Toast

Repetoire

I love reading all sorts of food blogs and writing this one, and particularly adore reader comments. I especially enjoy the feel of direct contact with other cooks cooking right now- the unglossed reporting of things gone sadly wrong and kitchen triumphs surpassing expectations. There are real photos of the real thing, too- not some approximation from a newpaper's photo bank.

Having a food blog and reading others has made me eager to try new things,and new ways of making old things, and that's good. But I am bothered, in a way, by the very variety which makes the blogs I read interesting. You could easily get the impression that I, for one, never make the same thing twice. So not true, and so not a model for good home cooking.

There is is no greater pleasure than making a dish you know you love, and could make in your sleep. One where you've honed down your favorite method, and it is a part of you. Every cook has these standbys- for the times you don't want to struggle, you want to be sure someone will like their treat, or you need the comfort of something familiar and good. They are a huge part of your personality as a cook. Your family and friends think of them when they think of you. And vice versa.

I understand that nobody wants to read, "Today I made my favorite chili again", complete with links to the last 45 times I talked about chili. But actually, I'm thinking that maybe, just a little bit....somebody does. I've just had a birthday, and the accompanying fit of retrospection has resulted in the following list of past posts, about stuff I make often. Hope it is some use.

The photo above is Cantonese American Beef and Tomatoes. (The last time I posted about it, I didn't take a photo.) I had it for supper last night and it was as easy, good, and synergistic as ever.I think one of the reasons that it is so good is that because it is so simple, you can get it hot from the wok and on to your plate so fast that it doesn't loose its sizzle and scent.

These are some more past posts about food I make over and over again. And over again:

Saor

Favorite Pie

Ratatouille Chinois

The Other Egg Salad

Muhjadarrah

Meyer Lemon Tea Cake

Ukrainian Borscht

Rosemary Potato Pizza

Frittata with Spinach and Fingerlings

Chermoula

Of course, there are more. Some of these things I've been making for decades, others were recently adopted into the rotation, but they are all permanent repetoire, set in head and body memory, and feel comfortable, but not boring. Maybe you could tell me about some of your repetoire standards?

Asparagus with Morels and an XL Digression, blah-di-blah blah.

Instead of beginning with the topic, and veering off sideways, I begin this post, up front, with the digression. I feel it coming on, and I'm pretty sure it is both TOO BIG and unavoidable. The digression topic for today is unipurpose equipment in general, and asparagus peelers in particular. If you can't bear it, that is more than understandable, and you can skip this part and head on down to the recipe, which is adapted from Paula Wolfert's The Cooking of Southwest France.

Believe it or not,I actually have a position in principle on this issue (pompous enough?) which is: It is most practical, aesthetically pleasing, and soundest practice to have as little kitchen equipment as possible, of the best possible quality. In addition to leaving you with more money to spend on such useful items as actual food, it leaves you more room to cook, and a prettier kitchen.

I am so far from living this ideal that I am totally unable to publicly face up to the state of things, in this respect, in my own kitchen. We'll skip that. Still, I have sometimes managed to avoid the purchase of completely unipurpose items. I would argue that even my dopey chinois and copper jam pot have multiple functions and see a lot of use.

A recent visit to the Traveler's Lunchbox revealed how resistence to the purchase of expensive specialty cookware, combined with a creative imagination, can lead to clever innovations. Check it out. It is probably not a coincidence that the adapted recipe in Melissa's post is a Paula Wolfert item. I just love to read PW's stuff, as you may have noticed. She is such an intensive researcher, and her committment to authenticity allows us to sample very foreign, otherwise inaccessible dishes in what is in most cases, probably as close to exact reproduction as imaginable.

And therein lies the conflicting force. As a home cook, I don't have a personal committment to serving exact reproductions of the foods of other cultures, per se. But I want to know about them, and I want to try the real thing, and know what its supposed to taste and look and smell and feel like, before I mess with it for my own purposes. It's just so much fun, and PW is a principal aider-and-abeter. Fact is, sometimes, to get it right, you do need some special equipment. Too bad I don't have access to a well-funded test kitchen, or the funds to travel on whim, but that's life. I do realize that I am lucky to have a medium sized, semi-acceptible apartment kitchen, and, indeed, a roof over my head . Ack, am I entirely unable to shut up? Well, yes.

