. (I really wouldn’t add Reese’s Pieces or Skittles or anything like that, though.)

However, I must say at this point that because of my background—that is, my Old World Italian upbringing—mac ‘n’ cheese was not something I grew up with. So, while it has become the occasional comfort food for me, it’s really not the first thing I think of when I want something comforting . For me, it’s simple noodle soup or a grilled cheese sandwich.

How about you? I’d love to hear what you all consider comfort food. What do you turn to when you need a bit of warmth, comfort, and security? And if you can tell me why those particular foods, I’d absolutely love it. (I love finding out the origins of things, especially when it comes to eating habits.) So, please leave a comment. That would be awesome. In the meantime, here’s a recipe for Macaroni and Cheese with Proscuitto and Taleggio, from Bon Appetit, March 2002, and a recipe for Macaroni and Cheese with Garlic Bread Crumbs, Plain and Chipotle, originally appearing in Gourmet (R.I.P), December 1999. Enjoy!

Okay, everyone. Here’s hoping we’ve seen the last of winter nastiness, wherever you are, and that spring will arrive very soon. I think we all need it.

Ciao.

Anyway, on with the show.

This week,  I want to talk about appetizers. It’s a pretty broad subject, I know, but they’ve been a part of my daily existence for the past year. Allow me to explain.

My next cookbook is going to focus on appetizers, so almost every day I have been testing at least one appetizer. The thing is, when you’re testing a recipe, you have to test it exactly as it’s going to appear in the final recipe, including ingredients and quantities. In other words, if you’re developing a recipe for turkey chili with red beans and zucchini (yeah, zucchini.  so?), you can’t substitute pork and chick peas in the testing and then use cauliflower because they were out of zucchini at the market. Everything cooks up differently, at different times, with different results. You won’t know what your end product will be and that could cause dissatisfaction in your readers. Your recipes must work as written. Where quantities are concerned, again, you need to use the same quantities as stated in the ingredients list of the recipe, otherwise, you may end up with a different yield. So, your readers might be expecting 4 servings and end up with only 3, or 10. And not all recipes are amenable to being doubled or halved.

Why is this a problem for me? Because if I’m developing a recipe for appetizers, it’s going to be for at least 6 people. Appetizers can be fun and delicious, but I must say, one can only eat so many appetizers. It’s gotten so that I’m sick of my own food. I give away a lot of food. A lot. The other night, I asked a friend if he’d like to go get Chinese food. I couldn’t stand the thought of eating my own food again. I was already cooking a couple of things that night, mind you, but I just couldn’t bring myself to eat them. I finished cooking, packed it all up, and went out.

Don’t get me wrong. My food isn’t bad. In fact, if my family and friends are to be believed (not to mention my personal chef clients), I’m pretty good at this cooking thing. But sometimes I just need someone else’s food.

Anyway, back to appetizers. Appetizers have existed since ancient times. Here’s what I wrote about appetizers—or antipasti in Italian—in my cookbook, What, No Meat?:

One of the trademarks of an Italian meal is the antipasto (appetizers or hors d’oeuvres). Contrary to popular belief, antipasto does not mean “before the pasta.” It means “before the meal.” Pasto (meal) comes from the Latin word pastus, meaning “food.” The ancient Athenians actually invented the concept of appetizers; unfortunately for their guests, it was the only course they would serve. Other Greeks felt that this was a sign of cheapness because, as Lynceus put it, “such a layout as that may seem to offer variety, but is nothing at all to satisfy the belly.”

The ancient Romans began having true antipasto in the 3rd century B.C. and continued having this premeal course through the 4th century A.D. It included items that are still considered appetizers today, such as olives and a primitive pizza (think of the focaccia on the table at your favorite Italian restaurant).

During the Dark Ages, meals were more for sustenance than enjoyment, so antipasto had no place in it. During the Plague of the 14th century, one was lucky to get a meal at all, let alone appetizers. With the onset of the Renaissance, admiration for beauty and art was reborn and appreciation of food for its own sake reemerged. Appetizers came back in style and have remained with us to this day.

