Beer? Bread? Both?

I adore Sundays.  I meditate in the morning, think about  a long breakfast that stretches on for hours, all the while reading the paper and looking forward to timing my day when I can do the crossword puzzle.  When the kids are with me, it's great, too, because Ethan enjoys making big breakfasts and they both wonder if Mom is going to turn out some pancakes!  So, it wasn't that odd when I saw, a few weeks ago, Pam Anderson's column and her daughters (http://www.threemanycooks.com/) , display a wonderful recipe for this five ingredient bread, in the USA Today insert in the paper.  "No way!", I said to myself.

Bread and I have had a love/hate relationship over the last few years.  I've been tested for celiacs disease, gluten sensitivity, you name it.  The body she is a changin', but in moderation, I can enjoy some of the comforts that make my heart go pitty pat.  Bread, being the main one.  (Let's not even get started on cheese!)

Beer these days is as extensive as a wine store.  The aisles in my supermarket are getting longer with various types, from gluten free, to more local brewery's.  I'm not complaining, but, I'm also far from an afficionado.  I like a clean, crisp, beer to whet my appetite for Mexican food or entice me on a warm summer's day.  Other than that, I usually don't imbibe much anymore.  (Ah, but there are those college stories...)

For the past few months or so there has been this corner of my fridge that finds itself with a small collection of beer bottles.  Oh,we have some Heineken, Corona, Coors Light, to name a few.  No one is drinking them at my house.  I think I made a chili with one, braised some meat with another, but the few remaining, needed a home. 

Thank you, Three Many Cooks!  Five ingredients using beer and the most tantalizing bread I have had in a long time.  Toast for breakfast, you say?  Check.  Make it practically daily, you say?  Check.  Have it right from the oven for dinner, you say?  Check.  We will experiment with this, I'm sure.  Different beers have produced different flavors, but they are all so wonderful. 

So, since so many are asking me for the recipe (which, again, I take zero credit for), here you go.  Just don't go enjoying the beer prior to pouring it into the flour.  You need all 12 ounces, I can assure you.  If you must drink one, go get another out of the fridge and sit back and enjoy the smells eminating from your kitchen.  Just don't fall asleep.  The bread only takes 45 minutes. : )

Quick Five Ingredient Bread

3 1/2 cups all purpose flour
3 Tbs. sugar
1 Tbs. baking powder
1 1/2 tsp salt (I use Kosher)
12 ounces of beer
(1 egg beaten)

Put the rack in your oven to the lower-middle position and pre-heat your oven to 375.

Mix the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt in a large bowl.
Add the beer.
Stir with a fork until just combined. (This is important.  Do not put in your mixer.  Not the same)
Turn out dough onto floured surface.
Knead quickly to form a ball. (I do this until it's not too sticky, so add the flour accordingly)

Put on a baking sheet.
Slit an 'x' on the top with a serrated knife confidently (as Pam says)

Brush with egg wash.
Bake for 45 minutes.

Let it cool a bit on a wire rack and enjoy. 

 Enjoy!
Kathy

I'm behind...but...

We all have those weeks.  This past week was a busy one for me, and I wasn't as attentive with my blog as I would have liked to be.  Appointments here, appointments there, CT Scan here, poke and prod there, driving kids places.  A day in the life of Mom!   BUT...the best part of the week was Ethan's 14th birthday.   C'mon, who could resist this face? 

OK, so it was taken in August of '10.  This was the day he got his cell phone.  I caved.  With after school sports, getting stuck places, it was his time.  He received a 'no nonsense' phone, but at least we remained connected.  Their Dad and I didn't cave on things early.  He didn't get into video games, nor were they allowed in the house until only a few years ago.  Now he has an iPod.  We are in the technological age officially.

He loves music.  He is a writer.  (Majors in creative writing where he goes to school)  His mind is always moving.  He loves to cook.  He loves to hang with Mom. He loves to play soccer, skateboard, tennis, and bowl.  He gets good grades and is liked by most.  He is sensitive, caring, loving, and kind.  On the day he came to be, I felt like I had known him my entire life.  "Here we go, ", I said to the little face trying to open his eyes to look around and check out the person with whom he shared a body with.   He was a great baby, a great toddler and is an amazing teenager.  My baby. 

