The Celebration of Small Packages

Years ago I worked at an organization where the mission was all about electing women to state and federal office and it followed suit that the majority of the staff were women (with several feminist men sprinkled in for diversity). Although my job took me to all parts of the country - sometimes from one coast to another in one week - and I spent most of my time on the road, this was one of the most supportive, fun, dynamic places to work. Everyone who worked there was dedicated to the mission of the organization, passionate about the cause and absolutely committed to the role they played in the outcomes. 

Which also made it one of the most competitive places I’ve ever worked. And this was never more evident than at THE Cookie Exchange which took place right before the holidays. 

Those participating – and if you didn’t participate it was like you forfeited the biggest game of the season – would file into the conference room with their containers full of goodies. The truth is, I don’t even remember how the actual exchange happened but I do remember everyone tasting each other’s cookies, giving their polite feedback and words of encouragement and then ranking the cookie on a secret list in their heads.

To this day, I fear the rugelach I brought to the exchange were a big flop. You know when you look back at minor (or major) moments in your life wishing you could travel back in time with the knowledge or tools you have today so you could be more successful?

The little package of goodies, that comes directly from our friend Amy's kitchen in Michigan and arrives at our doorstep before the holidays, is that secret weapon I wish I had during THE Cookie Exchange. For some the end of Thanksgiving marks the beginning of the holiday season. But for me, the holidays don’t start until that package arrives.

Amy always includes a variety of biscotti, a little package of coffee grounds, chocolate gold coins and other candy. It's always the biscotti that we tear the package open for and eat as an appetizer for dinner.

Based on her biscotti alone, I believe Amy to be an excellent baker. Growing up, she claims she wasn’t a very good cook nor was her mother, “who was an artist and expressed her creativeness through calligraphy and Judaica instead of dinner.” “However, I started to teach myself after the 1980 election” when the Congressman she was working for lost in the Reagan Republican wave. “I felt like it was time to create something tangible to make me feel better and I started to cut out recipes and bake things to give away to friends.” So was born the Great Biscotti Mailings (GBM). The GBM’s started before things like Facebook and other social media and Amy sent them out each year as a way of keeping in touch with people she doesn’t see that often and letting them know she’s thinking of them. The GBM's have grown over the years and to this day, “with every address label, I think about the people I am sending to and it makes me happy.” Maybe as happy as receiving them makes us feel. 

Although the biscotti flavors change every year and are always delicious, the cranberry and pistachio ones that arrived this year were particularly wonderful with the savory of the pistachio, the sweet tart of the cranberry and the licorice taste of the aniseed. So, I asked Amy for the recipe. 

As I was baking the biscotti, my mind wandered and I started thinking about THE Cookie Exchange. How I wish I had this recipe – and the others below – back then.

I would have won.

The Celebration of All Things Fried

Earlier this week marked the beginning of Hannukah. The eight crazy nights stretched through this week and end right before Christmas. My kids look forward to two things during Hannukah – gifts and latkes.

Golden brown latke's ready to eat

Latke’s are traditional potato pancakes that are eaten this time of year along with sufganiyot (jelly doughnuts) and all other things fried. Personally, that’s what I think is cool about this holiday. Don’t get me wrong, the meaning behind the holiday is pretty amazing – good over evil, resources lasting longer than expected, hope and faith persevering in the presence of certain darkness (literally and figuratively) with a few miracles sprinkled in for good measure. 

So, what do we do to commemorate the occasion? We eat. But better than that, we are told that we must eat fried food to remember the miracle of the oil in the ancient temple that lasted a full eight days as opposed to the one day that was expected. As one of my girlfriends said to me when I told her about Hannukah and the foods that we are instructed to eat, “an entire holiday about fried food? Where do I sign up to be Jewish?” Wait until I tell her about Passover when we’re commanded to drink 4 cups brimming with wine.

This year for Hannukah, my daughter had to write an essay about our holiday food traditions and bring in a little taste of that food for everyone in her class. This meant that in the first 2 days of Hannukah, between her class project and the family dinners, I made so many latke’s that the fried smell permeated every inch of my house and won’t dissipate until next Hannukah. The city might end up rezoning our house to a fast-food location because you can smell it down the block.

Although latke’s aren’t hard to make, they are labor intensive and make me very grateful for modern day kitchen tools. Over the years, I’ve learned a few tricks which I wanted to share with you along with our family recipe and an alternative version. 

And yes, I fry them. Because every other time of year, I feel guilty for eating french fries, or justify that swiping them from my kids plate “doesn’t count” or I have to count every calorie, point or whatever when I eat fried food and hash-browns are reserved as a hangover indulgence. So this one time of year when I don’t have to feel guilty for eating fried food and in fact, it’s a way of commemorating my heritage well then, I'm going to take full advantage of it and own it. 

The Celebration of Nani

When my husband and I lived in Washington, DC, newly married, without children and a lifestyle that felt a lot like an episode of Seinfeld, Indu, the mom of our dear friend, Sujata, and her grandmother, Nani, were in town. As Sujata recalls “Nani, and my mom, wish that I liked to cook or even had an interest in it.” But I suspect Indu and Nani gained as much pleasure knowing how much Sujata enjoyed their home cooked meals. Sujata told Indu and Nani that Richard, our friend Shara and I wanted to learn how to make Indian food. The result was an afternoon cooking lesson led by Indu comfortably assuming the celebrity chef in residence role in a kitchen that had never been used.

