Meatball Redux

I am not the best about eating my own leftovers. It's not that I don't enjoy the foods that I prepare, because I do. I suppose it is eating the same items that I prepared, two meals in a row that gets me. Let's face it-- it can be a bit boring. But refashioning one meal in order to make it into an entirely new beast? I am all over that . Case in point, the Meatball Hero.

There are sandwiches of all sorts: paninni, open-faced, subs, croque-monsieurs, cheesesteaks. Many of these sandwiches mentioned are quite substantial; I can't imagine gulping down a cheesesteak, cheese, onions, and all, right before say, doing a 12k run. In California I guess you could say we eat a bit lighter, we can't just dash down to the corner deli and order a sub-- a roast turkey on whole wheat, yes, but a ginormous, meat-laden submarine sandwich, no. But I don't live in California anymore, I live in New York, land of the soft on the inside, light-as-a-feather Portuguese sandwich roll, the perfect sandwich rolls on which to make Meatball Heroes.

Last week I made an adaptation of these meatballs for dinner, with a more judicious hand when seasoning with the suggested red pepper flake, and lemon zest. They were terrific, crisp on the outside, meaty and succulent on the inside, truly homey and superb. But what to do with all of the leftover meatballs rolling around? I have never really grasped the fact that it is only Brian and I eating, and that recipes can easily be halved. So, with the prospect of a gloomy lunch looming over me for the next day, I went to the market.

I had a bit of marinara sauce, simple and seasoned with fresh basil. All that was needed was a fresh ball of unctuous mozzarella, and the fabled Portuguese rolls. Once home, I slathered sauce on the rolls, cut slices of cheese, about one-quarter inch thick, and placed the saucy bread under the broiler. I then reheated the meatballs while the cheese melted to a blistery finish. Placing the meatballs on the bread, and pressing firmly down to affix the sauce to the meat, I took a bite of this hefty handful. And it was just as I imagined it to be, hearty and delicious, with just the right amount of sauce and cheese. It was so good in fact, I might just make the meatballs for the express purpose of making a meatball hero. But maybe I will halve the recipe next time.

Crisps or Chips

Vintage Cheddar and Red Onion Chutney.
Oven Roasted Chicken with Lemon and Thyme.
Peking Duck and Hoisin Sauce.
Thai Sweet Chili.
Smoky Bacon.
No, these are not elements that made up an outrageous and unique Thanksgiving dinner served at my house. They are flavors of crisps, or chips, as they are more commonly known as in the United States.

My brother-in-law is English, so whenever he and my sister travel to the U.K. to visit family, I always have a few requests to be filled. Marks and Spencer underwear, because they make VPL moot; British milk chocolate, so smooth and creamy; and of course, crunchy crisps, so delightfully bizarre. And this year they delivered.

Compared to the Brits, our Classic, BBQ, Sour Cream and Onion, and if you get really racy, Ranch Style, seem so tame. Now that is not to say that roast chicken flavor chips, chock full of preservatives, brimming with salt and MSG are necessarily good for you, but they do present an interesting side note. Just what is a junk food anyway? Sure chips are garbage, but when they are flavored with something as wholesome as roast chicken , or as avant as Peking duck, it makes the chips seem almost good for you.

Oh... and these meat flavored chips are bizarrely vegetarian-- —yes even vegetarians can enjoy an additive laden, chicken dinner chip, without the guilt. But is the American palate ready for a side of Hoisin sauce with their hot dog and Coke? Something tells me no.

Blossoming in November

While I was at my local market, I spotted them, in a produce box, plunked down in the middle of the aisle. But it's November, hardly the time for squash blossoms, and beautiful ones at that. They were perfect, large and delicate flowers, unblemished, each firmly affixed to a burgeoning, little zucchini. Every person at the market simply walked past the blossoms, glancing at the contents of the box, then moving right along to the string beans beside them. Now I like string beans as much as the next guy, but when posed with the alternative of a more rare, fresh looking bit of produce, I'm going to go for the rarity.

I guess the general lack of clamoring proved to be a good thing for me. I wasn't really up for an out and out battle over produce at the market. But I would have gone to fist and cuffs if need be-- anything to prepare a new vegetable. I knew what I would do with these precious flowers when I got them home, fry them up and eat them straight from the pan, unadorned save for a dusting of Parmesan cheese.


I had prepared squash blossoms before, just not in the classic, artery-clogging way. I had just moved back to Berkeley, and I think that I let the spirit of Alice Waters enter a bit too much into my brand of cooking. I loosely followed her recipe for stuffing the blossoms with fresh ricotta cheese and herbs, steaming the stuffed blossoms in a basket steamer, and them simmering them gently in a clear chicken broth. I imagined a vegetal dumpling of sorts, what I got instead was a watery mess. It's not that this recipe didn't work, the cheese remained neatly enclosed in the orange blossoms, it's just that the end-result was rather blah, and far too labor intensive.