After I finish all this testing, I’m going on a diet. Maybe even a fast. Parties are fun, but parties every day become a bore (how does Paris Hilton do it, poor thing?). But I don’t want anyone to lose interest in the subject. Appetizers are creative little dishes that guests remember the next day and for days to come.

As Saki (writer H.H. Munro) wrote in “Reginald at the Carlton”:

Hors d’oeuvres…remind me of one’s childhood that one goes through considering what the next course is going to be like—and during the rest of the menu one wishes one had eaten more of the hors d’oeuvres.

Have a great week, everyone! And stay away from those viruses.

Let’s get drinking…

A while back, I made kumquatcello, based on the recipe for limoncello, except that I used kumquats. (The blog for that is HERE.) The resulting liqueur was unique and smooth, with a delicate citrus flavor, and it’s getting better as it ages.

I’d been wanting to try orangecello and I finally got a chance to do that. All you do is replace the lemon peels with orange peels. Right now, the orange peels are infusing the vodka, and in about a week or so, I’ll be finishing off the recipe. After that, it will sit for a month before I taste it.

I’ve also got a bag of naked oranges now. I’ll squeeze those for some fresh orange juice. I love that! Nothing compares to fresh-squeezed orange juice, no matter what the commercials say.

I’ll let you know how that goes. In the meantime, have a great week, everyone. And for those of you being hit by Arctic blasts, stay warm.

Peace

The two recipes I concentrated on developing were Indonesian urap and Nigerian yam salad. Urap is a vegetable salad that contains shredded coconut and is flavored with a spicy dressing of garlic, galangal or ginger, tamarind, and sambal ulek (a spicy chile paste).

Detour to Yams

The yam salad is very much like a potato salad, except that it’s made with yams and a coconut-based dressing. Yams should not be confused with sweet potoatoes. Americans have mistakenly come to know sweet potatoes as yams(especially, for some reason, around the holidays). But the red-fleshed tubers are not yams. Yams are white-fleshed with rough dark brown skin and are starchier and less sweet than sweet potatoes But they are a crucial crop in Africa. They’re not easy to find in the U.S., but where you might find them is in Latin markets, or a market that has a Latin produce section. In these cases, you will find yams under the name namé (nah-MAY). (They also go by the names tropical yam or true yam). Throughout Africa, Yams are a symbol of fertility and renewal and are honored with festivals. There are many myths and legends surrounding yams. One such legend, from Mali, says that criminals were beheaded in a ritualistic fashion in the yam fields so that their blood could fertilize the crops.

Anyway, Back to Coconuts

So, it was back to the produce aisle for a “regular” coconut. (I’ll be honest, though, I’ve never tried frozen coconut. Although I hear that it is very similar to fresh.) The trick to opening a coconut is to poke holes in the coconut’s “eyes” with a hammer and screwdriver or—my preferred implement—an awl. Drain the water out, then pound away where you’ve made the holes with a hammer until it cracks. Pry it open and crack it into two pieces. Place the pieces on a baking sheet and bake at 350 degrees for about 15 minutes. Pry the meat out in pieces with a knife—CAREFULLY. Then peel the dark skin off the pieces. If you need the coconut shredded, do it either on a box grater or in a food processor with the shredder blade on. And there you have it.

What I’ve learned about coconuts is that nothing really compares with fresh coconut right from the shell. I’ve picked up canned coconut from my local Asian market and…well…BLEECCCHHH!!!! Can you tell I didn’t like it? The texture was weird and the flavor was weird. Dessicated coconut can be rehydrated but it’s not quite as fresh tasting.