The strictly vegetarian menu was an explosion of spice balanced with a little sweet and textures like a creamy black bean dip.  Indu patiently described all of the ingredients, let us sniff the spices and showed us some time-saving short-cuts (see tortillas in recipe below). Sujata remembers that Indu “brought her masala tin with all the spices. I wasn’t cooking but hanging out with the dearest people in my life, waiting for food and watching them make it!”

All the while, Nani was sitting on the couch with a shawl over her shoulder, crocheting with a grin on her face and I now wonder what she was thinking. The world had changed drastically since Nani, Indu and the family, who came from the Sindh province in Pakistan, left their home to make their way to India when the British left in 1947 and Pakistan was created. “Most Hindus in Pakistan made their way to India during one of the deadliest migrations in history. My family ended up in Mumbai after a few stops. Once my mom married and moved to the US, Nani would visit us time and again and for the last 20 years of her life, she basically lived full time in the US dividing her time between the homes of her three children.” And here we were, over 50 years later, with her daughter, Indu – an accomplished and well-respected OB/GYN in Memphis (who went bungee jumping in New Zealand but that’s an entirely different story), teaching Indian cooking to her grand-daughter – an equally educated and accomplished woman in her field to Jewish friends who had many common interests in the middle of Washington, DC.  

Indu’s cooking skills were taught to her by Nani, who I suspect learned them from the women who surrounded her. Even as Nani got older, she was a great cook and loved to make sure her family was eating enough, eating well, and eating home cooked meals. Towards the end of Nani’s life, she requested the foods of her youth – especially the sweets – that brought her comfort, happiness and memories from her own childhood.

The recipes that Indu sent me actually started with a cooler filled with Sindhi delicacies delivered from Indu’s kitchen in Memphis to my doorstep. She did this so I could “know what the food is supposed to taste like and look like.” Not until Sujata told me that most Westerners are familiar with Indian food from the North, “with a few Southern Indian specialties like dosa – it’s next to impossible to find Sindhi food like Dal Pakvaan anywhere outside of private homes, and even most of my Indian friends have never had it.”

These dishes are special because they are so unique and like all mom cooked meals across every culture and that are passed down, for Sujata, these are comforting when she’s sick, are served at family celebrations, synonymous with home, a connection to her heritage, and a physical reminder of her Nani.

The Celebration of Leftovers and a Challenge

As I was packing for our short trip to my in-laws house for Thanksgiving, I turned the TV on for background noise and ended up being sucked into a special on the Food Network called The Big Waste. Of course there was a cooking competition between world-class chefs coupled with impossible deadlines. But, what caught my interest was that they had to create a delicious meal for hundreds with ingredients that were on their way to the trash or compost bin. The chefs went to local farms, grocery stores and meat packers only to find that hundreds of pounds of nutritious and delicious food was being thrown away because it didn't look absolutely perfect.

Knowing that we throw away so much good food but then one in four kids in my home state of Texas is food insecure (meaning they don’t know where their next meal is coming from), is a sinful contradiction. So, this Thanksgiving I’m challenging myself – and you  - to eat leftovers or re-create meals using leftovers more than just once a year when turkey is involved. And, I up the ante by challenging you to re-purpose ingredients from one recipe to another (egg whites left over from baking, how about an egg white omelet for breakfast?), and think creatively about fruits and vegetables that are on the brink of expiration.

With that in mind, I looked at the leftover meat mixture from the empanadas, and with a recommendation from Susana, I reinvented the mixture into another meal.

The Celebration of Overalls from Argentina to Texas

Mishpuchah is a Yiddish word meaning family but in the broadest sense.  It’s used to describe extended family and friends who are family. When I met Andrea in 8^th grade, little did I know that we would become each other’s mishpuchah. But, I did know that I wanted to be friends with the girl who was standing there in overalls with a lot of pockets and more attitude than she could fit in them.

Through the years, our friendship took root and flourished. I think we found similarities in being two kids trying to fit in, at a particularly awkward time in any kids life, while trying to embrace those things that made us different – foreign born parents (hers being from Argentina) and different languages spoken at home among other things. I loved going to her house because seeing her father’s artwork displayed in their home coupled with his sense of design reminded me of my father. And, her mom, Susana, who had a thriving dental practice, brought a sense of calm and comfort to her surroundings and those around her.

Hot from the oven empanadas with wine makes for a delish
Friday night.

But what Susana was most known – and begged for – in her family was empanadas. As Andrea says “While growing up, this recipe was part of every holiday, semi-holiday … both my parents worked so getting to spend a day with my Mom making these was the best of both worlds; made only better when my Grandmother visited ... This was a full morning of filling, dough and assembling. The whole house smelled delicious and we could not wait to try them, usually burning our tongues. This recipe has celebrated every birthday goal reached, holiday, long weekend, it helped snag two son-in-laws and comforted us at the saddest of losses.”

Snagging a son-in-law is what made us mishpuchah.  Before my wedding, I told one of my husband’s close college friends that he and Andrea had to meet. I just knew they would hit it off. And that they did – less than a year after our wedding, Richard and I were attending their wedding. Andrea’s parents were glowing – probably more than she was. While the band was taking a break, tango music played to fill the time. The dance floor cleared other than Andrea’s parents. They danced on every inch of that dance floor and for a few minutes, we saw the spark that brought them together, the courtship that ensued and the glue that bonded them through the years.  A group of Andrea’s girlfriends, me included, watched them from the side of the dance floor, our mouths open. After the dance, Susana came to us and said “you don’t know a man until you tango with him.” I. Might.Have.Passed.Out.

