Roast Chicken, My Way

I am a spastic nester. Honestly, there are times I feel almost posessed by my need to prep the homefront (for what I have no idea. We don't have any kids nor plans for any in the immediate future, much to the chagrin of my mom.) But if I don't have a fridge full of food - either ingredients ready to be morphed into meals or leftovers from meals - I get heart palpitations and bite my nails. It just makes me nervous.

So it makes sense that a roast chicken is one of my favorite Sunday meals to prepare. I can buy it on Friday or Saturday, see it sitting there in the fridge whenever I open it, waiting to feed a small crowd, and come Sunday, I'll have a house full of good smells and enough cooked meat to last a couple of days.

I know there are more methods for roasting a chicken than there are for comitting tax fraud - some call for brining, some for rubbing underneath the skin with butter and/or stuffing the skin with sage leaves and rosemary sprigs. Mine calls for neither, just a good slathering of olive oil or butter, stuffing it with as many fresh ingredients you have on hand, and roasting off. In fact, it's so simple, that if it weren't for the amount of time the bird needs to be in the oven this recipe would make a wonderful go to weeknight dinner.

I also know that every grocery store in America from the Piggly Wiggly to Gourmet Garage offers a decent rotisserie chicken which are lifesavers when you're hungry and not up to cooking. But by the time you get them home, the skin has been 'steamed' to a soggy softness from sitting in the bag. And besides, just like children, you'll always love your own roast chicken more.

With our budget getting tighter and tighter, I am no longer able to afford all organic all the time. However, I do splurge on a good free range chicken for this recipe. I really believe it makes a difference. Also, trussing your bird will make it cook more evenly. If you've never done this before, don't fret, I've included a video of it here: (or skip the video and just tie its damn legs together)

http://video.about.com/bbq/How-To-Truss-A-Chicken.htm

ROAST CHICKEN

1 (4 lb) whole chicken
3 tablespoons olive oil (or enough to coat the entire outside of the bird) plus an extra 2 tablespoons for the cavity
plenty of sea salt and fresh cracked pepper

small handful of fresh herbs - including flat leaf parsley, oregano, and dill
1 small lemon, quartered
l large shallot or half a small onion, roughly quartered
1 tablespoon minced fresh oregano or dill or a combination of both for seasoning outside of bird, if desired
kitchen twine for tying the bird
Water to add to bottom of pan to keep drippings from burning (or stock or wine if you're making gravy)

Remove chicken from fridge at least 30 minutes before roasting and up to 1 hour.

Preheat oven to 400.

Sprinkle the inside of the cavity with a good couple of pinches of sea salt and fresh cracked pepper. Then, stuff the cavity with lemon, shallot, and sprigs of fresh herbs - as many as will fit. Then tip the bird and pour 2 tablespoons of the olive oil into the cavity.

Rub the other 3 tablespoons of oil all over the outside of the bird, including all the nooks and crannies. Sprinkle liberally and evenly with sea salt and fresh cracked pepper, as well as chopped fresh herbs if desired. Gently transfer the bird to your roasting rack of a roasting pan, and truss. Pour at least a half a cup of liquid into the bottom of the pan and roast for 1 hour and 20 minutes (adding liquid to the pan as needed) or until a meat thermometer reads 180 when inserted into the deepest part of the thigh. Remember the meat continues to cook a little while resting, and an overcooked chicken tastes like cardboard, no matter how well it was loved beforehand, so check it sooner rather than later.

DO NOT cut into the bird for at least 10-15 minutes so the juices can redistribute and the meat stays moist.

Salmon, Salad, Bread

I am not a 'Semi Homemade' person. Nor am I a gourmand. I am somewhere in between in that I don't think any dish is worth slaving for hours and hours over nor do I believe in using artificial substitutes just because they save time (i.e. using lime juice from those green plastic limes versus whacking open a real one and squeezing. Nigella - are you listening?)

Here is a meal that will appease any and all schools of foodie thought. It's simple to prepare and cooks in 20 minutes - more like assembly line cooking than proper cooking. But the beautiful thing is - the ease of prep doesn't show a bit in its sublime flavors. And if you can handle a smidge of butter in your diet (not anywhere near Paula Deen levels, mind you), it's a meal you can feel good about eating - packed with antioxidants and vitamins.

This is a Meat and Potatoes feast, via the west coast, with a quick jaunt through Italy from the salad ingredients, versus the deep south. (Though I will say that my mom makes incredible salmon - my favorite coming home from college meal - from which this recipe was inspired.) May I introduce you to: salmon, salad, bread...