Also at the Asian market, I purchased a “young coconut.” This is a coconut that has had the outermost layer removed but not the fibrous layer surrounding the hard, brown shell we usually see. The hard, brown shell (in a young coconut) is thin and not as difficult to break. But once you get inside, there’s very little meat. What there is is quite tender and creamy but it really can’t be used in many recipes. (Often, you’ll see people drinking straight from a young coconut that’s had its top sliced off or poked.)

If you’re not quite grasping the layers-of-a-coconut thing, here’s an explanation from Everyday Mysteries: Fun Science Facts from the Library of Congress: “The coconut we buy in the store does not resemble the coconut you find growing on a coconut palm. An untouched coconut has three layers. The outermost layer, which is typically smooth with a greenish color, is called the exocarp. The next layer is the fibrous husk, or mesocarp, which ultimately surrounds the hard woody layer called the endocarp. The endocarp surrounds the seed. Generally speaking, when you buy a coconut at the supermarket the exocarp and the mesocarp are removed and what you see is the endocarp.”

One more thing. Don’t confuse these various coconut products: coconut water, coconut juice, coconut milk, coconut cream, and cream of coconut.

Coconut water: This is the liquid that is inside a coconut. It can be consumed right from the coconut or used in drinks and food.

Coconut juice: Another name for coconut water. However, you will sometimes find cans of “coconut juice” that are actually flavored drinks. They start with coconut water and sometimes add things like sugar and other ingredients. Always check the ingredients.

Coconut milk: Coconut milk is made by taking grated coconut meat and squeezing the liquid out of it. Handmade milk is made using cheesecloth; commercial milk is machine-pressed.

Coconut cream: This is coconut milk that has a lower water content and is, therefore, thicker.

Cream of coconut: This is sweetened coconut cream. This product is used in desserts and drinks. Think Coco Lopez and those yummy piña coladas.

More Fascinating Coconut Facts

Here are some more interesting bits about coconuts from Everyday Mysteries: Fun Science Facts from the Library of Congress:

* Every bit of the coconut is used. As a result, coconuts are called the “Tree of Life” and can produce drink, fiber, food, fuel, utensils, musical instruments, and much more.

* When intra-venous (IV) solution was in short supply, doctors during World War II and Vietnam used coconut water in substitution of IV solutions.

* Botanically, the coconut palm is not a tree since there is no bark, no branches, or secondary growth. A coconut palm is a woody perennial monocotyledon with the trunk being the stem.

* Possibly the oldest reference is from Cosmas, a 5th century AD Egyptian traveler. He wrote about the “Indian nut” or “nut of India” after visiting India and Ceylon, Some scholars believe Cosmas was describing a coconut.

* Soleyman, an Arab merchant, visited China in the 9th century and describes the use of coir fiber and toddy made from coconuts.

* In 16th century, Sir Francis Drake called coconut “nargils”, which was the common term used until the 1700’s when the word coconut was established.

* It takes 11 -12 months for the coconut to mature.

* At one time scientists identified over 60 species of Cocos palm. Today, the coconut is a monotypic with one species, nucifera. However, there are over 80 varieties of coconut palms, which are defined by characteristics such as dwarf and tall.

* Coconut growing regions are as far north as Hawaii and as far south as Madagascar.

So, think about that the next time you’re biting into that coconut macaroon or drinking a piña colada. Food has a history all its own and someone somewhere had to discover it and figure out what to do with it. It didn’t just show up on the menu one day.

Okay, thanks for popping in and I’ll see you next time. Have a great week, everyone.

Photo credits: Yam: www.foodsubs.com; www.alibaba.com; awl: www.homedepot.com; pina colada: www.faeriesfinest.com.

Traditionally, for me, the day after Thanksgiving has been a day of rest. I don’t do anything, I don’t go anywhere, I don’t see anyone. I’ve been cooking all week and I want is to be left alone. Just me and my leftovers and my holiday movies. That’s it. This year, my parents cooked Thanksgiving dinner and I worked at Macy’s this Friday as a Santaland elf. Yes, I worked at Macy’s on Black Friday. I thought I was going to need tranquilizers. But I’ll talk about that experience another time.