So you can imagine my glee when here the venerable blossoms were again. Now I could try them once more-- new state, new recipe. I dipped the blossoms in egg, then in a mixture of flour and finely ground cornmeal, seasoned well with coarse salt and pepper. Then came the frying in a shallow pool of olive oil, and moments later, my fried goodies were ready. A quick dusting of Parmesan cheese, and before I knew it, the blossoms were gobbled down faster than you can say, "Long live Alice Waters, but I prefer my blossoms fried!"

Greek Parfait-ion

Brian eats yogurt every day for breakfast. Every. Day. He says that it's the only food that truly fills him up in the morning. My good little, nutritiously minded husband, opening up some berry flavored yogurt each morning before he heads out to work. Me, I'm more particular (surprise, surprise!). The wholesome nature, the sustenance of yogurt, is exactly why I don't partake of this morning ritual. Many times it's just too much for me, all those milk products first thing in the morning makes my stomach gurgle with lactose intolerance. Give me a piece of toast anyday!

But for every rule there is an exception. And that exception for me is Greek Yogurt. Thick, whipped almost, with exceptional body, and a delicate, slightly sour taste, this yogurt I love...in moderation. It's true, that traditionally, Greek yogurt is made with an obscene amount of fat. It could be equated with tipping your head backwards, holding your mouth agape, and squirting in enormous amounts of whipped cream in-- straight from a can. But there is a low-fat variety, and this is perfect. So perfect in fact, I find myself making morning parfaits, and gobbling them up with a restrained gusto.

What do you make these morning treats with, you may be asking yourself? When the crunch of an apple is too startling a soundtrack with which to start your day, and a tangerine, is still hollow, and woody in flavor, there is only on thing to do, and that is, to make your own apple-pear sauce to layer in the parfaits. I used a tried-and-true recipe for making the sauce. Scented with a vanilla bean, for depth and interest, apple-pear sauce is chunky and hearty, and so simple to make.

The sauce stores well in the fridge, so I made these parfaits for a few days afterward. A spoonful of my precious Greek yogurt, and a dollop of the fresh, homemade sauce, and I too had a little breakfast ritual, with only the minor gurglings of lactose intolerance!

I Would Like to Thank the Academy...

Back in September I entered a contest through Food and Wine Magazine. It was a an online, food photo contest. So I sent off one of my favorite pictures from this site, a picture of a frozen treat, cooling yoghurt and strawberry pops. Made back in July, they were some of the last confections put together in my old kitchen in California. Well, look closely, in the bottom, left-hand corner of the gallery of pictures from FoodAndWine.com.

I never win anything! Seriously. No trips to Cancun, no new washers and dryers, and certainly not the Lotto. (Because if I did, it's hard for me to say if I would be toiling away in front of my computer, and not lounging about on a lush, tropical island.) And while I did not win this food photo contest, I did win honorable mention. This means my photo is on display on the site. Pretty exciting, at least for me anyway. I guess from this point on, I will no longer be the girl who never wins anything, but rather, the girl who sort of wins something. I only hope that I am up for all of the challenges that this new title brings.

Not Your Grandmother's Waldorf

I remember my grandma's waldorf salad-- an interesting mix of both fruit and vegetables, all mixed up with a paste-like dressing. I have never been a huge mayonnaise fan, but yet I was enthralled with the waldorf dressing. A little mayonnaise, a touch of whipped cream, could it be? Sweet yet tangy, light and lustrous, this dressing seemed to have it all. I would sit at the table, a dish of the mellifluous concoction before me, both repulsed and intoxicated.

Now it's been years since I have partaken in this salad of yore. And just the thought of it, I must say, repulses rather more than intoxicates me. But the basics of the waldorf salad are good ones. It has good bones. It's just the dressing that must be updated, made more palatable for my 21st century tastebuds. And so I resorted to a vinaigrette; and I added chicken. Think of this salad an an ode to ladies who lunch.

The chicken salad, like the waldorf, harkens back to a more simple day. Let's put it this way, when ladies (because, come on, they were mostly the diners) were nibbling upon their chicken salad served on toast points, they were not then racing home to illegally download the latest episode of The O.C. onto their Powerbook G4. But that is not to say that we cannot consume the updated chicken salad during said episode.

Earlier this week I made a roasted chicken. It was delicious, steaming hot from the oven, skin crackly and brown. But it was too much for Brian and I to eat in one sitting. Enter the Waldorf Chicken Salad. Some shredded chicken, sliced celery, chucks of sweet-tart apples, toasted pecans, and the piece de resistance, blue cheese, and there you have it. I added a warm vinaigrette of sliced shallots, white wine vinegar, oil, and honey. The warmth from the dressing melted the cheese a bit, creating a rich, and sumptuous sauce.

The salad was a perfect mix of old and new. And I even thought of my grandma's staunchly sweet waldorf salad while I gobbled up my lighter version. If you would like the recipe for this Waldorf Chicken Salad, it is on the Daily Specials page.