Years have passed since our weddings and in that time, we have traveled together, celebrated professional milestones, supported each other during moves across county, rejoiced in the birth of our children and mourned together. So last night while I was testing Susana’s empanada recipe, it was hard for me not to think of Andrea and her parents. As she said “This is the kind of recipe that brings all of my life’s memories together both making them, eating them and now watching my kids devour them and all with memories from Argentina to Texas.”

The Celebration of DIY

I get on these weird money saving kicks once in a while. I say weird because they really make no sense in terms of what I decide to save money on and what I don't. 

One classic example is when I decided to start waxing my own face (don’t act shocked … if your family heritage is anywhere near the Mediterranean, hair removal is a major expense.) When I got into bed that evening with a few self-inflicted wounds on my face, Richard asked why I had done it myself and not gone to my usual place. When I explained how expensive it was and I was trying to save money, he responded that maybe I should cut back on my morning latte’s at Starbucks instead.  That's the closest he's ever come to sleeping on the couch.

Luckily, my affinity towards DIY'ing this part of my personal grooming has ended. But, I still look for small and big ways to save money … I often pack my own lunches for work, we pack the kids school lunches, we do meatless dinners at least once a week and I obsessively make shopping lists so we buy what we need and don't waste as much food as we used to.

While at the grocery store over the summer, rather than mindlessly putting the bottle of cold-brew coffee in my shopping cart, I actually looked at the price. Between that "omg, I'm spending how much on a bottle of coffee" moment and paying attention to the price of my daily lattes at the hipster coffee place in my building, I decided it was time to DIY my coffee. (Yes, Richard, you were right). 

Making cold-brew coffee requires a bit of investment at first but it will save you money in the long run. I love cold-brew because you get all of the flavor of coffee, without the bitterness and you can keep it in a carafe in your fridge for two weeks. Because it’s concentrated coffee, you can adjust the strength based on how much water and/or milk that’s added. Finally, you can make hot coffee, iced coffee and anything else in between. Oh, and I no longer have a coffee pot/Keurig taking up precious counter top real-estate.

The Celebration of Necessity

These aren't the loaves of bread but
they are fresh Challahs just out of the oven.

Two loaves of bread sitting on my counter ... fair warning, the punch line is a little gross. One loaf was thrown away last night after sitting on our counter for a little less than a week because it had more green fuzz growing on it than I care for. 

The second loaf is still on our counter ... it's been there for close to 4 weeks. Although the barbecue that it came with has long since been eaten or thrown away, this loaf of bread looks as fresh as the day we brought it home. At this point, this bread has become my own counter-top science experiment and I'm fairly convinced I'm going to get sick of staring at it before a speck of mold appears.

Several thoughts go through my mind when I see that loaf of bread. First - my family is really lucky to have access to healthy, fresh food with knowledge of how to cook. The highly processed bread on my counter is closer in its nutritional make-up to the plastic "food" that came with my daughters tea set. And second - real bread tastes really good and that's when I think of my Aunt Omi. 

My Aunt with after a Challah Baking lesson
with her best students!

My Aunt Omi is an incredible baker born out of necessity. "For me in the late 60's and early 70's, Austin was a bread desert. You couldn't even get a Lender's frozen bagel. French bread? What's that? Challah? Never heard of it. Houston or Dallas were a little too far to go for Challah (or a bagel), so I thought I'd try to make some myself." 

Remember, these were the days before Whole Foods and Central Market who now sell Challah everyday of the week. Or organizations like Challah for Hunger (I would be remiss to talk about Challah and not mention them) where Challah is made and sold by college students on campuses across the United States to raise money to combat hunger in the US and Africa. Here's the link for the University of Texas Chapter although there are chapters around the country and I hope you'll consider supporting them. 

Let's just say that Omi's baking skills have come a long way since then and what was a skill born out of frustration and craving has been elevated to an art form.  She makes all of the desserts and cakes in the family including birthday cakes that make the Cake Boss look like a junior apprentice. And, her baklava (stay tuned for that recipe) has started family feuds about who gets to bring the leftovers home, who has the right to eat those leftovers and I've seen friends take spoons and fight over the syrup at the bottom of the pan. 

The Celebration of Comfort

Cream of Tomato Basil Soup

Recently, with a dear friend, we have been putting ourselves through what we’ve jokingly referred to as a “deep thoughts” process. Deep Thoughts are guided by a series of mental exercises meant to put a framework around setting professional and personal goals. Yesterday, she asked me the “9 lives” question and that really got me thinking. The gist of the question is that if you could have 9 lives and you have to work in all 9 lives (no winning the lottery) but you assume you have the training and skill to accomplish the goals and the prestige is the same within each job, what would you do?

Before I could stop the thought, my answer was open Comfort. 

The first steps of Couscous Royale

Comfort is the restaurant that lives in my head with a menu centered on those soul nurturing dishes that recharge your psyche with memories of home however that place is defined in your heart. And although I think there are as many variations of comfort food in the United States as there are people, Comfort’s menu is centered on my culinary framework of comfort food. Nothing on the menu requires tweezers to plate or micro greens for garnish although a few in-depth descriptions might be necessary. 