Now, I’ve cooked multi-course Thanksgiving meals for up to 20 people without a hitch. The menu usually consisted of (with variations): Antipasto platters (I am Italian, after all), for which I roasted my own peppers and sometimes marinated my own olives, and which included things like stuffed mushrooms, cheeses, salami, etc.; the turkey (of course); cranberry sauce (homemade); stuffing; green beans almandine; corn; mashed (or other) potatoes; baked squash rings; broccoli raab; salad; and desserts. Sometimes I added side dishes, and my mother always made something(s). And even though I knew full well that everyone would bring a dessert, I still chose to make one or two myself because I enjoy it and I don’t get many opportunities throughout the year to make desserts.

This year, I was in charge of stuffing. That’s it. I did choose, however, to also make fresh cranberry sauce, cipolline (more on that), and a raspberry cheese pie. With only those few items to make, you’d think it would have been a snap. Well, just as the rest of my year has gone, things decided to go their own way. Some things chose not to cooperate. On the upside, I did learn a few things (when you cook for Thankgiving, it gives you the opportunity to really experience cooking for a crowd).

So, without further ado, here are the 5 Things I Learned This Thanksgiving.

1. When making homemade cranberry sauce, don’t skimp on the sugar. Cranberry sauce requires a lot of sugar. Otherwise, it can be so tart as to be unpalatable (for some, anyway). This year, I decided to cut back on the sugar. I used a combination of white and brown sugar, hoping that the brown sugar would increase the sweetness. Didn’t work. The resulting sauce left a bitter aftertaste. I knew I had to add sugar before I brought it to dinner, but I was afraid of grittiness. So, I added brown sugar and stirred it in very well. It was fine.

2. If you’re roasting chestnuts for chestnut stuffing, buy more than you have to because some of them will be rotten.

3. Cipolline. There is no substitute. These are small Italian onions that are available only in fall. They are a delicacy. They have a strong flavor, somewhat bitter, but Italians seem to be fond of that. It’s an acquired taste but one that is prized. I make them agrodolce—sweet and sour—and when done properly, they are addicting. This photo shows what the end product looks like. Anyway, they can be hard to find and I substituted pearl onions. Well, it just isn’t the same. They don’t cook up the same and they certainly don’t taste the same. So, if you’re going to give cipolline a try, don’t bother if you can’t find the real thing. Here’s a recipe.

4. Chocolate just doesn’t melt as well in a microwave as it does the traditional way on the stovetop. I had to melt white chocolate for the raspberry cheese pie and it came out lumpy. Is it because it was white chocolate rather than regular chocolate? I don’t know.

5. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it! I brought my stuffing to my parents’ house. It was assembled and ready to go in the oven just for reheating. It was just right—the texture, the flavor, the dispersal of ingredients. But I thought, “Hmm, I don’t want it to dry out in the oven, so I’ll just add the rest of this vegetable broth.” I had to heat it for close to an hour at 400 degrees just to dry it all out. In the end, it still tasted good, but the texture was somewhat gummy. So, like I said, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

I hope everyone had a great day on Thursday. And so begins the new Christmas season. What will you be making this holiday?

Until next week, peace.

But, like most people I know, these are things that will have to live in my fanstasies until that lotto number hits. In the meantime, I do quite well in my average-sized kitchen with my average counter space, and average everything. When you get a feel for a kitchen (your own or someone else’s), it’s amazing how good your food can be (assuming you can cook ).

BUT…it’s when you’re thrown into a new environment that your skills are tested and can really shine. This past month, I’ve been visiting friends in Colorado. Now, I’ve been there before and it’s a beautiful property, sitting right on the Arkansas River with a view of the the Rocky Mountains. It’s so serene, peaceful, and pure looking that I once described it as “fake.” That is, it’s the kind of view that if you see it in a movie, you’re SURE that it’s a set because no place could possibly look that beautiful or untouched.