In any event, Ms. Wolfert has addressed the asparagus peeler issue, in another section of TCOSWF, persuasively arguing in favor of peeling asparagus, rather than wasting some, as happens when we just snap off several inches of the tougher bottom bits. She includes a recipe using the peelings (!)- Asparagus with Asparagus Sauce. To top it off, she even provides instructions on how to make your own asparagus peeler from a thin bladed knife and a 15" length of 16 gauge wire- in case you don't want to spend for a commercial one. Whew. As we used to say in days gone by, she blows my mind.

The thing is, as I understand it , that a regular vegetable peeler (to date my solution), is non-ideal, because due to the tapering of the asparagus spears, you need to remove more from the bottom than the top. Lucky for me, I have a bureau drawer full of saved ribbon and pretty papers and advance purchase gifts. From it I unearthed an as-new box with a present from long ago, saved in case of an unlikely re-gifting opportunity. That would be my asparagus peeler, which I thought was a silly space waster when I got it. It's in the kitchen now...and I think I was maybe wrong. Especially since it was, you know, free. I'm still not sure I'd buy one.

Finally, in what can only be described as a digression from a digression, I feel compelled to mention that there is a multi-purpose, high quality item, within reach theoretically, that I cannot bring myself to buy, though I am convinced of its usefulness and value. That would be a heavy copper saute pan. I've craved one for years, but can't convince myself that it would be okay. Just too much money for a pan. Sigh.

I do believe that Paula Wolfert was right in suggesting that this dish be served as a separate course, so that the intense flavor can be fully appreciated. I think she had a starter in mind, but personally, I was quite happy to make a supper of an indecently large portion, with some toasted homemade bread alongside. I'm drinking some really nice Belgian beer here-to me, wine tastes kind of weird with asparagus.

Obviously, this is not local (February in Pennsylvania) asparagus, but it was on sale, and looked very fresh and pretty. It called my name, and jumped into the shopping cart. I couldn't resist . I have just paid my deposit for next summer's CSA farmbox, so I consider this a celebration of the season to come. Or kind of a little magical ceremony to help the temperature rise, and melt the ice a bit.

So this is a very early, early spring item, made easier by the fact that dried, rather than fresh morels are preferred, the dried being even more intensely flavored. Yeah, they are expensive, but you don't need that many. They are certainly cheaper than the tinned truffles I tried this past weekend, and a damn sight more flavorful. You need, to serve 4 with something else or 2 for supper:

1 oz dried black morels
1 cup lukewarm water mixed with 1/4 cup milk
1 tbsp unsalted butter
1-2 tsps lemon juice
1/2 cup cream
1/4 cup unsalted chic broth
32 medium asparagus
1-2 tsps port
sea salt
pepper

Soak the morels in the milky water for about 30 min.-until soft. saving the liquid, remove and rinse the morels. Pour the liquid through a coffee filter , and recombine with the morels. Simmer in a small pan until liquid is absorbed. Add butter, 1/4 cup water, lemon juice, salt and pepper and simmer aout 5 more minutes, until the liquid is almost all absorbed, and the morels are tender. Add half the cream and the stock, return to simmer, and remove from heat. Set aside. Best to wait at least a half hour here, as much of the sauce will be reabsorbed, to good effect.

Wash, trim and peel the asparagus. Cook in a skillet of boiling salted water, flat out, until just tender. Drain, and blot dry with paper towels. Put in serving dish, covered. Add the rest of the cream and the port to the morels, reheat to just simmer, correct seasoning, pour over asparagus, and serve. It's gorgeous. Please disregard the fact that the port makes it a funny color. It just doesn't matter. It is even yummy if you make it with no salt whatsoever for someone with a special diet. Just use a bit more lemon juice and pepper.

A Winter Broth with Frills, and a Silly, Pointless Contest

Before I start with the food talk-here is the story on my silly contest : Recently, I posted the 1900th comment on Toast- myself. This seemed kind of a nice round number. The person who posts the 2000th comment (an even nicer, rounder number), and provides his/her email address along with, will receive a nice new, unread (I have my own) hardcover copy of Modern Moroccan by Gillie Basan. If it's me, or recognizable spam, the 2001st will win. Unlike your normal contest, friends and relations are eligible. However, you can expect no special help from me, guys. My 1900th is the long one with the link, on the truffled egg post, if you are counting. I'll email the winner for your address to post it. I do love to get those comments.