Starter salads on the menu are mezze salads like Moroccan carrots, a roasted red and green pepper with cooked tomato salad called chakchouka (my first post) and of course, guacamole. Soups range from matzah ball to a chicken tortilla soup. And the main courses ensure multiple countries are well-represented since I will serve Couscous Royale (stay tuned for that recipe), garlic rosemary leg-of-lamb a la Provençale, slow roasted chicken, falafel, the obligatory brisket tacos and well … mac and cheese.

The Celebration of 5 Weddings in 1 Year

The bachelorette weekend I attended about a year ago was the kick off for our "Year of Weddings" - five weddings that started in December of 2013 and ended last weekend. 

This "Year of Weddings" was unusual for us for two reasons. We are in our 40's and we haven't been to one - let alone five - weddings in one year in probably 10 years. And in that decade or so, life has gotten more complicated and less carefree. So when an opportunity to celebrate comes along, we don’t take it for granted and appreciate every chance we get to be with dear friends in sharing their joy.

From posh hotels, modern art museums, outdoor venues (including one with longhorn cattle) and being on the banks of the Mississippi in far west Illinois, each wedding was as unique as the couples getting married. We had a wedding with an after-party that included a pizza truck (how the bride/groom met), another where we were honored to be the Padrinos de Arras  and the infectious joy of the dozens of cousins, aunts, uncles and immediate family attending rubbed off on all of us. Another wedding was more intimate but the bride’s parents let loose and danced the night away. Which is exactly what we did in Illinois (20,000 steps on my Fitbit) but under a tent with hard rain muffling the sound of the music. Finally, this past weekend we were at a semi-working ranch with a groom who is my husband’s brother from another mother and a bride who glowed to the point that she was illuminating the dance floor. The exclamation point on an incredible weekend of celebration was the informal jam session with the groom on guitar and other talented musicians from around the country. 

The Celebration of Dancing, Drinking and Laughing

One morning years ago, when dropping my oldest off at our sweet Montessori school, I noticed a woman with wavy hair, an inviting demeanor and generous smile.

I knew I wanted to meet her and when I did, I felt an almost instant connection with her especially when she told me her name ... which confused me. Gentil (pronounced: Hen-teal) Weiss Najera. Sometimes the filter between my thoughts and my mouth doesn't work so well and this was one of those times. The questions "How do you spell that? Where are you from?" tumbled out of me before I could stop myself. Luckily, she wasn't offended. We discussed how her name meant "kind" or "nice" in French (in her case, the name really does fit the person) and then she told me of her Puerto Rican mom, her Jewish dad, her step parents and siblings spread between California and the East Coast.

It's been about seven years since that day on the playground and we've been friends ever since. Through the years, I've come to know Gentil as someone who is so generous with her talents, time, advice and willingness to help. Her family is part of a small group of us that get together for Jewish holidays which I hope connects her with that part of her heritage. In turn, she shares lovely stories about her mom, who passed away several years ago, her elderly grandmother, all of her siblings and the rich Puerto Rican heritage and pride that was imparted to her. 

At one of our recent gatherings, she shared an old family recipe and the story for Pastelón (a Puerto Rican style lasagna), that is typically made on a special occasion or holiday.

"Growing up, I heard the stories many times about how my mom would make this tasty dish with her Abuela and mom (my Abuelita)! They would gather all of the ingredients and turn up the music and enjoy their time together. Sharing stories, dancing a little, drinking a little and laughing a lot!!" Now, Gentil makes this with her family and each member takes responsibility for a part of the recipe with salsa music in the background, adult beverages, dancing in between steps (of the recipe) and tasting all along. 

I often think of jewelry being passed down from mothers to daughters. But in Gentil's case, it was a pilón (a wooden mortar and pestle) that started in the hands of her great grandmother (Abuela), passed to her grandmother (Abuelita), then mother and is now in Gentil's kitchen. This is where Gentil's version of  pastelón starts and most of her other Latin inspired recipes. As she describes it's "where the sazon is made ... the garlic, salt, pepper, oregano, olive oil and apple cider vinegar is mashed together into a nice paste and is used for the seasoning of any sauce." It's well worn from years of use and it "holds the flavors and oils from years past." Can't you just imagine the hands of those generations of women encircling the pilón, infusing it with their energy and filling the contents with love? 

"My Abuela's recipe was more traditional even though she never measured her ingredients ... According to my Abuelita, who will be 90 this November, my mom always adjusted her recipe and substituted the meat for soy or vegetables but it always came out amazing and oozed sabor (flavor)." 

You serve this dish with a green salad, bread, wine and the traditional toast "amor y dineró, y el tiempo para gozarlo." (Love, Prosperity and Time to Enjoy them).

I will dance and drink (and eat) to that. 

The family heirloom with four generations -
Gentil at 1 year old, her mother, grandmother and great grandmother. 

Pastelón de León

Serves 8-10

Ingredients:

• 6 large ripe plantains (dark spots make it taste better!)
• 1/4 cup olive oil
• 3 cups shredded cheese, your choice
• 3 cups dried soy meat substitute
• 3 cups water
• 1/2 cup Recaíto mix (recipe below)
• 4 cloves garlic minced
• 1/2 cup sofrito (you can buy the Goya brand in your supermarket but you can also click here for a recipe and here's another variation (I think there may be as many recipes for sofrito as there are people in the Caribbean.)
• 2 eight once cans tomato sauce
• 2 tablespoons green olives with pimentos
• 1 tablespoon capers
• 1/2 teaspoon sugar
• 1/4 cup red wine (use the bottle from last night or open a new one and have a glass)
• 1 egg
• 2 tablespoons water

What to do with the ingredients:

1. Preheat over to 350 degrees
2. In a large bowl, combine soy meat substitue, Recaíto, garlic and 3 cups of water. Soak for 1/2 hour
3. Peel and slice plantains, first in half, and each half into long strips giving 6 to 8 slices per plantain. 
4. Heat oil in deep frying pan, and fry plantains until golden brown. Then drain on paper towel.
5. In another deep frying pan, heat sofrito, and add the soy meat substitute (which has soaked for 1/2 hour) with all its water and seasoning.
6. Add tomato sauce, sugar, green olives, capers and wine. Simmer on low heat for 20 minutes.
7. Lightly grease a 13"x9"x2" pan and place one layer of plantains on bottom.
8. Follow with a layer of soy meat, and then a layer of shredded cheese.
9. Repeat this sequence two more times for a total of three layers.
10. Beat egg with two tablespoons of water.
11. Make knife inserts into pastelón and pour egg mixture into openings.
12. Sprinkle a little more cheese on top and bake for 20 minutes at 350 degrees.
13. Let stand for 10 to 15 minutes before serving. 

Making your own Recaíto Criollo

Combine and chop all ingredients in a blender:

5 culantro leaves (this is different than cilantro. If you can't find it, increase the cilantro)

3 cilantro sprigs

1 green pepper 

1 onion

4 small sweet chili peppers (or 1 medium red bell pepper)

1 tomato 

1/4 teaspoon oregano

The Celebration of Bienvenu

The Village of Le Michels

My mother lived the book A Year in Provence years before it was written let alone a destination on any tourist map. Months before my older brother was born, my father (an Algerian born Frenchman) bought a home – sight unseen by my mom (a New Yorker with a knack for languages) – in a small French Village in Provence, France. There were 27, mainly elderly, inhabitants of Les Michels, France when my parents moved into the fixer-upper that predated the French revolution.

My mom tells the story that “The villagers were viticulturist – a fancy word meaning they grew wine grapes.” (Proof that wine is in my blood.) “They also grew table grapes, some fruits and vegetables.  In so many ways the people of the village were directly out of a book by Marcel Pagnol.  They were wealthy but you never could have guessed that fact.  As a matter of fact when we remodeled our house to make it a home, several of the villagers decided to install indoor plumbing!” It was 1966 after all.

I think the prospect of a shared village grandchild to spoil coupled with my mom’s natural gift of language sprinkled with a healthy dose of curiosity sweetened the locals temperament towards my mom.

Once I was born, four years later, it was like we had been there for generations. My earliest memories are of going from house to house in the village and being handed sweets at every door. And those memories are wrapped in a warm, fleece blanket of comfort and safety – her name is Tata Elvire. 

She was our housekeeper/nanny/auntie and became a dear friend of my parents. She took my brother and me to her farm where we ate fresh, hot French bread that created a mountain of crumbs as we bit into it. The bread was slathered with homemade butter and sprinkled with chocolate that was served to us with milk that I watched her heat up on the stove from a cow we milked moments before.

My mom still keeps in touch with Tata Elvire and although my brother and I are grown, and she is in her late 80’s, we will always be “mes petits,” my little ones, to her.  

From left
Yeyette, another family friend, my mom, my husband, Tata Elvire and me (pregnant with our 1st kiddo).
Le Michels, France in 2003.

The village was invited into my parents’ home to share in our celebrations and my mom was invited into their kitchens. In one of the most universally understood languages – that of food grown on their own land and every ingredient prepared by hand – my family was shown hospitality and love. They were farm-to-table before it was a catch phrase used on expensive restaurant menus.

“Late summer would bring a plethora of vegetables. Cases of roma tomatoes were made into homemade tomato sauce, abundance of red fruits were soaked in alcohol from the wine coop to make ratafia and the colorful vegetables were made into Pistou.  In Provençal Pistou means Basil, so you can guess the main ingredient of this soup.” As my mom recalls.

Pistou is a wonderfully simple, fragrant and comforting soup. For my mom, I suspect that a single whiff brings her back to being that late 20-something, very pregnant woman who was far from home with a village full of people ready to welcome her into their homes at their table and in their hearts.  

Here’s the recipe as my mom learned if from Tata Elvire.

Pistou a la Provencal

Ingredients:

*Try to go as organic as possible for the best flavors.

• 4 zucchinis sliced about an 1/8 of an inch thick
• 2 Chinese eggplants diced into bite size pieces 
• About 1 /2 pound flat string beans cut in approx. ¾ inch segments
• 2 -3 small to medium size potatoes cubed
• 3-4 tomatoes peeled and squeezed into the pot (I use a small can of crushed tomatoes)
• 1 small can of Cannellini beans
• 1 small packet of vermicelli
• Thyme (about a teaspoon full)
• Garlic, French bread, Basil, Olive oil, grated cheese preferably Gruyère.
• Salt and Pepper to taste.

What to do with the ingredients:

1. In a large soup pot put in 3-4 diced cloves of garlic and sauté them in no more than 2 tablespoons of olive oil until they start to turn brown.
2. Add the potatoes and stir so they are coated with the oil and garlic.
3. Add 12 cups of water and bring to a boil.
4. Add the tomatoes and eggplant and bring back to a boil.  Then add the string beans, zucchinis, cannellini beans, and Thyme.  The soup should not be watery.
5. When the soup is ¾ of the way cooked, add the small packet of vermicelli.
6. Once the vermicelli is cooked, peel 2 -3 cloves of garlic and crush them with a good size branch of fresh basil using a mortar and pestle if you have it. If not, crush garlic and basil on a cutting board using the side of a chef's knife. Transfer garlic and basil to a bowl and slowly add 2 – 3 soup spoons of Olive Oil to form a liquidy Ailoli. 
7. Cut up the French bread in thin slices.  The soup is served with the French bread in the soup with the Ailoli mixture on top of the bread and the grated cheese on top of it all.

