Linguine with mussels

I can eat a lot of mussels, especially when as delicious as my previous recipe. However, even I cannot work my way through two pounds of them, so I had a large batch left over the next night. I thought I'd reincarnate them in a different dinner.

The basic recipe made this easy enough. The mussels were already cooked, their garlicky, briny liquid extra flavorful for having bathed the mussels overnight. I decided to cook up some toothsome linguine and head down to Italy for my next meal.

As the pasta was cooking, I halved some cherry tomatoes and chopped some more parsley. I threw the mussels and liquid into a pot to warm up, then added the tomatoes to soften. After I drained the pasta I mixed it in with the tomatoes and mussels and a squeeze of lemon juice. Topped with a bit of parmesan (bien sur!) and a good grating of pepper, and my quick, easy, but very satisfying meal was done.

Moules marinieres

It was a beautiful spring weekend. The sun was shining, the trees finally burst into bud, and summer clothing was out in full force. The streets were thronged with people who took their first run of the season, and later in the day they were thronged with people who had their first blisters of the season.

Something in the air made me think of a day at the beach. Clean, sharp flavors and the ocean. I could get a lemon and bunch of parsley, then some mussels: steamed in some white wine and their own liquid.

Moules marinieres is a dish that looks gourmet and fancy, but really is the essence of quick and comfort cooking. If you can chop some garlic and an onion, you're most of the way there.

Starting out with these two as the foundation of the dish, you simply tip the cleaned mussels into your pot, pour in your wine, clap on the lid, and come back in 5 minutes to dinner. Don't forget to pour the other glass for yourself.

I had a beautiful bunch of parsley which looked so good I had to take a photo. Anyone know what to do with a ton of parsley?

So that was dinner on the first real weekend of spring. The year is flying by and summer will be coming soon, long sweltering days and stifling nights, months of not turning on the stove, but for now, the evening is perfect, and dinner is on the table.

Moules marinieres

2 lbs mussels, rinsed and cleaned

1 clove garlic, minced

1 medium onion, finely chopped

1 C. white wine (something more dry than fruity)

handful of Italian parsley

squeeze of lemon juice

Soften the onion and garlic in a little swirl of olive oil in a pot. When translucent, add the mussels and the wine (pour another for yourself), then cover the pot. After 5 minutes, the mussels should have opened and released their liquid. Throw in your parsley and give the lemon a good squeeze. Serve in bowls with bread to soak up the juice.

Serves 2

Chilly day Chili

Did anyone else experience the apocalyptic weather known as the nor'easter that blew in on Saturday? I had to go outside to go to work (boo hiss) and do some errands. Far from being productive, I spent most of the day huddling in doorways, afraid to step into the gale. More than once I did the full revolution in the revolving doors, convinced when I began to leave that it wasn't as bad as it looked, got a little taste of the wind and rain as I got to the 180 degree mark, and kept going right around back inside where it was safe and dry. The mangled bodies of umbrellas littered the streets. People greeted each other like survivors of some team-building ropes course that really didn't look that bad when they started out but quickly showed them they were not the boss. I made the mistake of trying to go into my building through the back entrance, which I had forgotten is a wind tunnel on the best of days. I kid you not when I say I was thrown from wall to wall and pinned against the gate until I could get it open.

So I ordered delivery for dinner.

But that's not what this is about. This post is about chili, which is what I would have made on that Saturday evening had I had the faintest inclination to leave the safety of my apartment again. Mmmm... chili. It really is one of my favorite dishes. I sometimes make variations on it -- anything with beans, tomatoes, chili and cumin will do -- but this recipe is my master recipe. Another one handed down from parent to child, both my brother and I left home with a copy in our hot little hands. I remember my brother visiting from college when I was living in my first apartment and had barely started to cook. We made chili. (And buttermilk cake.)

Chili

olive oil

2 lbs. ground turkey

1 14-16 oz. can whole tomatoes

1 8 oz. can tomato sauce

1 C. chopped onion

2 cloves garlic, minced

2 cans drained pinto beans

1 can drained kidney beans

1 C. water

1 T. chili powder

1/2 tsp. cumin

1 tsp. salt

Brown turkey, onion and garlic in olive oil in a dutch oven or other large pot. Once turkey is browned and onion is soft, chop tomatoes and add them to the pot along with their juice. Add tomato sauce, water, spices, kidney beans. Set aside 1 C. pinto beans, add remainder.