Now then, on to the soup:

It's good to have some veal bones when you make broth, especially in the winter. They add so much body and boost the fortification quotient. I can seldom get enough veal bones to make a whole batch with them, but that's okay, because I really think the broth tastes better with some turkey parts added as well. I buy veal bones whenever I see a packet at the supermarket- not osso buco- now very expensive, but the much cheaper neck bones. I put them in the freezer , and when I have enough, a buy a turkey wing or two, and go to town. I love the flavor of turkey in broth.

What with the weather, and other factors, I haven't been able to do any serious food shopping for a couple of weeks, so I was glad to find a sufficiency of veal bone and a few turkey parts in the freezer. I've been putting together meals on a "what's in the house" basis, and I'm kind of pleased with this one, made with part of the broth. I had a semi-squished package of wonton wrappers, some ground turkey, and some vacuum packed baby spinach-which had to be used soon, and was no longer looking quite new enough for salad. Also a bit of nearly fresh dill.

I made some highly seasoned turkey ravioli (or kreplach, or wonton or whatever)- pretty large-2 wonton wrappers each, cut and tore the wrinkled, defective wrappers into rags and ribbons, and tossed them with some cornstarch. (That keeps them from going wodgey.) That's it, pretty much, with a few butter- wilted leek slices, and dill and spinach floating in the broth alongside. It would have been nice to have some different fresh herbs-maybe tarragon-I'd have added them if I had them. If you'd like some soup, too, you can make it easily, possibly without going to the store, if your pantry basics resemble mine.

Here's what you do:

Winter Broth
baby spinach
a leek, white parts, well washed, sliced in half-moons, and wilted in butter
turkey raviolis
raggy noodles made from cutting wonton wrappers (optional)
fresh dill, snipped

Bring Winter broth to a boil in a 5 quart pot. Slide in the ravis, and cook until the turkey is done through- about 10 minutes- test one. Add remaining ingredients, except dill. Cook 1 minute. Add dill. Serve.

Winter Broth (or use a good quality boxed broth)
6 pounds bones-mixed veal neck bones with meat still on and turkey parts or bones, leftover poultry carcasses, etc.
A leek, well washed
2 onions
carrots
fennel stalks
parsley stems
sea salt
pepper

Put all ingredients in an 8 quart pasta pot, strainer inside. Cover with water. Bring to a boil, drain, rinse with cold water. Make sure to wash off as much of the "impurities" -icky foamy stuff- as possible. This greatly decreases skimming time later. Refill, bring to a boil, reduce to a simmer, and let it barely burble on until it is delicious..at least 3 hours, probably more. Skim off foam rising to the top, from time to time. When it's done, take the works over to the sink, pull out the pasta basket, leaving the plain broth behind. Skim off anything dubious on top of the remaining broth. I like to reduce it a wee bit further, then divide into freezable containers, cool, and freeze or refrigerate.

Turkey Raviolis
Store bought wonton wrappers
ground turkey
french 4 spice powder, or other suitable seasoningin cluding some nutmeg and/or ginger
sea salt
pepper

Mix everything but the wrappers together. Season fairly generously, there is just a wee bit of meat in each wonton, and lots of floopy, bland noodle. Keep noodle wrappers in a covered pile, next to a little bowl of water and the turkey mix. Line a cookie sheet with parchment. Set a wrapper square on a clear surface, and put a flattened tablespoon of turkey in the middle. Dip your fingers in the bowl of water and dampen the edges of the wrapper. Set another wrapper on top and seal with your fingers, flatteningf the whole noodle area, so there are no air bubbles, and only the filling is a lump. Set on the cookie sheet.

Repeat, until you've used up all your wrappers or filling. If there are wrappers left, tear into raggedy noodles. If filling, make tiny meatballs. If you are not making soup today, you can freeze these guys on their cookie sheet, and when they are stiff, transfer to a freezer bag. cook frozen ravis 2-4 minutes longer than fresh.

This is a nice warming supper, especially for a person with, say, a sore shoulder from scraping ice off steps and/or a cold.

Toast and the Truffled Eggs

I had been reading about truffles in a book by Elizabeth Luard, and it is possible that I may have been doing a bit of moaning about how sad it was that a funghi fancier such as yours truly was unlikely to ever get a chance to taste truffles, or try cooking with one. That can be the only explanation for my having received a half ounce of canned black truffle in a tiny little glass jar, on the occasion of my birthday.