On this visit, however, there was the added problem of house renovations. My hosts are doing construction on their house, which means less room, a lot of commotion, and open spaces, where unwelcome critters have made their entrances and left calling cards behind. So, every scrap of food has to go in jars, plastic containers with lids, and metal cans. Bags of food have to go in the refrigerator (whether they should be there or not) or the microwave. We had a close call when someone started the microwave by mistake (intending only to start the timer), not realizing that the toaster was in there (the toaster harbors crumbs, which invites mice). It’s a good thing she realized that the microwave was on or we would have had a very serious situation on our hands.

Anyway, so here I am, a personal chef from Brooklyn, New York, cooking on a gas stove all her life, suddenly finding herself cooking at 7,000 feet above sea level, with electric appliances, no stove, in a house under construction that’s being beseiged with tiny, uninvited guests. Lord have mercy!

I haven’t been able to cook as much as I’d like on this visit, but I have managed a few things. The other night, I made Salade Niçoise, a Provençal specialty salad, consisting of numerous ingredients and usually containing tuna or anchovies, but mine was completely vegetarian. It had hard-boiled eggs, pototoes, green beans, tomatoes, olives, lettuce, red onion, and cubed Swiss cheese. These are all then beautifully arranged on a platter. On the surface, it sounds pretty quick and easy to throw together. But keep in mind that eggs and potatoes have to be boiled, peeled, and sliced; green beans have to be trimmed and boiled or steamed; lettuce has to be washed; and tomatoes and onions must be cut. It’s not complicated but it does take a little time. And try doing all that with electric pots in a tiny kitchen under contruction!

Plus, I also made a Dutch dish called frikandel, a sausage-and-potato log. I made mine with vegetarian sausage and, yup, cooked it up in an electric frying pan. Last night, I made pasta primavera, and I realized that I can adapt quickly to my circumstances.

But, then, I’ve had to adapt to different kitchen configurations many times. As a personal chef, I’ve had the pleasure of cooking in swank, Upper West Side kitchens, but those were rarities. More common were the tiny, little kitchens that Manhattan is known for. We’re talking kitchens the size of closets, with barely enough space for me to stand in, let alone cook a week’s worth of meals for a family. Believe me, it’s not easy. But I had to do what I had to do and I made it work.

In the meatime, I’ll keep my fantasy kitchen alive in my head. Maybe someday…

Photo credits: Viking range and outdoor bbq set: www.vikingrange.com; Sub-zero refrigerator: www.subzero.com; Rocky Mountains: www.parbeszed.com; salade nicoise: www.foodtv.ca; Spanish kitchen: www.yossawat.com.

I have to say that although not having a job really bites in terms of finances, it’s afforded me the opportunity to do things I never would have been able to do if I’d been working. For instance, I never would have been able to go on a two-week road trip or spend three weeks in Colorado (very inexpensive trip). This has been a cathartic year for me, in both good and bad ways, and the ability to travel (cheaply—I emphasis the word cheaply) has been a blessing.

But the other thing I’ve been able to do is plow through the 200-some-odd recipes that I’ve been testing for my second cookbook. I’ve been working on this book since 2002. That’s seven years! I want to be done with it. But testing recipes is difficult when you have a full-time job. It’s not like “regular” cooking, where you can just reach into the fridge or pantry and throw some things together. When you’re recipe testing, you can’t go to the market and just pick out whatever strikes your fancy. You can do that to a certain degree (because sometimes the best recipes come from a whim), but, generally, you have to go with a list of ingredients for your intended recipes. Then you have to prepare the recipes methodically, in a certain order, keeping track of everything you do. It’s like a science project, really.

Anyway, at the beginning of this year, I still had a long, long way to go to finish the testing and finalize my recipe list. In the last nine or so months, I’ve made a concentrated effort to test at least one recipe per day, more if possible. It doesn’t always work out that way. Some days, I just have too many other things to do to shop and cook. How can you be busy? you ask. You have no job. I’ve been busy with writing and editing projects, sick cats, housecleaning (and by that, I mean going through years’ worth of stuff and trying to thin out the useless crap), and family responsibilities. So, yes, even without a job, one can be very busy.