Serves 2

THE SALMON (AND BREAD)

1 lb salmon fillet (preferably wild and best quality available)
salt and pepper, to season
4 tablespoons butter, melted
1 tablespoon chopped, fresh dill
juice from half a lemon
1/2 a clove a garlic, grated with a rasp grater or finely minced

Preheat oven to 400 and line a rimmed baking sheet with aluminum foil (greased.) Place the salmon fillet, whole, onto the sheet and sprinkle with a pinch of sea salt, or kosher salt, and pepper. Set aside.

Thoroughly combine the butter, dill, lemon and garlic in a small bowl with a fork or whisk. Reserve 2 teaspoons of this mixture setting aside, then pour the rest evenly over the salmon.

Bake for 18-22 minutes, or until the flesh is just cooked through and the skin crisp (flesh will be opaque all the way through - a light beige pink - versus the ruby grapefruit color it was when you first met it.) Let rest a few minutes, then cut in half and serve. You can also scoop it out of the skin before serving, if desire, by slipping a thin spatula in between the flesh and skin, gently prying end to end.

* 2 minutes before removing, spread the 2 reserved teaspoons of the butter mixture between a fat wedge of best quality French baguette, sliced and smeared with said concoction, then re-assembled and stuck in the oven (for 2 minutes or so) to heat through.

THE SALAD (and a suggestion for the dressing, prepared while the salmon cooks)

Enough fresh, baby spinach for 2 people (3/4 a small bag, or 2 scant cups)
5 sundried tomatoes, packed in oil, drained and slivered
1/3 cup canned cannelini beans, rinsed in water and drained
handful fresh goat cheese, crumbled

Add all to your salad bowl, then apply the dressing.

THE DRESSING (almost any oil based dressing will do, even a balsamic, or if you want to blaze your own path, feel free, just remember that any dressing is 1 part acid to 3 parts oil, and taste, taste, taste before you pour over your beloved lettuce.)

juice from 1/2 a lemon (the leftover half from the salmon)
3 (though I admit to upping it to 4 if using a particularly obese lemon half) tblspns olive oil
1 1/2 teaspoons honey (AGAIN - TASTE BEFORE DRESSING YOUR SALAD - YOU CAN ALWAYS PLAY WITH THE RATIO OF SALTY TO SWEET BEFORE POISONING YOUR LETTUCE WITH AN IRREVERSIBLE COSTUME.)
1 teaspoon white wine vinegar
1/2 small garlic clove, finely minced or grated with a rasp OR 1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon chopped fresh herbs, preferably dill to mimic the salmon
small pinch salt and pepper

Add all ingredients to a small jar or tupperware container - cover the top - and shake like hell. Or add to a small bowl and whisk passionately. I find shaking easier, myself. Taste it to see if it needs more lemon (if it's too sweet) or more honey (if it's too tart) and make the necessary adjustments.

Add 1/2 the dressing to salad bowl and toss thoroughly. (If using your own dressing, add about 3 tablespoons, toss thoroughly, then taste to see if you need more. Reserve extra dressing in the fridge (the above dressing should stay for 3-5 days.)

Food for Giants

(My apologies - this post is a week late in actually being posted. It seems I've already broken every resolution I made for New Years - I haven't been updating the blog and I've eaten dessert every night this week. Oh well...Enjoy the week old post!)

Finally a weekend off (mostly, anyway.) Sunday we had a few good buddies over for dinner to watch the Giants versus the Pac. And since they all happened to be boys, I made a serious Meat and Potatoes feast including:

Sweet and Savory Mini Sausages with Chives

Strawberry Spinach Salad with Pistachios and Goat Cheese
Soy Ginger Pork Tenderloin
Mac and Cheese

Grand Marnier Cheesecake with Drunken Strawberries and Orange Segments

I know that all of this sounds like hell on earth to make on your day off, but sometimes I need to cook like I need to breathe, and this was one of those times. I think I worked through at least a good third of my work stress, some aggression towards our neighbors, and a phobia or two while I got the meal ready.

There was only one hitch. In typical daredevil cooking style (it's my own adrenaline-rush version of sky-diving), I waited until the last possible second to make the cheesecake. For cheesecake novices, the beauty (and the devil) about making them is that you HAVE to bake them ahead of time, allowing enough time for it to cool completely down and then chill for a minimum of 4 hours (some recipes longer) in the fridge.