He has evolved to loving meat. And his palate is becoming adventurous.  A new phenomenon, actually, but I will not argue it.  Last night we went to a place called "Sticky Lips" for dinner.  New to all of us that sat around the table.  One was missed, though.  His sister couldn't be with us because she could not get time away from work.  (The ONLY reason for this, is that she is leaving on a school trip to Europe soon and will be gone for awhile.)  She is spending Sunday with him solo.  Just the two of them, so she can treat him to some fun. I like that they can do that together.

The memorabilia in this place was so much fun.  Cards on the ceiling, old 50's posters of gas stations, BBQ joints, Route 66 signs.  You get the picture.  The food was awesome.  BBQ at it's best.  Your clothing smelled like smoke as you departed the restaurant, but you didn't care because despite wiping you hands on a wet nap, your hands still smelled of something resembling what you had just consumed.  I'm sure there are better places just as yummy, but this was his night.  And we celebrated.  I even made the cake from scratch.  (My pictures didn't come out , darn it.) Vanilla cake, custard filling, whipped cream frosting.  Delicious.  Filling.  Probably gave everyone a sugar high for the rest of the weekend.

So, today is part two.  Bowling party and then a few boys sleeping over.  Ethan makes good choices in friends.  They are his brothers.  They laugh, play games, watch silly movies and probably tell tales of who knows what when I'm not around. 

I love the person he is and the young man he is becoming.

I love the voice changing.  I embrace everything he is.  He makes my memories shine.

Even when he was Spiderman in Pre-Kindergarten and it was pajama day. 



Happy Birthday, my 14 year old. 

I love you.

Mom.

So, the cake I made was from Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook.  It's probably on your shelf.  Custard is standard and whipped cream...you can do it.  That was his cake. 

As for a BBQ marinade, here is one that was a success in our house recently:

We put it on chicken. 

Marinade 1 for Chicken

1/2 cup of ketchup

1/4 c. balsamic vinegar

2 Tbs. brown sugar

Minced garlic to your liking  (I used a couple of cloves)

4 tsp. Worcestershire sauce

Dashes of Red Hot or Tabasco.  Whatever your preference and heat level

2 tsp Dijon mustard (I added more, because I wanted more)

2 tsp paprika

2 tsp chili powder

(I also added some honey mustard for a tad more sweetness)

*Play with it, add more vinegar for more tartness or more ketchup for sweetness)

Marinate for at least an hour before cooking.  Longer is better.  Grill or bake and baste. 

Enjoy!

Enjoy your children too.  My daughter's birthday is next.  I can't wait to share it with you.

Kathy



Emotional Eating...(C'mon, we all do it)

I recently acquired Billy Joel's "Live At Shea Stadium" CD/DVD combo.  Now, Mr. Joel and I go way back.  From the time I was a junior in high school--[when my mother was in Florida with my grandmother, and my brother, who was "in charge" of me wrote me a Dr.'s note to get out of school so I could hop on the train with friends and go to Ottawa, in nosebleed seats, to see him perform The Stranger Tour.]  , to the time I touched his shoelace at one concert, I can't even remember where.  I think I've seen him a total of five times.  The only time I have missed him was when I was pregnant with my daughter, so sick, and my husband had gotten the tickets and I pleaded with him to leave me behind and drive to Syracuse to see him.  One of us HAD to go.  We are fans! 

My dream of sitting next to Billy Joel so he could teach me "Prelude/Angry Young Man diminished through the years, yet, I still long to learn how to play the wonderful tune.  Putting the CD into my car stereo hasn't thrilled my children much as I sit and point out all the counter melodies and the genius behind the composition of the song.  "This is Billy Joel!", I would exclaim.  They just stare straight ahead.  Can't blame  me for trying.  But, I digress.  It did fit my mood, however. I wanted to pound on a piano with this tune so badly.