I have had more global cuisine this past year than probably any other time in my life. I’ve had Indian, Chinese, Turkish, Thai, Indonesian, Malaysian, Armenian, Korean, Macedonian, Greek, Hungarian, Russian, Finnish, Swedish, Norwegian, Irish, French, Japanese, Nigerian, Kenyan, Brazilian, Chilean, Mexican, Honduran, Peruvian, Puerto Rican, Polynesian, Moroccan, and more. (I’m trying to figure out how to say “from the Ivory Coast.” Ivory Coastan??)

I’ve made quite a dent, and while I’m still not close to being done, I’m way closer than I would have been if I had a job. So, as tough as things have been financially, I am grateful for the opportunities I’ve gotten and am taking full advantage of them while I can. And that actually has taught me a valuable lesson. Some opportunities only knock once, so always answer the door.

It’s pretty rainy and windy here in NY today. Hope it’s better wherever you are. Have a great week, all. Ciao.

Photo credit: Mrs. Yandle Cooking on Coal Stove by Alfred Eisenstaedt

Now, I’ve made things that needed to be rolled. I’ve wrapped spring rolls in rice paper; burritos in tortillas; manicotti in pasta; rice in banana leaves; and those of you who have been reading this blog know that I’ve wrapped tamales in corn husks (story here). All of these require the roll-and-tuck method. But there is a particular technique to rolling grape leaves. The reason for this, I imagine, is because grape leaves are oddly shaped. They are not perfectly square or round, so they have to be handled a certain way.

I was placing the filling on the left side, then trying to roll the leaf, using the roll-and-tuck method, as if it were a square. I learned that you have to place the filling across the center of the leaf, right above the stem, fold the left side over the filling, then the right, then the left, then the right, then rolling it forward over the rest of the leaf.

The wrong way to do it.

Source: www.cafefernando.com

The other secret is to use a pot that will allow you to pack in the dolmades tightly and to weigh them down with something. While I did weigh them down with a plate, they were not as tightly packed as they should have been and probably jiggled around a little. So, for attempt number two, I will be more informed. (I should have looked it up before…duh!)

Here is a great website with step-by-step instructions on making dolmades: Greek Recipes with May Lerios.

TIP: Don’t skimp on the quality of the grape leaves. I went to a local Russian market for mine. They had several brands on the shelf and I opted for the cheapest one, figuring grape leaves are grape leaves. Right? Wrong. What I got were basically grape-leaf irregulars. Who knew there was such a thing? They were scraggly, ripped, and all different sizes. I tried piecing together scraps to make whole ones but that was a bust. I was going to go buy more when I realized something: I had my own grape leaves in my backyard!

If you’re fortunate enough to have a grapevine growing in your yard (and, believe me, because of the large Italian and Greek communities in NY, it’s not that unusual), you can put all those beautiful, luscious leaves to use. If you do have access to fresh leaves, here’s what you do.

Pick the largest, nicest looking leaves you can find and rinse them off. Cut out the stems. Bring a pot of water to a boil; place the leaves in the water, shut off the heat, and let them sit for 5 minutes. Drain and let them cool. You’re ready to use them.

Store-bought leaves are available packed in jars, in tins, and vacuum-packed. Good, quality brands should give you more or less same-sized leaves. But whether you’re using store-bought or fresh leaves, keep in mind that they are extremely fragile and will rip easily, so handle them gently.

I also need to perfect my filling recipe. Needed a little something. Or, maybe they just got water-logged when they unraveled and sat in the broth/water mixture I was using. Hmm, we’ll see. If anyone has any pointers, feel free to leave a comment.

Have a wonderful week and I hope that next time, I’ll have a success to share instead of a flop. Peace.