Kris and I headed home from brunch and I set about whipping up the graham cracker crust at a ballsy 1 pm. But when I flipped my oven on, nothing happened. There was a sickening absence of the 'tap tap tap' sound it normally makes when I turn it on. Sure enough it was dead, and I had 3 people due for dinner in a matter of hours. Well, this is NY living. Just when things are humming along - you find yourself being picked up by the shoulders and punted back to the starting line...

Amazingly, our landlord actually came over, even bringing a legitamite, coherent, able-minded person with him to look at it (believe me, this is rare.) Meanwhile I worked around them, continuing to measure and whisk, praying out loud as I did that it would be fixed. It wasn't, but the guy showed us how to light the pilot manually until they could get a new part for it. Good enough.

Finally, at 3:00, the cheesecake went into the oven. At 4:00, when it was supposed to be removed, I checked on it only to find it was still completely liquid. I almost started crying. I called my sister, the cheesecake queen, and asked her what to do. She said to keep it in for another 30 minutes, then turn the oven off and let it cool completely inside. I didn't have that kind of time, so I went for broke (adrenaline pumping) and kicked up the heat keeping it in for another 20 minutes. I then turned it off to cool in the oven for 25 before setting it on the counter for 45. It was still a little warm when I stuck it in the fridge at 5:30. I prayed some more.

The rest of the meal was thankfully, uneventful to prepare. I've posted all of the recipes with the exception of the mac and cheese. It's my own recipe and I worked for years on it. And even though the only people reading this are probably my parents, I'm just not ready to go live with this one. But for the rest, here you go:

Sweet and Savory Mini Sausages with Chives

I have to admit, this is one I go on by smell before I even bother to taste it. Like most recipes, you might need a smidge of fooling around with it before it's just right (there are several variables here, such as brands of mustard or weenies available to you that can change the constistency and the ratio of sweet to savory.) But unlike most recipes, even if it isn't perfect, no one notices - they'll disappear anyway.

1 lb mini weenies (aka lil smokies in the south)
10 oz rasberry jelly (without seeds) or red currant
4 tblspns spicy whole grain mustard (such as Gulden's), or to taste
1 tspn dried ground English mustard (Coleman's)
tablespoon honey (can add more if needed)
Handful chopped green onions, for garnish

Whisk together jelly, mustard, dry mustard, and honey in saucepan and bring to boil whisking frequently. Reduce heat and keep at a low simmer, stirring every so often, for at least twenty minutes and up to an hour.

Transfer to a heated serving dish, then sprinkle with chopped fresh green onions. Serve with toothpicks.



Grand Marnier Cheesecake, adapted from Austin Entertains

This is a cheesecake for adults. Not too sweet, not too dense. The vanilla beans keeps the orange in check and likewise, the orange cuts the creaminess keeping it lighter than other cheesecakes (in flavor anyway.)

(sidenote: When I was about ten years old, I got inspired to make a loaf of banana bread. In fact I was so excited, I must have spent 20 minutes ferociusly mixing the batter, completely oblivious to the fact that over mixing is a baking NO NO. When the loaf came out of the oven hard as a brick, I threw it out in the backyard where even the squirrels were afraid to touch it. I didn't bake again for 5 years. The point is, for most things in baking - mix the batter until just combined, with the exception of cheesecake. Here is your chance to build those forearms - you want the batter to be meltingly smooth when it goes into the pan - so for that matter go the extra measure and sift your dry ingredients too.)

Crust:
2 cups graham cracker crumbs, blended in food processor or bashed in a ziploc
1 stick butter, melted
1/4 teaspoon ground ginger

Filling:
16 ounces cream cheese, room temperature
3/4 cup sugar
3 eggs
1 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup ricotta cheese
1/2 cup sour cream
1 vanilla bean, split and scraped
2 tablespoons Grand Marnier
1 tablespoon grated orange zest
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

hot water, from the kettle

Preheat oven to 325. Grease a 9 inch springform pan and wrap the bottom in aluminum foil (I double it up) to prevent leakage.

For the crust, combine graham cracker crumbs, melted butter, and ginger in a mixing bowl with a fork until well blended (or if you've already got the food processor out, add all and pulse until well combined.) Press the crumb mixture into the bottom and up the sides of the springform pan.

Bake for 5 minutes and set aside to cool. Meanwhile, prepare the filling.