The last few days have been a bit of a struggle for me emotionally.  I have been angry (you don't need details), upset, frustrated, you name it.  Not mad at the world, but pretty close to it.  It's OK.  Really.  We need to have these moments.  They go away.  I process with people who "get it" and then write in my journal.  I have survived yet another stressful time in my life and certainly it won't be the last.  I am a survivor, indeed.

I used to be the queen of emotional eating.  Dealt with these issues for years.  (And that's all I'll say about that), but I am now aware if I do it,  I run for the journal, usually.  However, two days ago, I ran for the pickled beets.  (you may laugh)  The strange tinge of vinegar coated my tongue with the sweetness of the beets.  Heaven.  My problems were solved. 

If you think of it, we are taught many times as children to "fix" things with food.  Some people choose to soothe their anger or distress with alcohol or drugs.  Food is my drug of choice, I freely admit.  "Here, eat this, it will make you feel better."  We tell our tales of woe, and due to some folks discomfort with silence or words, they offer food.  "Can I get you something to eat?"  "Ooh, I just made these great cookies, they will help."  You get the picture. 

When day two of my emotions were a tad up in arms, I silenced my phone, put down the remote, and paced my kitchen with a need to cook something.  Those beets tasted darn good, so maybe I'm onto something with a pickled, tart, sweet, appeal.  AHA!  My son and I were flying solo for dinner, as my daughter was working, so what can I eat, yet again, that would soothe the savage beast lurking within.  Broccoli salad, you say?  Yes.  I love this recipe.  You have it in your repertoire, I'm sure.  This one was handed down to me by my stepmother years ago.  It soothed me then, and it soothed me now. 

What soothes the savage beast lurking within you?  Does some music played loud along with good food do it for you?  Or is it some other strange need that you dare share with others?  At any rate, if you feel the need to quiet the hungries due to anger ,or just because it compliments a meatball sub, you might want to try this.  Worked for me.

Broccoli Salad

4 cups cut up broccoli  (I like small florets)
1/4 cup raisins
8 slices of bacon cooked crisp.  (You can substitute vegetarian bacon)
1/2 cup cooked or raw onion (Sometimes I even use dehydrated onion flakes, but just about 1 Tbs., and if I use the real onion, I cook it.)
1 cup mayonnaise.  NOT Miracle Whip
1/4 cup sugar
2Tbs vinegar (I use red wine)

1. Cut up broccoli.  Add raisins, crumbled bacon, onion.
2. Stir mayo, sugar and vinegar together until nice and smooth.
3.  Combine all together. 

Let's see how long it takes you to get it to the fridge.  You can serve it right away, or give it a chill. 
Most importantly, enjoy. 

Billy Joel/ "Prelude/Angry Young Man"

Kathy

Separate, yet together

 I love being there completely for my children.  Well, not even just my children;  everyone.  I can offer a ride to help someone who has a car that won't start.  I can pick up some extra groceries for someone who cannot get to the store.  I can take my mother out for a meal.  I can pick my daughter up AT school and take her to work.  I can attend all of my son's games. I can cook fun meals, bake things for them.  I can take my son to his doctor appointments as he receives treatments every seven weeks. All of the things I did when they were little.  All of the things I still love to do now, and with the flexibility I have. 
My children and I are separated by day, but together by night.  We are separate, yet together. 

When we bake, on occasions we separate eggs.  I loved teaching my children this skill.  "It's fun!", were the words that blurted out of both of their mouths. The occasional "ewwww." would sneak in, but they could start to see why it was part of building something that was going to be delicious and good for their souls.   We might make meringue out of the whites for macaroons, or whisking the yolks hard with sugar on their way to be a creme anglaise. 

Oil and vinegar are separate, until the wonderful emulsifying agent of dijon mustard hits the whisk and then the creaminess of our homemade salad dressing is together.  A few herbs, if on hand, and we are on our way to the makings of a wonderful salad.  Precisely why you don't need to buy store-bought dressings! 