Not my usual sort of thing, fancy-pants stuff, and all that. But sometimes a person gets a bee in her bonnet. I was definitely thrilled with my treat. I think the little jar is, itself, adorable, and if you look closely you will see that there is a small black puddle inside. The jar lists "truffle juice", as an ingredient. For some reason, I find this fetching.

From the start I was (ungraciously and silently) worried that this was not a fresh truffle of certain origin, as it is clear that Ms. L. feels that just about everything that is extraordinary about truffles is dependant on these two factors. But hey, I never expected to have any sort of truffle, after all. Anyway, I was all set to go once I found this Paula Wolfert recipe in The Cooking of Southwest France. The truffles it calls for can be fresh or canned, and it involves slow-scrambled eggs, a personal favorite.

The characteristic Paula Wolfert fiddliness was exactly what I was looking for-I wanted to fuss a bit over my one-time truffle, yet not to drown it in extras; after all, I was wondering what it tasted like. Not to mention that she's such a stickler that if she says a canned truffle is okay here-well, I'll just generally believe her.

This is quite a rich prepartion, what with the butter and cream and so forth. But it is meant to be served in small portions, in little ramekins, as a starter. So- not so much. And this amount, made with 5 eggs, should serve three. This is what you need:

a black truffle-fresh or canned PW doesn't specify weight-I went with most of the can one small truffle, plus a bit more
5 very nice eggs
3-4 tbsps unsalted butter
pinch of favorite sea salt
1-2 tbsps heavy cream
white pepper

About an hour before serving, slice half of the truffle thinly, and the rest into teensy cubes. Break the eggs into a fine wire sieve over a bowl. Crush the yolks by gently pushing them against the sieve with the back of a wooden spoon. Let them drip through, it takes about an hour. I know, I know. But this sort of thing is fun sometimes, no? You needn't be entirely O.C. to enjoy it.

Butter the inside of the top of a teeny double boiler (I have a pint-sized flea market one, the lid is chipped, but the insides are perfect- it was just right). Set over the bottom, which should be half full of just simmering water. Add the eggs and half the butter, and stir with a wooden or silicon spatula. Cook, stirring constantly, one to two minutes.Add the salt and pepper, and stir until barely thickened. 6-7 minutes or so, keeping heat very low, gradually adding the rest of the butter. Keep scraping the sides and bottom. When the eggs begin to hold together, stir in the diced truffle and cream. Cook 1 minute more, and scoop into ramekins. Garnish with the slivered truffle. Serve asap. Probably, you shouldn't stop to take a photo.

In any event, it was delicious, because I love this kind of eggs. But I could barely taste the truffle-despite the high ratio of truffle to egg. I think I would have enjoyed it more with some sauteed wild mushroom, minced and mixed in,in place of the truffle, which was, frankly, a dud. So I guess Elizabeth Luard was right . Probably whichever sort of canned truffle PW had in mind was a different animal entirely. I suppose I'll try sliding the rest, in slivers, under the skin of my soon-to-be-roasted chicken, and see if it has any noticeable effect. Someday, I would love to try me a fresh truffle. Maybe there is some Truffle Merchants' Association to sponsor a research grant? Somehow, I suspect they don't have to do much advertising.

Guerilla Cookies 1971, and the Best Ever Cookie Jar

You see before you the fabulous Olive Oyl cookie jar of my dreams, currently being sold on ebay. If you can afford a couple hundred bucks for a cookie jar-it's all yours, I'm not in a bracket to compete. Or, you could just enjoy it my way, by gazing upon it and marveling, and lusting after it shamelessly.

It is here as a symbol of the emptiness of my (lesser) cookie jar. I'd better let you know from the start that a recipe for genuine guerilla cookies is not available here. Or anywhere else, except possibly for pilgrims to a sort of legendary hermit guy..but that may be an urban legend...or not.

Guerilla cookies were large, individually wrapped cookies I often bought in Madison, Wisconsin during my years as a student there in the early seventies. They were sold at the Mifflin Street Co-op, by street vendors, and in the Rathskeller at the Student Union. They were not cheap, but they were almost a meal. There was lots of stuff in them, and I'm not sure what all of it was, but they were delicious.

