Before Brian became my husband, he was my forever boyfriend. No, he was not my high school sweetheart, but I did meet him when I was still in college. So, he robbed/saved me from regaling you with horrific dating stories, of scrambling around trying to find a date for some holiday party or another. But I do have one.
I was 18, had just moved out from under my parents roof, and I had my first real, honest-to-goodness boyfriend. A Frenchmen we’ll call M. With a penchant for fast-talking, heavy black framed glasses, and a haircut like Tin Tin, M was the man of my post-adolescent dreams. We met on the subway, and a romance was quickly born. We lasted a handful of months, one of which was December, that month of candy canes, egg nog, and holiday parties.
I brought M home with me [...]

When I was young there were two sandwiches which I absolutely could not stand– egg salad and tuna fish. Although their lumpy appearances definitely did not appeal, it was above all their lingering odors that were so detestable to the sensitivity of my young nose.
I would head out to the kitchen, teeth brushed, shoelaces tied, and shirt tucked in (because yes, I was one of those never-play-in-the-mud, proper children), to pour myself a bowl of cereal. Before I even arrived in the kitchen, the sulfuric smell of my mother mashing a half dozen eggs, mixed with coarsely chopped dill pickles for her egg salad, would hit me like a ton of bricks . A proper, though never meek child, I would fuss about the smell making me gag first thing in the morning. Pleasant.
Then there was school lunchtime. I would pull out my peanut butter and [...]

Sunday evening, 1987. I come to the table for a typical Sunday night meal. At the close of a busy weekend our dinners were filled with usuals: rotisserie chicken and a salad, some soup, leftovers from a more appropriate weekday meal, or sometimes my mother would whip up her version of Hamburger Helper– a mix of ground meat, a sauteed onion, and plenty of elbow macaroni. Now this wasn’t the sort of meal my mother would usually whip up, but on Sundays, typically fend for yourself night, this sort of American ease was a welcome change.
I have never even had traditional Hamburger Helper, neatly packaged in a cardboard box, with that jolly four-fingered gentleman smiling back at me; but I loved my mom’s version. It was pleasantly bland, seasoned only with salt and pepper, and I gobbled up the little crooked pasta which were far from [...]

Admit it. As good as you might try to be, eating three square meals a day, there are times, usually around four o’clock on a lazy weekend afternoon, when your stomach starts a-churning. (At least if you’re anything like me it does.) You get that hollow, hungry feeling, and you know that a bag of carrot sticks, healthy though they may be, will just not answer the rumbling. It’s time for a proper snack, one that is salty, crunchy, and more than a bit decadent.
Popcorn is just the thing. And when popped in an air popper (didn’t everyone have one of those in college?) it can really be almost healthy…and definitely boring. But this is Nosheteria, not some ascetic kitchen, and I’ve been out of college for quite some time, so leave it to me to bring popcorn from the healthy to the sublime. [...]

I’m sure that every family must have them– those old, tattered recipes for dishes that are so entrenched in family lore it becomes difficult to decipher where the recipe actually came from. A pot of soup, a batch of cookies, or in this case, a one pot supper, that went by the incorrect name of pajama chicken for years.
Pajama chicken sounds quaint to a child’s ears. And to my young ears I figured that this dish was to be enjoyed languishing on a Sunday afternoon in your favorite footsie pj’s– hence the name. But pajama, said quickly in passing, also sounds like Bahama. And Bahama chicken, which I found out years later, was actually the name of this Americanized dish of stewed chicken served over tomato rice and accented with black-eyed peas.
While my grandmother made this dish all the time, I actually have Roxie Roker, television [...]

That’s a mouthful! At least for English speakers. But rather than choke on polysyllabic, antiquated German words (definition to follow shortly, keep reading), why not gobble down some lovely, subtle brandade instead? And just what is this warm dip? Allow me to explain…
Brandade, a settling and satisfying, warm dip, hailing from the south of France, is made with reconstituted salt cod (or bacalao) and mashed potatoes. Now, this combination might sound unsettling to some, but I assure you, it is divine. Delicately seasoned, with Dijon mustard, sauteed onions and a bit of thyme, the dish is really a combination of all these ingredients, but is so much more than merely the sum of its parts.
The dish does take some time to assemble, but the actual cooking time is fairly short. The salt cod must be soaked in cool water and refrigerated for 24 to 48 hours. [...]

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 [...]

My sister-in-law doesn’t like rice. What? You may be asking yourself, how can a person dislike something so innocuous. That’s almost like saying you don’t like water– which come to think of it, my sister isn’t all too crazy about. I guess you could say that I come from a family of awkward eaters. But back to rice, well, I love it. And I also adore soup. So what about a meal of soupy-rice? Bring it on!
Warm and nourishing, a stick to your ribs sort of meal that is both homey and satisfying. And it couldn’t be more simple. Like a risotto, only stripped down. Minus the continual, deltoid-building stirring, Risi e Bisi makes a lovely, hot meal, with just a crust of bread, and perhaps a salad to round the whole dish out.
Made with arborio or carnaroli rice, the short-grained [...]

I can’t resist. I have explained my new salad fixation; so yes, Brian and I have been eating quite a lot of them lately. And the latest incarnation, is my favorite type of salad to make: a very green, non-lettuce variety, enriched with imported tuna, packed in olive oil. Fresh, rich, the 3 Bean Salad of my dreams.
How could I not make a 3 Bean Salad when these beautiful, bright pink, shelling, or cranberry beans were lying in piles at the market? They were calling me to take them home, peel off their racy outer coat, and simmer to my heart’s content.
But 3 Bean Salad? How gauche. And salad again? Well, you might say that I am a bit homesick; and you can blame the fixation on heredity. You see the fixations with food are nothing out of the ordinary for my [...]

Call it the indiscretion of youth, but as a child, I could be known as an odd eater. It all started with hot dog skins. I ate just the casing, and left the succulent meat behind. I loved fat, and would routinely collect the bits cut off the pork chops my mother made for dinner. (And no, I was not an obese child!) I would never touch meatloaf, telling my family it was unnatural to eat meat molded to resemble a loaf of bread. The list goes on. But now in my advanced years, my opinions of food have certainly changed, and I for one cannot get enough of meatloaf.
And it makes the best leftovers! Stacked into a triple-decker delight, a club sandwich if you will, sandwiching some rich, scallion laced mashed potatoes, meatloaf makes an almost better meal the next day. Yes, it is true that here I am [...]