I'm a Too Hot Tamale

When I was in my first year of college I had to have my wisdom teeth removed. While my friends spent winter break on ski holidays in Lake Tahoe, or went for a tropical beach vacation in Hawaii, I returned home to my parents house to have exciting oral surgery. I subsisted on a mainly liquid diet, punctuated by the occasional cup of translucent Jello. And the only high point of my break was that my parents had finally gotten cable television, and sucked in by the novelty, I watched quite a bit of TV that first swollen week.

I looked like a chipmunk, my face packed tightly with mouthfuls of crusty gauze, but my fingers worked just fine, and I became one with the remote control. Cable television was good then, Mary Tyler Moore and Rhoda aired each night on Nic' at Nite, and there was a new channel called The Food Channel that played fabulous imports such as the Naked Chef and the rolly-polly Two Fat Ladies, as well as superb American chefs like The Too Hot Tamales, Mary Sue Milliken and Susan Feniger. (Aahh, the good ol' days!)

I loved these ladies. Their show was both informative and entertaining, and their dishes always looked delectable. I have picked up their cookbooks through the years, and let me tell you, the recipes never disappoint. So when I stumbled upon the recipe for these Green Corn Tamales, trying them was a no brainer.

And yes, I know it is not summer, so therefore corn is not in season, but I still made these dense maize pillows. In their book, they give the option of using 3 cups, drained, canned corn pulverized in the food processor. So pulse away I did. Now, never having had the pleasure of a fresh corn tamale--which might be stupendous--let me just say that these "green" corn tamales were pretty darn good. Pleasantly sweet, with just enough body to make them interesting, these tamales were like a little taste of Mexico right here in New York. And there is something so delightful about unwrapping your meal before you eat.

I ate my tamales with roasted tomato salsa, and a dollop of sour cream and dreamed of summer. Three for three, Too Hot Tamales!

Easter Magnificence

Rite Aid was a mess, a disastrous mess. The indoor/outdoor carpet tiles covering the floor were peeling upwards displaying the worn concrete , loofahs, bottles of shampoo, and lightbulbs were scattered helter-skelter on the ground. There was one frazzled checker and a line of customer 12 deep. When we walked in the store, I calmly muttered to Brian, "Okay, I just need a few things, and then we're out of here," thinking that this was not how my husband envisioned spending his Friday night.

But all of this changed for me when I caught a glimpse of the store's Seasonal Products aisle. It was Easter! Bags of cellophane grass, miniature baby chicks made of polyester pom-poms, and row upon row of Easter candy, I was in heaven. Turning to Brian I exclaimed, "Why, this place is magnificent!" I'm not kidding.

Now, I had been to the drugstore since the first Easter items rolled in. I had seen the sparkling Peeps show their colored sugar skin, but it was not until I had entered this drugstore hell on the Upper West Side, that I had experienced all that Easter had to offer. This means that this Rite Aid had the one Easter candy from my youth, a bag of little animals that no one--save for a few highly judicious people with discriminating palates--eats and loves. The Chicks and Bunnies.

Can you tell that I love these things? They are strange. And entirely man-made. I don't think that it is even possible for something so sweet and so blue to exist in nature. They are in fact, a gussied up version of the Circus Peanut, a very special sweet treat that I remember sharing with my mother from time to time growing up. The Chick or the Bunny (and the Circus Peanut for that matter), for those who have not had the amazing fortune of trying one for themselves, are a dried up, sort-of marshmallow, vaguely banana-tasting confection. They are malleable, and can be pushed into a tiny cube without much force. And they are sweet. Really sweet. I will just put it this way, The Chick and The Bunny are kind of like high heels-- they're not for everyone.

Yes I am a Jewish girl, but this does not exclude me from reveling in all of the wonder Easter treats have to offer. So get yourself to a Rite Aid tout suite, and revel with me. Easter is March 23!

Cupcakes are Lame... or at Least I Keep Telling Myself

I'm over the cupcake, in theory. They are so fashionable that they have become passé. A new Magnolia Bakery has moved in to the Upper West Side, so now ladies, babies and dogs can experience their confections a little closer to home. Hauling your butt down to the West Village, waiting in line with countless tourists for that bite-sized treat can be a grueling task.

So, in theory, I'm over them... and yet, I keep making them.

Hypocrisy? Perhaps. Delicious? Definitely. I feel like a hamster in a sugar-coated wheel, running away from and to this American dessert. There is just something about the cupcake. For a person like myself, a girl who is often looking for her will-power, a diminutive dessert is ideal. I could cut myself a huge hunk of cake, or I can savor one darling little cupcake. They are the perfect size to satiate my sweet tooth.

These cupcakes were topped with Swiss Meringue, a not too sweet concoction of egg whites and sugar that beats the pants off of 7 Minute Icing. After mounding each cupcake with the pillowy topping, I put them in the broiler for a moment. They browned to a lovely, crisp top, firming ever so slightly. The cupcakes were like little bites of meringue pie.

So I guess I will continue making cupcakes, I will just hate myself while eating every delightful morsel. I'm just a cupcake masochist.