Beat the cream cheese and sugar in a mixing bowl at a medium speed until creamy. Add the eggs 1 at a time, beating well after each addition. Add the cream, ricotta cheese, sour cream, vanilla seeds from vanilla bean, Grand Marnier, orange zest, and vanilla extract. Continue beating until well mixed and pour into prepared pan. Set the pan in a larger jelly roll pan, then add the hot water to the jelly roll pan (about a half inch or so) up the sides of the springform.

Carefully transfer to the oven and bake for 1 hour and 20 minutes. (Cheesecakes are testy things - you want the outsides to be firm but the center still slightly liquidy. If the whole thing is still liquid, then keep it in longer. The cake will set up upon cooling and chilling in the fridge.) If you're in doubt, turn the oven off and allow to cool down competely in the oven before transfering to the fridge. Don't forget to remove from water bath.) REFRIGERATE FOR AT LEAST 4 HOURS BEFORE SERVING (I.E. FOR THE NON ADRENALINE-SEEKING, PREPARE THE NIGHT BEFORE.)

Drunken Strawberries and Orange Segments

1 quart strawberries, washed, beheaded, and sliced
2 tablespoons sugar
3-4 tablespoons Grand Marnier

1 large orange or two small, peeled and segmented

Place strawberry slices in a bowl. Sprinkle sugar over the top, the drizzle liquor. Gently stir to combine and to get the sugar dissolving. Cover and allow to macerate in the fridge, doing so at least one hour before serving. The longer you allow it to sit, the sweeter and less bite the Grand Marnier will have. Do with this advice as you see fit.

For each serving, spoon some of the strawberries and syrup over a slice of cheesecake. Criss cross two sections of orange segments and serve.


Soy Ginger Pork Tenderloin, from Paula Deen

This is my stand by main dish for company when I'm on a budget. I've fed it to so-called 'picky eaters' and gastronerds. All seem to love it. It's a pretty forgiving recipe, but be sure not to overcook as pork can dry out quickly.

1 (1 1/2 to 2 pound) pork tenderloin

Marinade:
1/4 cup soy sauce
2 tablespoons dry red wine
1 tablespoon honey
1 tablespoon brown sugar
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon fresh grated ginger
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
2 green onions (green parts only, chopped
flat leaf Parsley, chopped, for garnish

Combine marinade ingredients in mixing bowl and whisk thoroughly to blend. Pour over pork tenderloin in a large Ziplock. Marinate at least 4 hours and up to overnight.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Bake 30 to 35 minutes in a glass baking dish with all of the marinade or until meat is 145 degrees when measured with an instant read thermometer (top of meat will be burnished brown but should not look dried out or 'tired.') Allow meat to rest for 10 minutes before slicing. Serve meat slices in a fan shape, drizzled with marinade, and sprinkled with flat leaf parsley.


Strawberry Spinach Salad with Pistachio Nuts and Goat Cheese

Dressing:
1/2 cup white sugar
1/2 cup olive oil
1/4 cup white wine vinegar
1/4 teaspoon paprika
1/4 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
1 tablespoon minced onion (do not be tempted to add more)
1/2 teaspoon strawberry or raspberry jam

2 tablespoons sesame seeds
1 tablespoon poppy seeds

Salad:
10 ounces fresh baby spinach
1 quart strawberries, cleaned hulled and sliced
1/4 cup crumbled goat cheese
1/4 cup pistachios (or slivered and toasted almonds)

At least two hours before serving, combine sugar through jam in a blender, blending thoroughly. Stir in sesame and poppy seeds and transfer dressing to refrigerator to mellow. (Can be made one day ahead)

Remove dressing twenty minutes before serving. Meanwhile, add spinach to your salad bowl, along with the rest of the salad ingredients. Shake dressing, then add slowly (you may not need all of it so taste first.) Toss together thoroughly, then serve.



Now that we know the Giants won and will be advancing to the Superbowl, I suggest fixing any of these make-ahead recipes for your SuperBowl parties. (And apologies to our midwestern friend who was rooting for the Pac. Although, at the rate he was texting towards the end of the evening, I think he already had already gotten over the loss and moved onto more important things. After all I'm fairly certain it wasn't church he was headed to at 11 at night after leaving our place.)

Until next time, Bon Appetit!

Mickey Gilley's Luckenbach Peach Chicken

A few years ago, Kris got me one of the best presents I have ever received for Christmas - Mickey Gilley's Texas Cook Book. Mickey wrote it in the early 80's, riding the wave of the success from the movie Urban Cowboy.

Urban Cowboy is one of my all time favorite movies. I view it more as a comedy, of course. After all, I don't know many funnier lines in movie dialaogue history than Bud (John Travolta) saying:

"All cowboys ain't dumb. Some of 'em got smarts real good, like me."