I know there was oatmeal and there was coconut, because I could taste both. Besides, they had that quality of tasting like real food, and not just a dessert, which makes oatmeal cookies so satisfying. Sometime ago, I vainly thought that it would surely be possible to find the original recipe and/or its creator, on the internet.

Instead, I found emails with varying interesting versions of this saga in the Wisconsin State Journal and the wisconsin.com websites. The story seems to be that the recipe is in the hands of, and possibly is the creation of one Ted Odell. He lives, some say, sort of in the woods, with no phone and so on. He purportedly doesn't want the recipe in the public domain, because it could be exploited for profit by the unscrupulous, who I guess would most likely be imperialist running dogs and their evil minions-that sort of person. I'm not entirely unsympathetic.

However, assuming this story is true, I would suggest to (or beg) Ted O. to pass the recipe on to some nonprofit enterprise of which he approves, for use in fund raising. I'll bet such an organization could make a bundle for a cause he didn't loathe, mail-ordering genuine guerilla cookies to Madisonians and ex-Madisonians. I, for one, am ready to order some right now. They keep well too, so they'd be perfect for a mail order fund raising. I sure could go for a real guerilla cookie.

I can't hoist on a knapsack and search out Ted Odell, begging for the recipe with promises of secrecy. And I wouldn't if I could, because you see, Mr. O, it is my firm belief that Recipes are for The People! I'd feel honor bound to liberate that recipe, and won't be pretending otherwise.*

In any event, I am hoping to make for personal and friendly consumption something not unlike the original, and invite anyone who harbours memories of the Guerilla Cookie, whether it be of ingredients they believe they noticed, or any other Guerilla Cookie memories , to comment here, or send me an email, by March 1st, so I can consider any available information.

'Til then, a girl can dream. Omigod, the beret/lid is so wonderful.

*I'm not actually kidding about this; I don't like the whole concept of hoarded secret recipes, and firmly believe that the sharing and preparing of real food is an important human link.

Messing With the Bread

Flour, Yeast, Water and Salt are the components of most of my favorite breads. I mean no disrespect to those calamata olive breads, sun-dried tomato focaccias, and parmesan baguettes-they just ain't my favorite thing. I'm happier without any eggs, oil, or milk in my loaf, too, most of the time. But after fooling around with the Sullivan Street/NY Times 18 hour no-knead loaf (see link to the right, if you somehow missed the furor) every week for months, I decided to take the radical step of adding three extra ingredients.

Of course, I'm cheating...one of the extra ingredients (spelt) is actually flour, another is just a (special) salt, and the third-malted wheat flakes-is, after all, wheat. But for me- wildly deviant. I guess the reason for the deviation boils down to my two minor areas of dissatisfaction with this bread as my main, all purpose, staff of life-type loaf. The first is that the crumb is, much of the time, a little too moist to be perfect. The second is that it is a tad too white-I like a touch of something darker and grittier-just a bit of country, in my everyday stuff. I'm not looking for a brown loaf here, just an off-white.

The flor de sal (not a typo-it's Portuguese) is just my very favorite sea salt of them all. I believe I read about it first in some Slow Food publication, and I adore it. "From the Barque Naturale da Ria Formosa in the Algarve, and hand harvested...." blah, blah- whatever, it could come from Disneyland ...it is just shockeningly delicious. A sprinkling of this stuff transforms, say, a fried egg. I'm not fooling.

The spelt is courtesy of June, who made such a startlingly high, even textured sandwich loaf from all spelt (I'm going to be trying one of those soon, too) , and Lynn D.*, who put some in her 18 hour loaf, and liked the results. They both said the flavor is "nutty", which sounds good to me. In fact, I'm thinking some toasted walnuts in the mix might make the 18 hour thing into a good special occasion, have-some-with-the-soup-and -cheese bread.

The malted wheat flakes also have a June connection, as she helped me out in my effort to find out something about Granary Bread, made with a proprietary brand flour, available in the UK, but not, or not widely, in the US.

It occurs to me that I have been talking about varying a recipe I've never actually provided, so, at the risk of boring you silly, here it is in the original, as I do it:

3 cups King Arthur all purpose flour or european type bread flour
1/4 tsp instant yeast
2 tsps salt
1 5/8 cups room temp water

Mix it all together in a big bowl. Cover and let it sit in a 65F room for 18 hours. Turn into a WELL floured reed banneton, or a bowl or basket lined with a floured linen cloth. [You can shape it if you like, as you do this, noodging it into roundness, or, if you feel you know what I mean, stretching the top of the dough over the rest, without deflating it too much. This step is not essential, but adds to appearance a little.] Preheat oven to 500F with a 5 qt cast iron dutch oven inside. Baking pan must have a cover, but you don't have to preheat that. Let dough rise until doubled- about 2 hours.