This soup is thick and hardy and served with a salad makes a lovely meal.

The Celebration of Motivation

I’m not going to lie – I use food to motivate my children. And, as I write this, I realize I better start putting money aside for a future therapy fund.

Several years ago, we took the kiddos to Paris with the primary purpose of visiting my family but we also had several great days of sightseeing. We aren’t from a part of the country where people walk (I mean we drive to our neighbors house). So, we had to invent a few ways to motivate the kids so they would propel themselves on their own two feet throughout a city that’s best loved when walked. And, that’s where food for motivation comes in.

“If you walk to the end of this block, we’ll get a croissant at the next Patisserie.” “Oh, if you walk without complaining for 30 minutes, we’ll get you the biggest damn hot chocolate you have ever seen.” “In the next 2 blocks, I know there’s the best crepe maker in the entire city but he only makes crepes for kids who walk.” You get the idea.

Now, I use food as a motivator to get my kiddos out of bed and ready for school. I wish I could be one of those moms that’s perfectly showered, coiffed with freshly applied make up all before I wake the children with the smell of eggs and turkey bacon (no bacon in our house). That fantasy disappeared on the first day of pre-k. 

Most mornings, I’m lucky if I can wake up in time to change out of my pj's and find matching shoes before starting the yell-and-repeat we’re going to be late let’s get out the door morning routine.

The truth is, I can yell all I want but nothing gets the kiddos out of their rooms (with clothes and shoes on – teeth brushing is still questionable) more than hearing these words as they open their eyes “do you want a crepe with Nutella or one with banana and sugar for breakfast?”

Now, I know to most that sounds as complicated as the eggs and bacon routine but it really isn’t. The kiddos can grab their crepes either at the counter or on the run. Getting crepes ready just takes a little planning and preparation (that happens on Sunday’s in our household) with ingredients you probably have in your pantry already.

Starting our mornings with rich, velvety and indulgent crepes motivates all of us to walk out the door, conquer our day and with a little reminder of family and Paris folded up in our hands.

The recipe:
(adapted from The Paris Cafe Cookbook, Daniel Young)

I make the crepes ahead of time (Sunday evening) and put them in the fridge until breakfast. In the morning, I do a quick reheat in the microwave, put the desired toppings and off we go.

Ingredients:

• 2 cups flour
• 3 eggs
• 1 ½ cups milk
• 1 tablespoon vanilla extract (this is an addition by me)
• 2 tablespoons sugar (for sweet crepes only)
• 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
• Pinch of salt
• Pam or other spray (recipe calls for 1 tablespoon vegetable oil)

What to do with the ingredients:

1. Put the flour in a large bowl and make a well in the center.
2. Break the eggs into the well in the flour. Add 1 cup of the milk to the eggs and stir in a circular motion with the wooden spatula, gradually widening the circle to incorporate a little flour at a time until all the flour is absorbed by the liquid.
3. Add the remaining ½ cup milk and the water, sugar, melted butter, vanilla extract and salt and beat with a whisk until all the lumps have disappeared. (If you can’t eliminate them all, pour the batter through a strainer.) Let the batter stand 1 hour in the refrigerator.
4. The recipe calls for vegetable oil but I use Pam. Spray a 9-inch crepe pan or skillet and heat over medium heat. Ladle ¼ cup of the batter into the pan, the quickly tilt the pan in all directions so the batter spreads into a thin layer covering the bottom of the pan. Cook the crepe until the bottom is lightly browned and the edges lift up easily from the pan, about 2 minutes.
5. Slide a spatula under the crepe and, grabbing the opposite side with your fingers, flip it over. Or if you are feeling adventurous, you can try the air flip. Also, know that at least one crepe will be sacrificed to the pan because the batter didn't reach all edges or you want to taste test them. 
6. Spread the desired fillings over the center of the crepe and cook the underside until it becomes brown spotted, about 1 minute. To finish, fold it three times into a rounded triangle: First fold it in half over the fillings, then folks the resulting semicircle in thirds, making two creases with the side of the spatula to ease the folding. 

Flour in the bowl

My daughter helped me crack the eggs so we crack them in a different
bowl to prevent shell in our batter.

Eggs in the flour well

Finished batter. In the fridge now for an hour (or longer).

Cooking in the crepe pan. I put my batter in the Tupperware overnight
until I was ready to make the crepes.

The Air Flip. 

The Celebration of Apples and Honey

My daughter – for a Sunday school assignment – was asked to draw a picture representing her favorite holiday. Much to my surprise, she drew a picture of apples and honey. She loves the combination so much that she asks for it as a snack, in her lunch for school and all other times of the year. But, for some reason, we only dip the apples (and challah) in honey once a year.

This week, Jews around the globe will be wishing each other a sweet New Year, coming together to celebrate Rosh Hashanah. In this New Year of 5775, we rejoice in another year of Jewish continuity, survival and the yearly door opening to a string of high holy days.