When I look at my children, they are very much apart--yet together.  Teenage angst fills this house often, but not as often as most households, and for that I feel extremely blessed.  We must allow them to be separate.  They are each their own person.  They know the expectations that have been in the house since they could crawl, and I have watched as they still respect those expectations within the walls of this house and when they are in other's homes.  What I have learned about the separation with my children, at times, is their need for space.  Their Dad and I respect that space.   It's their job to have angst.  It's their job to be teenagers.  So I say yes (within reason and good boundary setting), nod my head, and then save the "No's" for when they are really needed.  That separation will eventually end.  It comes and goes in waves, and I know, like before, they will be back wanting to hang out.  I respect them, as I hope they respect me.

So, when was the last time you separated something and brought it together? 

I am craving fresh fruit today.  The juicy tastes of some good seasonal fruit and longing for a weekly trip to the farmers market.  I'm a 'one bite' dessert girl, mainly.  However, put a nice drizzle of creme anglaise over some fresh, cut up fruit, and I will lick the bowl clean.  (You think I'm joking, don't you.)

I can't take credit for this idea.  One of my favorite restaurants that used to be housed in an old, revamped loft building moved to another location and I haven't been back since.  One of my fondest memories, though, was that of their fresh fruit bowl and creme anglaise.  So, here is my version, adapted from what used to be called The Waterstreet Grill.  (They now reside in a hotel, and it's just not the same.  Sigh)

So, separate a few eggs today.  (That is, if you consume dairy) and enjoy.  Make it your own. 
It will all come together.

Creme Anglaise Over Fresh Fruit

1 cup half-and-half cream

1/2 cup white sugar, divided

1 vanilla bean, halved lengthwise (if you need to use extract, save it until the end)

4 egg yolks

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

1. In a saucepan over medium heat, combine half-and-half, 1/4 cup sugar and vanilla bean. (Make sure you get the seeds out with the tip of your knife.)
2. In a bowl, whisk together egg yolks and remaining 1/4 cup sugar until smooth.  Get that nice, lemony color.  Work hard for this!!
3. When cream mixture comes just to a boil, remove from heat and remove vanilla bean. Whisk a small amount of hot cream into the egg yolk mixture, then pour egg yolk mixture into remaining hot cream and whisk until smooth. Return to medium heat and cook, stirring, until mixture coats the back of a wooden spoon. Remove from heat and stir in butter. Serve warm or cold.
4. Arrange your favorite fruits in your own bowl;  strawberries, figs, blueberries, raspberries, melon, apple, pear, pineapple.  Knock yourself out!

5. Drizzle away the creme anglaise over the top. 

Just enjoy!!!
Kathy

Tweaking

When I was deciding or not whether to actually DO a blog--wait, back up--deciding whether or not if I had the faith in myself to do a blog--I wondered if there were "blog rules" out there.  Am I supposed to write everyday?  Am I supposed to write whenever the mood strikes? Should I be consistenly sticking with the topic that I chose for the blog?  Is it like calling in sick on a day when you don't blog?  So many questions.  All common sense, I realize, yet cerebrally, I probably want a small "rule" book.  But, just like when you leave the hospital with your newborn in your arms, you just make it up as you go along.   So that's what I'm doing.

I don't know yet how to add a photo in between or after a recipe I post.  I think it's the 'gadget' that you're supposed to click on in the template?  Probably.  I'll figure it out.  It's fun to figure this out.  (See?  I figured it out.)

So, I'm tweaking.  Been tweaking many things in my life as of late. 

In deep thought the other night, I was humbled by the experiences I have been blessed to have in my life.  I have been a 'jack of all trades master of none' kind of gal from the beginning.  I can pick things up easily and usually run with it.  I played piano, flute all through highschool, and beyond, and vocally I sang my way through countless musicals with my big mouth. I have been lucky to be around some wonderful chefs and people that think they are chefs, yet short order cooks. All lending me with some knowledge in their own way;  just some more sophisticated than others.  When I worked and spent some time in Lake Placid, a Russian couple; Dimitri and Galina took me under their wing and showed me knife techniques and opened my palate to the wonders of food that I never knew existed. And, you have started to hear about my grandmother, so countless times of watching her were the best education.   Other than that, I'm self taught.  I know what I enjoy.  If it weren't for the arthritis in my hands, I would have gone to culinary school.  Instead, I chose a first degree to be about interpreting for the deaf and my second degree to be in social work.  That has been my career for most of my adult life. I can parent educate most families with confidence and come home and enjoy something from the oven. 

