morsels & sauces

The niece, who came to visit for two weeks in July, is a blueberry muffin hound.  Consequently, we made two batches of blueberry muffins.  One set was for the beach.  The other set was for camping.   Having her visit was so delightful.  She is almost 14 years old now, and she is funny, sassy, and a bit ridiculous: meaning that she fits in right here.  There was much singing (our operatic renditions of our daily activities were something to behold) and much face making and the occasional need to "dance it out" in the car when I grew frustrated by my belief that I had donated an unyet worn pair of shoes to Goodwill (which turned out not to be the case).  There was a trip to Romeo and Juliet .  There was shopping for the latest in teen wear (turns out to be the same thing I wore in 1992 (who knew flannels and combat boots were making such a strong comeback?)).  There were many beaches.  As in, a lot of beaches. Ocean B...

I am here to change everything you think you know about potato salad (via the wisdom of the cookbook we call the Geek Cookbook , for it gives you everything you need to know via a scientific breakdown).  Even if you don't use this recipe (which, respectfully, I would say you are fool not to), just follow one instruction, and your potato salad days will have a clear demarcation of Before and After. When the potatoes are cool enough to cut but still warm, cube them into 1/2-inch chunks and then pour 1/4 cup red wine vinegar over them and season with salt and pepper.  Let the potatoes cool completely.  Then do whatever else you tend to do with your potato salad, be it mayo or capers or celery or cucumber or herbs or bacon.     Now the next step, if you're willing to take it, is to no longer use pickle relish.  Chop your own pickle, sweet or otherwise.  Now, the title of this recipe nudges you toward the sweet pickle, which I wo...

A little over a week ago, a dear friend of mine passed away.  He was a good man with the faux-surliness of a scientist that he used to mask what was quite possibly the sentimental heart of a poet.  When I came to California, he took me under his wing, teaching me the ins and outs of my new job at a new school.  For years, the husband and I celebrated Canadian Thanksgiving with him, his wife, and other dear friends. On those thanksgivings in a condo up Clarewood Lane, the Canadian flag would hang outside the front door limply (it was never very windy) but proudly.  Before dinner, there would be a standing rendition of the Canadian national anthem, with many of us just mouthing the words we didn't entirely know even though they were printed on cheat sheets for us.  Usually at some point, he would switch to the French and then chastise us more for not knowing those lyrics.  Once we settled into our chairs, he and his wife would serve the requisite tu...

Adapted from Cookbook #28 : The New Best Recipe Recipe: Basic Pilaf-Style Rice My trip to Illinois was all that I had hoped it would be--filled with good friends and family.  I celebrated love, gave a good toast, danced until sweaty, dragged my nephew around by his ankle (he's five), saw The Last Airbender (again, the young nephew), rode a carousel, was led through Jesse James' hideout, ate French food, held smiley babies, told jokes with my niece (What do you call a boomerang that doesn't come back?  A stick.), and had a martini with my best friend.   I, however, also ate a lot of really unhealthy food.  Potato chips (seriously, you cannot find anything better than  Kitchen Cooked and it's a good thing I cannot find them in California), iceberg lettuce salads, and cheeseburgers.  Ouch. Since coming home, it's been salmon, mixed lettuce salads, oatmeal, and melon.  Last night, I made Indian food.  Again, Ajanta came through for me w...