Cut a circle of parchment slightly larger than the banneton, and place it over the top of the basket, covering dough. Over that, put a larger round tray or plate. Invert, gently nudging the dough out onto the parchment circle if it doesn't fall out itself. Now, open the oven, pick up the shaped loaf by the parchment beneath, and drop it into the preheated dutch oven. Put lid on the pan, and close the oven door. (You don't have to take out the parchment-just leave it there- it will be fine.)

Bake about 30 minutes, remove lid from dutch oven, and continue to bake 20-30 minutes more, until done..it will sound hollow if you tap the bottom. Make sure the exterior is a nice, dark brown. Listen to the popping sounds the crust makes as you cool it down on a rack. These are the delightful sounds of a crust which is thin, crispy, and toothsome- as good as any bakery crust I've ever had. To my mind, this is the most surprising aspect of this recipe. I've never had a home crust this good before.

Variant: Substitute one cup of spelt for one cup of the flour, and add a handful of malted wheat flakes. Use favorite fancy sea salt.

So, as you can see, it is still with the big holes and chewiness (a plus with me). I really like the taste- wheatier, and the malted wheat flakes are yummy. It is still plain-bready, which is what I'm looking for here, a kind of go-with-everything housebread, tasty, but not tasting noticeably of anything, except bread. It's a little damper than I'd like, despite being nice and dark brown. I think maybe I'll be trying to take the lid off a little earlier...I just don't want to ruin the perfect thin crust, though. Oh yes, I think I will add more of that lovely salt- because I just can't get enough.

I do love to play with my food.

*Lynn, who really should think about a blog, or website, or something to link people to. I get so many ideas from her, and I'm a fan of her writing , too. But she knows that.

Note: For some reason I can't get a permanent link for the malted wheat flakes, which I got at the Baker's Catalogue from King Arthur flour. It keeps saying that my shopping session has expired. I know that, I'm not shopping. Aaargh. But they do have it, you will just have to find it at the site yourself, I'm afraid, if you want some. I tried to help.

Elizabeth David: Fennel and Parmesan

I had never heard of Elizabeth David when I first opened a Penguin edition of her French Provincial Cooking , browsing in the University Bookstore. I was a junior in college, and though I had been cooking for myself and with my housemates for several months, I was pretty unsophisticated. I was already reading cookbooks as if they were novels, but there were fewer then. It was a long time ago.

French food to me meant fancy restaurant food- I had no previous idea of the range of French country food- real food, eaten by real people, daily, as well as for special occasions. I was mesmerized, and, of course, I bought the book. I read it over and over again, looked for the ingredients and tools she talked about, and tried out as many recipes as I could. She has stuck with me, all this time; more than any other writer on food, she is the voice in the back of my head.

Then, as now, I was struck by the economy of her recipe writing- straighforward and personal. Sometimes it seemed that the instructions were too simple to be true, but they worked. My favorite Elizabeth David recipes are usually the simplest. This recipe for a fennel gratin is so spare that it is practically not a recipe at all, the same is true of her method for toasting almonds, and quite a few others.

Somehow, if you do just what she says, it is more delicious than you would have expected. The sharp clean taste of the raw fennel, which I love in a fennel slaw, is mellowed and transformed. This gratin makes an excellent side dish for meat, poultry, bean, or tomato based main dishes. It is also great with fish. Is there something edible I have left out here?

This is all you do. Preheat oven to 425F. Trim off the tough stalks and root end of each bulb, and slice each in half lengthwise. Parboil until tender in well-salted water, drain, and place in a buttered oven proof dish, cut sides down. Sprinkle with grated parmesan cheese, freshly made breadcrumbs, and ground pepper, and dot with butter. Bake until top is browned nicely (15-20 minutes, usually) and serve. I put a few of the uncooked fennel fronds on top, because I think they are pretty.

All you have to remember to do is use good butter, real parm, and your own breadcrumbs, all of which actually matters.