Which brings me back to 'tweaking'.  Which leads me to think about peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  (Where are you going with this, Kath?)  OK, so you know more about me. 

I have packed my children's lunches from the time they were in pre-school until now.  I love packing their lunches even when some adult mouths will say, "they are old enough to do it themselves!".  Nope.  I want to do it.  It lets them know I'm still mom and I love doing it.  My son Ethan is a little more adventurous in his palate and enjoys his peanut butter with banana or some fruit, or meat--without the peanut butter, etc.  My daughter Erin, however, hasn't budged until the last couple of years with her peanut butter sandwich.  It was just pb and j for the longest time.  Oh, but now...now, it's peanut butter and raisin or other dried fruit.  The smoothness of the peanut butter with the opposing textures of the driet fruit. Who could deny such joy!  Her sandwich has been 'tweaked'.  They are both simple.  They are both comfort. 

My sandwich memories started in elementary school when my mother would pack me cream cheese and grape jelly sandwiches.  I dreaded opening my lunchbox knowing what my eyes were to behold.  The jelly had started oozing out of the bread and the baggie was soggy with jelly.  I ate it.  Well, most of it.  Other times, with gusto, I was enthused by lebanon balonga (grew up in Pa. Dutch Country/ Pa) sandwiches or olive loaf.  Such sandwiches of the '60's, wouldn't you say?  I would be in awe of the kids that had just turkey or ham, but we also didn't have the money to spend.  Mom tweaked my sandwiches.  I am grateful for that.  To this day, they bring me comfort, although I cannot remember the last time I had any one of what I just listed. 

 What are your sandwich memories from childhood?  What do you like today? 

Today, give me avocado, some earthy bread, some sprouts, tomato, maybe some meat, what have you , and let me pile it high and bite into it with gusto.

I've been tweaked.
Kathy

The Red Bowl

I wish I had a picture.  It's been on my mind all day.  The red bowl.  My red bowl.   You see, this was no ordinary bowl.  This was THE bowl.  I have searched vintage sites, and places I didn't know existed ,on the web today to at least find something akin to my bowl.  But, to no avail.  Sigh with me now.  Sigh.  Thank you. 

My Mickey Mouse Bowl (And , thanks to a phone call from my mother this evening, I learned my "M's" at an early age and they were clear.  In case you were wondering.)  was of simple plastic, probably molded for many children in the late '60's, who wailed for something with the beloved Disney character on it.  The inner part of the bowl was smooth, yet at the bottom, Mickey was in a pose possibly tipping his hat.  That part remains unclear.  BUT, around the rim...the rim of the bowl crept over like a little ledge, and on this little ledge sat the alphabet and the numbers from 0-10. Perhaps this bowl was for smaller children, and I probably used it when I was younger, however, I remember this bowl for my morning cereal contents and the freshly salted popcorn my father would put in it on nights when we watched The Wonderful World of Disney.

Sugared cereals were a rarity in our house.  A Frosted Flake with Tony the Tiger looking strong on the box might have made it's way from the A & P, or a Fruit Loop for some special reason, but, mainly it was Wheaties or Dad's granola that found it's way into my bowl.  Cream of Wheat was another favorite as was oatmeal.  I never was a fan of the milk at the end of the bowl of cereal like most kids ,(where the milk poured out of either sides of the mouth), as they held the bowl up to their mouths, much to their parent's chagrin.  No, I liked to watch the milk slide down the sides of my red bowl with the hopes that I was close enough to finishing the cereal with my milk, and, that Mickey would make his appearance.  Breakfast was then complete.

No one made popcorn like my Dad.  We had an electric popcorn maker that was small enough it even had a handle on it.  He always made it on the top of the stove where there was an outlet.  Oh, the smells on a Sunday evening.   He would routinely salt it perfectly;  not so much that you ran for water, but just enough that it slid across your tongue with every crunch of each kernel.  Here's the kicker: Dad liked (and I think still does) his popcorn topped with milk.  To this day, I will never get over that.  Soggy popcorn and milk.  The texture still sends me with nose curled up in wonderment how someone could enjoy that.  Sometimes, Dad would even use my red bowl.  I let him.  It was OK.  Really.  I mean, after all, Sunday nights were about not only sharing Disney, but the bowl too. 

