September 5, 2013
I have discovered reason number 72 that I suck at being single: I cannot for the life of me figure out how to grocery shop for one person.
Weekly, I find myself carting home my own body weight or more in groceries knowing that, logically, there is no way I will consume it all before the next shopping trip. Which leads to recipes like this, which required me to invite a bunch of people over to help me eat it.
Not like they were complaining. These chops were dang good, though be careful not to overcook since there’s nothing worse than a dry chop. Don’t skip the raisins here, though I hear all of you moaning that raisins ruin everything. They don’t in this — they add a hint of sweetness, the way applesauce would in another classic pork pairing.
November 30, 2012
The gentleman’s been watching the Lord of the Rings trilogy while home sick with the flu. Consequently, I can’t call these potatoes. I must call them po-ta-toes.
Here’s another option for the quintessential side, if you don’t want to, you know, “boil ’em, mash ’em, stick ’em in a stew.” Hasselback taters!
Potatoes get cut into thin slices, with just a bit of potato at the bottom holding them together. Then each slice gets a hug from from either side with butter or parmesan or garlic, then baked until the slices crisp up into delicate leaves. Excellent served with roasted chicken.
November 28, 2012
And just like that, I’m back in Paris.
I know, I had just arrived in Nice when I posted, and I had been intending to stay for at least another month. So what caused my precipitous departure from the French Riviera?
My apartment was robbed.
It happened while I was out at a café, leeching off their wifi and posting about salmon. I came home and saw that drawers were open and things seemed messier than how I’d left them… and the windows were all open… and the closets had been rifled through… and there were muddy boot prints leading from the tiny window in the bathroom, which I saw now had a broken latch.
On the one hand, I was grateful that I wasn’t home when the break-in happened. Intellectually, I knew that the last thing a robber wants is for residents to be home when he’s about his thievery. On the other hand, I was still scared. Scared that whomever it was would come back for more (since I’d taken almost all of my electronics — anything of decent value — with me), and this time I’d be around for them to hurt. I called the gentleman and the friend from whom I was renting the apartment, packed up my things, and found a hotel room. Only after I got into the room did I see that my mascara had run and I looked like the star of a bad 90’s music video featuring a pop star with a no-good cheating boyfriend.
I felt violated. I had started to make a home for myself there, albeit a temporary one, and good homes are extensions of ourselves. I had even roasted a chicken in the kitchen the day before. Is there anything more homey than roasting a chicken on an Sunday?
So now I’m back, sooner than expected, trying to create some normality around me. Maybe I’ll roast another chicken tomorrow.
October 15, 2012
I know we just skipped into mid-October, but stay with me here. I know there are still tomatoes out there at the markets, and there’s no better way to celebrate a good tomato than to smash the heck out of it on some bread.
To be honest with you, reader, I haven’t been in much of a cooking mood. I still cook, of course, but it hasn’t been joyful experimentation in a while. It’s been stuff like this: simple, tasty, but but but.
I have to convince myself that it’s something you want to see. It’s just some bread with stuff on it, after all. Not even a sandwich. But this blog is about connecting with people, and maybe someone out there just wants a snack and doesn’t want to go out and buy camembert or smoked paprika to make one. But I bet you have bread, and garlic, and oil, and tomato, don’t you?