Like most holiday menus, looking at the dishes on the Rosh Hashanah table is a lesson in symbolism and culinary anthropology. Apples and honey are an amuse buche at the beginning of the Rosh Hashanah meal symbolizing a wish for sweet New Year. Recipes are passed from generation to generation, certain ingredients become symbols of the celebration and over time, the dish becomes synonymous with the holiday. The holiday without the dish – and vice versa – is unthinkable.

I grew up with Sephardic (North African descent) and Ashkenazi (Eastern European descent) Jewish cultural and food traditions. Translation? Our holiday tables were a hodge-podge of foods (think North African Mezze salads with Matzoh Ball soup) and therefore no brisket recipe that’s been passed down and is now the centerpiece of our holiday meal.

But, a few years ago, a family friend, Michele, was with us for Rosh Hashanah and she made her grandmother Nanny Frieda’s brisket. I was struck by the sheer joy on her face when she served it to us. Our appreciation brought her Nanny into the room and injected her memory into each of our hearts, at least for one meal. When Michele sent me this recipe, she told me about her Nanny - a story that’s echoed in countless Jewish American families. Her Nanny was the youngest of 13 children, “a fieisty redhead with bright blue eyes who traveled to America alone at 13 years old.” Michele was the youngest of six grandchildren and at 15, Nanny Frieda taught Michele all of her recipes.

For Michele, the joy is in making the dish because well ... she hates brisket. The brisket is a physical connection to a woman who lives in memories of love, warmth and security. An opportunity to share it with her children, friends and others is another moment to keep that memory as sweet and vibrant as the dish.

Before the brisket recipe was shared. Michele w/ her Nanny Frieda.

Nanny Frieda's Brisket with Onions, Carrots, Raisins and Apricots

The Ingredients:

• 4-6 pounds of beef brisket, trimmed
• 6 -10 cloves garlic
• 2 -3 large yellow onions
• I package baby carrots 
• 1 package (6-8 ounces) dried California apricots
• 1 cup yellow raisins
• 1 1/2 cups white wine or beef broth or a combination of both (I usually combine)
• 2 Tablespoons Ketchup
• 1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce 
• 1 pkg Lipton's dried onion soup
• garlic and onion powder
• 1/2 cup brown sugar
• white pepper

What to do with the ingredients:

1. Prepare brisket a day in advance. 
2. In a large baking pan (I often use disposable foil ones), cut 2-3 onions in slices. Place on bottom of the pain with chopped garlic cloves.   Place the meat on top of the onions and garlic.  sprinkle, sprinkle liberally with garlic and onion powder, a pepper.   
3. Place the carrots, apricots and raisins around and on top of the meat.   
4. Mix the remaining ingredients and pour evenly over the entire concoction.   Cover pan tightly with foil and bake at 350 degrees for three to four hours, or until meat is tender.  Remove from the oven, allow to cool, then refrigerate.  
5. When the meat is cold, remove every trace of fat that has congealed on top.  slice the meat and return it to the pan with the fruit and vegetables.   When ready to serve, heat in a 350 degree oven, covered with foil, until heated through, about half an hour.  Serve on a large platter, surrounded with fruit and vegetables. 

There is one brisket recipe I’ve used from Joan Nathan’s Jewish Cooking in America. This is a more savory recipe than the one shared above. I’ve made this recipe in my crock-pot – I think I just increased the cook time. Also, I serve it with couscous (as I said, a hodge podge of dishes at my table).

Moroccan Brisket with Olives

(10 – 12 servings)

The Ingredients:

• 1 5-6 pound beef brisket (I like to trim it of fat)
• Salt and pepper
• 2 cloves of garlic, peeled and halved
• ¼ c olive oil
• ¼ teaspoon turmeric or a few strands of saffron
• 1 teaspoon fresh grated ginger
• 2 large onions, diced
• ¼ cup chopped celery with leaves (I hate celery and always leave this out)
• 1 small carrot, peeled and sliced in paper thin rounds
• 2 large fresh tomatoes, peeled and diced, or a 1 lbs can of stewed tomatoes
• 1 lbs green olives (I liked to get pitted ones)
• ½ cup water if needed
• Juice of 1 lemon 

What to do with the Ingredients: 

1. Sprinkle the brisket with salt and pepper and rub in the garlic. Sear the meat on all sides in a little bit of the olive oil in a heavy roasting pan with a cover. Remove.
2. To the same pan, add the remaining olive oil, turmeric or saffron, and ginger and saute the onions until limp. Then add the celery and carrots and saute a few minutes more. Add the tomatoes and mix. Remove a third of the onion mixture and place the brisket in the onions in the pan. (This is where I put it in the crock-pot). Cover with the remaining onions and bake, covered, in a preheated 350-degree oven for about 3 hours or until the fork goes in and out easily. Remove and refrigerate.
3. Meanwhile, pit the olives (the entire reason I buy ones that are already pitted). Put them in a pot, cover with water, and boil a minute or two. Drain the olives and cover again with water, Drain Again (this is done to remove some of the saltiness).
4. Take the brisket out of the refrigerator, remove any fat that has congealed, and slive against the grain. Return to the heavy pan with the reserved onion mixture. Add the olives and sprinkle over the sliced brisket. Add water and lemon. Reheat in a 350-degree oven for a half hour and serve. 

The Celebration of Another Year

I celebrated my birthday last week – my 44^th turn around the sun. But from about ages 31 to 40, I took a break in birthday celebrations because I just couldn’t celebrate the day when it fell on THE day – 9/11.