But I'd be lying to you if I said I didn't think this movie was actually pretty good. As hard as it is to fake an English accent, it's as hard or harder to pull off a believable southern one. And John and Debra Winger were as believable as rednecks as the real life "kickers" cruising their Dodges and Fords through Sonic parking lots all throughout Texas this very moment.

Anyway, here's my first recipe I've ever made from Mickey's cookbook, with only a couple of 'uptown' (as the character Pam would say) embellishments on my part. "Canned peaches?" you ask. "Hell yeah", as Bud would say.

Luckenbach Peach Chicken

Ingredients:

2 chicken breasts
1/8 teaspoon black pepper
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
pinch red pepper flakes (not original but a nice addition)
1 (16) oz can peach halves in heavy syrup
1/4 cup crumbled goat cheese (not original but a nice addition)
1/4 cup chopped green onions (not original but a nice additon)
handful toasted pine nuts (not original...)

Instructions:

Preheat oven to 350. Place chicken breasts in a greased 2 inch deep casserole dish and dust with seasonings. Bake for 10 minutes. Pour half of peach syrup over chicken and bake for another 15 minutes. Place remainder of syrup and peach halves over chicken. Sprinkle crumbled goat cheese over and bake another 10 minutes. Raise heat to 400, move to highest rack in oven and bake 5-10 minutes more, until goat cheese just begins to brown and juice is bubbling.

Remove and sprinkle with green onions and pine nuts.

Two People and Half a Cow

Now there are about 1001 things I love about living in this city, but I have to say the best is living just around the corner from Murray's Cheese and from two of the city's best butcher shops - Faicco's and Florence Meat Market.

Faicco's on Bleecker is not unlike stepping into a butcher shop in Italy, complete with flirtatious Italian men behind the counter who act like they'd slice up their co worker up for you if you asked them to.

Florence is even more old world, or old school - so tiny you can barely squeeze yourself past the chopping block by the front door. Plus there's sawdust on the floor to make it even more of an experience.

Going there on Christmas Eve to pick up my Prime Rib, I got a little emotional. I was the youngest person in there by about thirty years and I got the distinct impression that the other customers had been going there for at least that long. People were coming in left and right handing the owner and two ladies behind the counter bottles of Christmas wine and liquor wrapped in festive ribbons. While I waited, I studied the many newspaper articles and awards on the wall behind me. Apparently they shipped their prime rib all over the world. And I was lucky enough to just walk a block to pick one up.

But back to the beef. Let's get something straight. On the phone, I had asked them for the smallest Prime Rib roast I could get (it was just for Kris and I) that would still be considered a roast. "No problem," they'd said. We'll have a nice two rib roast for you."

Well, as I stood there waiting for my petite two ribber, I noticed one of the butchers wrapping up what was no less than half of a small cow with butcher paper. "Wow," I thought to myself. "That's a lot of meat."

Imagine my surprise when they handed it over to me, along with the price written write on it - $82. The whole staff beamed proudly and expectedly at me, and in a very Seinfeld moment, I handed over my credit card and paid then ducked out the door, too embarrased to protest the size and price, with them still smiling excitedly at me.

Kris wasn't too thrilled about our new 'investment', but it was Christmas so by default he wasn't allowed to say anything.

On Christmas day, I set out 'the cow' on my new butcher block (thanks dad!) to come to room temperature. After the turkey debacle on Thanksgiving, nothing was going to ruin this wonderful, once a year holiday treat.

Meanwhile, I made up the marinade. I had researched about 400 rubs and marinades for Prime Rib - from the kosher salt crust you break off before eating to the traditional horseradish and garlic to the simplest (and some say the best) salt and pepper. I went with none and all of them, creating my own. And since I don't usually measure as I cook, here's what I recall it being to the best of my knowledge:

Alisa's Cow Rub:

2 cloves garlic, chopped and smashed to a pasty constistency
2 tablespoons chopped fresh rosemary
1 1/2 tsps sugar
1 tsp hot English dry mustard (Coleman's)
2 1/2 tablespoons whole grain mustard
1 tspn prepared horseradish
1 very large (nearly small onion sized) shallot, minced (my guess is 3 tablespoons, give our take)
3-4 tablespoons olive oil (enough to make a spreadable mixture of it all but not too much that it won't stick to meat)
few grounds of fresh cracked pepper

Smear mixture ALL over prime rib, including bones and fat, nooks and crannies.