Adapted from An Omelette and a Glass of Wine. by Elizabeth David

"Chinese" Pepper Steak: 1962

Before she inexplicably gave up all interest in cooking maybe 15 years ago, my mother was a wonderful and creative cook, who made delicious food of a kind which did not commonly appear in the households of my friends. She read a lot of cookbooks, and was a big Craig Claibourne fan. But sometimes she just made stuff up-based on flavors that she had experienced in restaurants-especially Chinese restaurants, which we all loved. In those days, Chinese restaurant food in a provincial city like Pittsburgh was pretty much all Cantonese-American.

I have had quite a few asian beef and pepper dishes in restaurants and people's homes since then. Mum's "Chinese" Pepper steak was her own invention, and not, probably, especially close to any actual Chinese dish. It was, however, wonderful comfort food, and like most things with lots of peppers, smelled insanely good in the cooking. We ate it with fluffy white rice (as opposed to the medium grained, stickier Asian rice). Thus, it was fork, and not chopstick fare. Green peppers were widely available then, while red, orange and yellow peppers rarely appeared in a supermarket. So her pepper steak was made with all green peppers-but there was a secret step.

She parboiled the sliced peppers, before adding them to her sauce, and this made for a very delicate flavor. I tried to mentally reconstruct the recipe as she made it, while simultaneously deciding if I should vary it when I made it myself, because of the additional ingredients and tools which are available to me now. There was no doubt in my mind that Mum would have used some of these things if they were available to her. Still, her pepper steak was a thing of simple beauty as it was, so I didn't want to stray far from the original.

In the end, the conscious changes I made were these: I made it in my wok, beause it was easy and I make lots of stuff in it as a matter of course. I used a variety of peppers and fresh ginger, instead of only green peppers and dried ginger, because I could, and who wouldn't? I drizzled it with toasted sesame oil, because I love it so, and could not resist. I also had a heated internal debate about a few fermented black beans, and left them out, but I may not, next time. So it remains a simple dish which can be made from ordinary supermarket food. It is something I can eat often, without tiring of its simple goodness. and pretty much all non-vegetarians like it.

If you are interested, this is what you need to serve 4:

3/4 lb thinly sliced beef, suitable for sauteeing -although tougher cuts, frozen and sliced very thin work, too-they are tenderized somewhat- just a bit chewier, which can be nice.

an onion, peeled and thinly sliced in half-moons

a clove of garlic, peeled and finely chopped

1/2" square of peeled fresh ginger, chopped
peanut oil 2 tbsps

3 sliced sweet peppers, assorted colors, briefly parboiled and drained

soy sauce-to taste, be generous. Before soy sauce was widely available, Mum used Worchestershire sauce, but she swtiched later

pepper

beef broth, preferably homemade- 2 cups

14 oz can chopped tomatoes-preferably Muir Glen, or homemade, drained

1 tbsp cornstarch, disoled in 1/4 cup cold water

drizzle toasted sesame oil

2 scallions, sliced

In a wok, or large saute pan, heat the oil. Add beef, onion, garlic and ginger, and stir fry just until almost all the beef has changed color. Add the broth, tomatoes, soy sauce and peppers, and simmer until the beef is tender- maybe 20 minutes. Add cornstarch mix, stirring or whisking to keep things smooth, and cook until sauce is thickened. Drizzle with sesame oil and garnish with chopped scallions. There is a lot of sauce, and it is very good over basmati rice. So make plenty of rice. I have been known to make a lunch of leftover sauce on rice.

If my mother was making this for supper, I could smell it as soon as I came home from school, and opened the door. I had a hard time waiting until dinner. Sorry there is not photo- the camera batteries gave up the ghost, and we could not wait for a re-charge to eat. It's not all that pretty anyway; iti somehow looks its best when you can smell it, as well as see it.

Spinach Salad with Pear: A Brief Bulletin

Sometimes I just can't get my fill of this combination salad: Bartlett pears- I can't stress the Bartlett part enough. Baby spinach or begian endive. Peppered bacon, crumbled. Red onion slivers. Toasted pinenuts or pecans. Maytag blue cheese and/or a crumbly aged cheddar. Balsamic vinagrette or a thin, creamy garlic dressing, if you make one. Thinly sliced button mushrooms. I can say no more. Why is it so good? I just don't know. Have it with some thick toasted slices of good country bread, rubbed with a little garlic. Go to town.