On THAT 9/11, we were living in DC and I walked home, with 2 work colleagues, from Capitol Hill to Dupont Circle.  Instead of the fancy dinner my husband had planned for us, we ended up at a Vietnamese restaurant, which served as a reminder that we were no longer fighting the wars our parents fought. That night – and for the next 9 years – it felt vulgar to even think about my birthday on such a horrific day. I was even hesitant to celebrate my 40^th but a mentor/friend advised me that those are the milestones in life that need to be celebrated and remembered, so I made an exception.

So, fast forward 4 years to last week. My 5^th grade son is doing a lot of school reading about people who make a difference in other people’s lives. He told me he was reading about Malala Yousafzai  - the young woman who at 15 was shot by Taliban fighters in the Swat Valley, Pakistan because she was fighting for educationand women’s rights after the Taliban banned girls (including herself) from going to school.

We talked about Malala and watched her interview with JonStewart on the Daily Show. As I was thinking “it’s incredible how well spoken, composed and impressive she is, given her age and life experiences,” my son said “what’s the big deal?” Her story captured his attention but he just didn’t get it. To him, being denied an education is unimaginable and even more so to be denied just because you’re a girl. Yes, school is a nuisance that takes away from weekends and playtime but it’s something you JUST HAVE TO DO. And because HE HAS TO DO IT and it’s taken so for granted, he doesn’t see the celebration in it.

With our conversation still fresh in my mind, I woke up on 9/11 to an NPR story remembering the tragedy, but also shining light on the hopeful developments, like how many of the children of 9/11 victims are now starting college. Family and friends called, texted and Facebooked from around the globe – many of whom I heard from 13 years ago – sending me their birthday wishes.

“We’re a pretty resilient bunch,” I thought to myself.  Yes, there is – and will always be – tragedy, injustice and sadness in this world.  But as humans, we are meant to push forward. 

A girl in Pakistan can survive and thrive after being shot in the head and go on to ignite people globally for her cause (and for a moment, have my son focus on her and not MineCraft). Kiddos whose worlds forever changed on THAT day are living their lives – but with the wispy memories tattooed on their souls. As the years go by, the jagged edges of pain are softened a bit, survival becomes a little easier and hope illuminates the dark spaces. And in that, there is celebration.

The Recipe

Birthdays in my household are synonymous with chocolate cupcakes with buttercream frosting (and cakes made by my Aunt but that’s another blog post). Here’s a cupcake recipe I’ve used so many times and chocolate smudges are on the page to prove it. I can’t even remember where I dug it up but as always, I’ve changed it up a bit.

Ingredients:

Chocolate Cupcakes

• cup all purpose flour
• 1 cup granulated sugar
• ½ cup cocoa (use high quality cocoa powder)
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• ½ teaspoon baking soda
• ½ teaspoon salt
• ½ teaspoon espresso powder (my husband HATES coffee but he doesn’t taste the espresso. It lends a richness to the chocolate but not much overall flavor)
• ½ cup milk
• ¼ cup vegetable oil
• 1 egg
• ½ teaspoon vanilla (I’m always super generous on the vanilla.)
• ½ cup boiling water

I added about 1/2 cup of chocolate chips to the batter. 

Vanilla Buttercream

• 8 tablespoons butter, 1 stick, softened. Use a fresh stick – don’t make the mistake I did – using some butter that was opened and sitting in the fridge. The buttercream tasted like garlic. Ordinarily not a bad thing but not so good on chocolate cupcakes.
• 1 cup cream cheese
• 2 cups powdered sugar, sifted (I still think this is too sweet so taste as you go)
• 3 tablespoons heavy cream or half-and-half (but be ready to use more depending on the consistency you want of your frosting)
• ¼ teaspoon vanilla (you can always add more – I do)
• Pinch of salt

What to do with the Ingredients:

1. Preheat oven to 325
2. Place cupcake liners in muffin tin. Spray lightly with cooking spray. I like to use the butter flavored Pam Cooking Spray.
3. Add flour, sugar, cocoa, baking powder, baking soda, salt and espresso powder to a large bow or the bowl of a stand mixer. Whisk through to combine or, using your paddle attachment, stir through flour mixture until well combined.
4. Add milk, vegetable oil, eggs and vanilla to flour mixture and mix together on medium speed until well comined. Reduce speed and carefully add boiling water to the cake batter. Beat on high speed for about 1 minute to add air to the batter.
5. Evently distribute cake batter. I like to use an ice-cream scooper. Each cupcake liner should be about ¾ full.
6. Place in the oven and bake 12-15 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.
7. Remove from oven and allow cupcakes to cool completely.

For the frosting:

Creaming the butter.

After the food coloring has been added. 

1. Place softened butter into the bowl of a stand mixer (or big bowl and use a hand mixer). If using a stand mixer, use paddle attachment. Turn the mixer on  medium setting and cream the butter until it is smooth and has lightened in color, about 3 minutes.
2. Add powdered sugar, ½ cup at a time. After each cup has been incorporated, taste it to test sweetness. You might also need to scrape down the sides of the bowl.
3. Add vanilla while still mixing.
4. Add the half-and-half or heavy cream and beat on high speed until frosting is light and fluffy. Add more half-and-half or cream to reach desired consistency.

Tint the frosting with food coloring. Remember, one drop (literally) goes a long way in coloring the frosting!

I don't really have piping tools (as I said, I'm not a baker).
I put the frosting in a Ziplock baggie, cut a tiny bit
off the bottom corner and frost away.