So, cereal and popcorn and my red bowl.  I miss those days.  I miss the texture of that silly, plastic, bowl that obviously still has my heart. I have interviewed all family members on the whereabouts of my bowl.  "I think I might have given it away when we left Pennsylvania", my mother stated today. I could sense the apologetic tone in her voice.  I'm sure it was never intentional.  I will continue to scour the web to see if there is one out there. I probably won't pay $250 for one, but you can be darn sure I will cut and paste a copy of a photo of one.  It might even become a desktop background photo. 

Ah, but a girl can dream.  If you come across one, please let me know.  I would be forever grateful. 

Kathy

And we're off...

...and running?  Eek, I'm starting a blog.  Deep breath.  Here we go. 

I'm obsessed with food.  Yep, I admit it.  I was trying to think when the obsession started.  My mother would say it was when the dark, green mess of creamed spinach crossed my cheeks while sitting in the highchair.  She might even say that it was when I wouldn't cry for candy in the store like the other children. No, I yearned and longed for marinated artichoke hearts and kalamata olives.  I'm only half Greek, but obviously we know where the bloodline is saturated the most.  Maybe it was when my Greek immigrant grandmother (my Ya Ya) owned a restaurant business for 50 years.  (Yes, I know, shocking that a Greek immigrant would own a restaurant.)  I would look forward to going behind the counter and cleaning the water glasses, or lugging the gallons of salad dressing up from the basement and into the kitchen.  I was allowed to go into the kitchen.  I would watch the other Greek immigrant, Jimmy, skinny as a rail, chop and make concoctions that were to be the specials of the day.  If I close my eyes long enough,  I can smell that kitchen;  spotless, scented with garlic and olive oil, and the banter between chefs, dishwashers and servers.  I could ultimately make this blog about my grandmother.  I miss her everyday.  You will see her pop up often, as many of my food memories are with her and surround her.  You will meet my mother, hear about my Dad, his mother, my brother and all of the people that have made my obsession what it is today. 

I am not a writer.  I'm a "wannabe" of many things. I am in awe of the many blogs on cooking and eating that I follow and wonder, if in my small insecure way, I can live up to what they have brought to the world of blogging.  However, my passion lies within my memories that I have brought to every kitchen I have lived in.  Whether the kitchens of jobs I have held in Lake Placid, Henderson Harbor, or my own kitchens as an adult in apartments or a house.  The smells, the sounds, have permeated my nose, and seeped their way into my brain permanently.  Not such a bad thing, if you think about it. 

This is also a place for you.  If anyone finds me...if anyone is out there in this thing we call "cyberspace".  (Wait, do they still call it that?)  Today it would be nice to hear where your memories began. 
Share recipes.  Share memories from then...and now.  Even yesterday. 

Today I start with many thoughts to follow.  Right now all I hear is, "Thees ees so deleeceous", while her pinky is raised holding a piece of bread ,and dipping it into the tomato sauce of the Fasolakia she is eating. That would be my grandmother. 

Enjoy.
Kathy

Fasolakia (Green beans in oil)

3 lbs. of fresh green beans
1 1/2 cups of olive oil (I only use a little over a 1/2-3/4 cup)
2 medium onions, minced
1 1/2 pounds ripe tomatoes peeled and strained (feel free to use canned.  I like to use tomator puree sometimes)
Parsley
Salt and Pepper to taste
Water as needed

Wash the beans and cut them in half.  Heat the oil in a large heavy bottomed pot and saute the onions in it until soft and limp;  add the tomatoes, and bring to a biol.  Add the beans.  Add the parsley, salt, pepper and enough water to barely cover the beans.  Cook over medium heat until the liquid is absorbed but the oil remains.  Serves 6
* This will be like a stewed bean.  I like to keep mine simmering on the stove for more than an hour.  Great alone, and served with crusty bread, or accompanying your favorite meal.