Allow meat to 'marinate' at least one hour with its new dress clothes on (if longer just stick it in fridge removing at least one hour before roasting again.)

Now it was time to roast this mythical, massive thing. The marinade smelled so good it had already filled up the whole house with a sweet yet savory rosemary perfume. All I had to do was salt it by liberally sprinkling a tablespoon and a half of kosher over my former farm resident.

I put it in the oven and let it go for twenty minutes at at 425 then reduced it to 350 for an hour and checked it. Though the crust was lovely and golden, it was still pretty much rare flesh internally at that point so I put it back in for another 45 minutes, until the outer pieces were medium and the inner medium rare (I understand cooking any part of a prime rib to medium makes us unworthy of eating prime rib in some circles, but at $82, we were going to eat it any damn way we pleased.)

Finally, I pulled it out and let it rest for twenty minutes while I sauteed my blanched asparagus and re-heated my roast potatoes (which will be featured in another post.)

At last we set down to eat. I'm not sure if it was the marinade or the cut of beef or both, but Lordie oh Lordie this was the most incredible Prime Rib ever.

Merry Christmas indeed.

A Freezer Full of Cookies and Cakes

I have been putting off writing this for two reasons. One - sheer laziness. And two - I've been waiting on my chocolate Kahlua fruitcakes to 'marinate' for the proper amount of time to test them. I know, I know "fruitcakes - horror!" But more about them later.

I began my baking this year a hair later than I'd planned - last Wednesday morning to be exact. Our cable had gone out in one TV and in order to stay happily married throughout the holidays, Kris spent a total of about nine hours (I wish I were kidding) on the phone with Time Warner to get someone out here to fix it (we also wasted an entire day waiting on a phantom cable guy who never arrived but that's another story.)

So, in day two of waiting for the cable guy, I decided to knock out my baking. Shortly after whisking together my first batch of the season - five mini chocolate Kahlua fruitcakes - I remembered there would be no 'knocking out' at all. My oven, the size of most children's play ovens, was only going to be able to handle one sheet of cookies at a time. This was going to be fun.

But back to the fruitcake. What in God's name inspired me to make fruitcake, you ask? Well, it was chocolate for one thing and destined for a bath in Kahlua straight after being removed from the oven. I was intrigued, maybe even a little cocky about the whole thing, thinking that I was going to be the one to make the world's first actually good tasting fruitcake. I only strayed from the Southern Living recipe a little. Instead of pitted dates, I used dried cranberries. Otherwise I was faithful - using the suggested chopped pecans and apricots.

I have to admit, these smelled so good coming out of the oven, I broke down and sliced into one. Holy Lord, it was good. Kind of like a brownie cake with the nice tang of the cranberries to balance out the chocolatiness. Emboldened, I decided to try a slice on Kris. Now, if I had even mentioned that they had fruit in them, much less the word 'fruitcake', he'd have put his fingers to his chest in the shape of the cross to ward himself from whatever evil spirit had possessed me. So instead, I simply offered him a slice of 'cake.' He liked it, making only a small grumble about the apricots. I was onto something.

Now onto part two - the Kahlua bath. I was supposed to dip a pastry brush in Kahlua and brush the tops generously while the cakes cooled, then wrap and refrigerate them, brushing them with Kahlua once a week for up to a month. I felt slightly bad putting these gorgeous things through a veritable fraternity hazing and at the last minue yanked one aside to freeze just the way it was (i.e. sober.) The rest got a nice alcoholic shower and off to the fridge they went.

Next on my baking list were a holiday twist on chocolate chip cookies. The batter had a tablespoon of cinnamon added to it along with a cup of dried cranberries and a cup and a half of dark chocolate chips (my own addition.) I have to say, these were the cookies I was least excited about baking, but they ended up being the dark horse of the bunch. We couldn't stay away from them. The cinnamon is barely detectable if at all on the tongue, they have a nice chewy texture from the oats, and the dark chocolate makes best friends with the cranberries in every bite. We each ate one for our breakfast the rest of the week (I'd take these over biscotti with my coffee any day.)

Next we got a little fancy pants. Chewy chocolate chip ginger cookies. I had had these years ago (a Martha Stewart recipe) when a girlfriend who wasn't such a girlfriend after all had made them for a party of mine (she was bizarely Natzi-ish about the recipe and it was years before I stumbled upon it myself in of all places, martha.com!)

Then we got a little exotic, if not out of season, with a citrusy sugar cookie, also of Martha origin. These were actually my personal favorite as far as treats go, but by the time these babies were born I was 'cookied' out.

By now I was on day two of the baking process (evening two, to be exact) and because of the slow going of my oven, we hadn't even made it to the post office yet to mail them. It would have to be Friday morning, Lord help us.

The next day Kris, love him, headed off early to our local post to gather priority boxes while I filled out cards to the intended recipients. He came back within moments, his mouth in a grim vertical line. The post was 'temporarily closed' in a sort of sick and twisted joke on holiday goers. We'd have to hoof it, cookies and cakes in toe to the one all the way over on Sixth Ave. Kris, in a flash of rational yet self preserving common sense, suggested we forget the whole thing. "NEVER!" I replied scaring him with the whites of my eyes and a spark of estrogen that instantly raised the temperature in our apartment by at least ten degrees.

We packed up the cards and pastries and hoofed it over to the post. Only, in classic Village style, it wasn't exactly where we read it'd be, and we had to ask some locals where the hell it was, lowering our heads in shame as we did so. Finally, we were there. In another Village moment, our local midget cracked a joke at me as we popped in the line that went out the door. "Maybe save it for next year at this point, eh?" he said. Ha! Funny!... I sent Kris to get the priority boxes while I checked addresses and zip codes. He came back less than a second later - the same vertical line down his face.

They were out of priority boxes. We'd have to upgrade, which meant at least $30 a pop. Holy Lord - he and the midget had been right. It was time to pack it in. We headed home and sent the precious bundles to the freezer.

Now, any normal person would have had enough of the whole baking thing for a while. Not me. There was one (okay, two) recipes I was still dying to test out. The first, a vanilla bean loaf cake, again from Southern Living and the second, a dark chocolate pudding from Nigella Lawson.

First - the vanilla bean cake. The recipe said to marinate the sugar overnight with a scraped vanilla bean (with the seeds and pod itself.) I wasn't that patient so I split the difference, marinating the sugar for four hours and adding a splash of vanilla extract. I also decided to make little mini loaves instead of one giant one so Kris and I could pull one out of the freezer for a Saturday breakfast of a Saturday night trifle.

They were embarassingly easy to make, and I couldn't help thinking that as they baked filling up the apartment (and even building) with such a tempting, luscious buttery vanilla scent, that they actually reminded me of being a little girl again, dazzled by the smells my mother could produce from a couple of sticks of butter, flour and sugar. Then it hit me - these were the adult version of a child's fantastical, awe inspired love of all things sweet and homemade. Their intense (albeit expensive) vanilla bean laced base batter pricked the grown up senses the way a simple cake mix awakened a child's senses. They tasted even more lovely with such a delicate yet buttery crumb, I might even make them my signature cupcake recipe. Kris pointed out another bonus - the beans gave them a teeny tiny crunch in each bite - remniscent of my childhood favorite ice cream - Blue Bell's vanilla bean.

Now for the final report on the chocolate Kahlua fruitcakes. I pulled them from the fridge yesterday, alarmed that they weighed at least as much as my biggest purse (a frightening thought for such tiny little loaves. Their weight had at least doubled since their alchoholic binge!)

I was excited - there was no way these babies wouldn't be good. They'd been super yummy coming out of the oven, and they'd had Kahlua poured on them twice since then! How could they be bad?

I took a bite. My mouth went slack, not knowing what to do with it. It was dry, yet sticky at the same time. I tried chewing, thinking that would wake up the flavors. It only made me want to spit it out. The only thing that seemed to have plumped from the liquor was the fruit, and in a bad way. They were the only tender morsels left amidst the now dry, papery cake. A terrible, horrifyingly familiar thought struck me - FRUIT CAKE!

I threw the loaves away, right then and there, so depressed I hadn't just enjoyed them fresh from the oven when they were good.

So there you go. The verdict on the chocolate kahlua cakes is - they make a good 'fruitcake', as long as you skip the whole hazing and aging process. But for my money, I'd stick with what you like baking the best at the holidays. And my vanilla bean cakes.

The Little Owl

For years I've been a haunted woman. Not by ghosts in white sheets or boogiemen in closets, but by the very things that are supposed to bring you praise and gratitude - restaurant recommendations.

Somehow, after recommending a seemingly tried and true place to friends, they would report back with stories of either rude service or bad food or - (horror) - both. The last time it happened was in Minneapolis. A friend had asked me for a place to take family visiting from the UK - nothing too fancy - just good food and nice atmosphere.

I had just the right place (or so I thought.) A little bistro in an old firehouse that Kris and I had eaten at a half a dozen times. We'd tried the whole menu, eaten there with friends, and never been let down.

So imagine my reaction when the friend reported back to me the following Monday. "How was it?" I asked, preening myself for glory and praise, maybe even a bottle of wine as repayment for my genius.

"It was horrible," he said bluntly. "The mixed our order all up and my brother in law's pasta was inedible."

Inedible pasta? I'd never even heard of such a thing. I profusely apologized and slinked back to my desk, deciding my friend was secretly a food snob and that it had been a bad idea to give a recommendation at all. He didn't want 'low key' - he wanted freaking Babbo! Besides, surely the dinner couldn't have been that bad...

About a week or so later, a couple of girlfriends and I had our weekly 'girlie' dinner at the same restaurant. I sat down, looking forward to easing my mind with a nice meal. Then the appetizer came (my favorite - a lovely earthy but sweet Mushroom pate.) I dipped an apple into the bowl, piled some of the glorious mixture on top, and popped it into my mouth. It tasted like a spoonful of table salt. I tried again, thinking I'd dipped into a spot that had randomly been over salted before being carried out the kithen. Nope - more salt. In fact, I couldn't make out a single flavor but salt. It was - Lord help me - inedible.

Then came dinner - a turkey pizza I'd had at least three times there that was always a sure bet. The waiter set it down and immediately I could tell something was wrong. The dough was pale and flacid, not at all crisp and golden, and was strewn with little turkey carcasses, as though someone had taken the dark meat from last year's Thanksgiving turkey and unleashed holy hell on it with a spiked heel.

Just looking at it, I had no doubt that if it only could've mustered the energy, that poor pizza would've crawled to the nearest trash can to do away with itself. Suddenly a wave of paranoia struck me and I took a quick glance back at the kitchen, sure that the waitstaff was spying on us, taking bets on who was drunk enough to actually eat their entree.

Indeed, the one bite I took was only memorable to me because it managed miraculously to be both dry and greasy at the same time. At that moment, I had no doubt that my friend was telling the truth about his nightmare dinner. Then and there I vowed to never reccommend another restaurant to anyone again.

I am now, nervously, breaking that vow (throwing salt over my shoulder as I write this.) But because this restaurant has had more than favorable reviews by The New York Times, NY Magazine, Bon Appetit, and Food and Wine, I know I'm not crazy this time - this place is truly wonderful.

It's called The Little Owl, and while it's located dead smack in the middle of the trendy West Village in NY, it's a world away from trendy or a 'scene'. For one thing, there isn't room for one - there's only about 8 tables in the whole place.

The Little Owl isn't about dazzling you with the latest, craziest way to serve something familiar, such as olive oil sherbert. It's about making you feel at home. It's about the food. And occasionally, it's about turning up Snoop on the stereo, as we experienced one night eating there (they played the entire Doggie Style album to the delight of our table.)

The menu is filled with the kind of food that's good from the inside out - such as bowls of fat Heirloom tomatoes bursting with so much flavor and goodness they don't need much more than a splash of balsamic vinegar and a dusting of glittery sea salt. My favorite entree is the pork chop over dandelion greens, vinegary fennel, and butter beans. It's a cut of meat so buttery - one bite and you'll forget all about those brick-like pork chops you ate as a kid (I should know - I've ordered it about five times!)

The Little Owl serves the kind of food you crave when you want something healing, something not to fussy - something like your mom would make you (if your mom had access to freshly plucked vegetables and a backyard farm fraught with tasty residents.) And just when you start thinking it's all warm and fuzzy and laid back and aw-shucks, the Olsen twins walk past the window outside or Martha Stewart pops in for her monthly fix to remind you that you are, indeed, sitting in the most exciting spot in the most exciting city in the world.

The Little Owl is the kind of place that thinks of itself as a small town cafe rather than a fancy NY bistro - the kind of place that you want to go to because once you've eaten there - you realize you can't think of another place like it.

They've kept it small so they can get everything right everytime, from the food to the service to the feeling you have when you walk out the door.

In short, it's the kind of place that reminds us why we go out to eat in the first place.



FYI - Since the Bon Appetit spread came out, this place is getting a fairly New York-sized waiting list, so call ahead and be flexible. (Brunch is a perfect opportunity to pop in if you don't want to do the list thing.) Also, they keep a table or two for walk ins, so if you're in the area early enough in the evening, you can try to snag one of these or even sit at the bar, which may even be the most charming spot in the joint.