Bring to a boil, simmer 30-35 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add water if the chili dries out.

Mash reserved beans and add to the pot, mixing well. Simmer 5 more minutes until chili comes together.

Serve with sour cream, cornbread, or just enjoy straight up.

Betty Robertson's Buttermilk Cake

After showing off my bee-yoo-tiful Kitchenaid in the last post, I decided I needed to do some actual baking with it. A little house-warming, too, was in order. I have heard that real estate agents put cookies in the oven or leave vanilla out to make the house smell warm, inviting, and homey. Even though most of my possessions are still in boxes, and my items of furniture have yet to be counted on more than one hand, I thought that a cake, warm from the oven, wafting its scent of vanilla, butter and sugar, would transform my little apartment into my new home.

The cake would have to be the one that I grew up eating and one of the first I ever baked myself. This recipe came from Betty Robertson, long-time friend of my mother's family, who baked it for them. My mother got the recipe when she was in high school, I started baking it myself about the same age, and I in turn have passed it around to friends. It's just a good cake: moist, delicious, pretty much foolproof and failsafe. It's practically perfect on its own, and when berries or peaches are in season it's gilding the lily.

Surprisingly, it came out well even though it was the first thing I baked in the new oven. Golden on the outside, smelling of home, it tasted great even eaten off the cardboard box I have functioning as a table.

And, by the way, the Kitchenaid was amazing. I made the cake in record time. I even took pictures, but fortunately for you all I accidentally erased them. You might indulge in cake, but surely wouldn't indulge me in too many photos of my mixer.

Betty Robertson's Buttermilk Cake

1 C. butter

2 T. shortening

3 C. sugar

3 C. flour

1 C. buttermilk

1/2 tsp. baking soda

1/2 tsp. salt

1 tsp. vanilla

5 eggs

Butter and flour a bundt cake pan. Pre-heat oven to 325.

Cream butter, sugar, and shortening. Add eggs one at a time. Dissolve baking soda in buttermilk, then add the buttermilk and flour slowly to the mix. Add salt and vanilla.

Bake at 325 for about an hour, or until a toothpick comes out clean.

Long time no blog: new year, new life, New York

Hello world. I know you've missed me (or at least those related to me say so, but then blood ties demand such allegiance). I know I have missed cooking, writing, and reading, three things I have sorely neglected as of late. My cooking, in these hectic days, has amounted to hummus and crackers, popcorn, or plating some take-out.

I think I have had a reasonable excuse. As some of you may know, I have been living in London for the last 6+ years. I enjoyed my time in the city, and enjoyed my occasional griping about the quirks of life in the Big Smoke, but as of December I became an official resident of the Big Apple. Yes: I have come home(ish).

So on to new things: most of January was spent apartment hunting. Along with the requisite room measuring and fee negotiating, I have had a veritable gastronomic tour of the five (or three) Boroughs. I had great cheesecake in Astoria (Athens Cafe), fantastic pizza in Williamsburg (San Marco), roast chicken and other Dominican delights in Washington Heights (El Malecon, the Caridad restaurants), and the best grits north of the Mason-Dixon line in West Harlem (Coral). Not to mention my discovery of Delivery.com and all the little hole in the wall lunch options that my new colleagues have introduced me to.

Most of February was spent moving and getting a little bit settled, not to mention working very long days and nights.

When moving to a new place, there are a few things one must purchase as a matter of priority. There is the bed (check), some chairs to sit on (check), a table of sorts, even a cardboard box (checked to the max). Before I'd even gotten the bed, however, I had placed my order for my set of Tri-ply clad Tramontina cookware. High quality pots and pans for a third the price of All-Clad? Yes please. And the thumbs are most definitely up.

My second order was for my red Kitchenaid mixer. For years I have coveted this piece of equipment, but never ordered it because of the problems between US and UK electricity, not to mention the cost of shipping such an item cross-continent. But no more worries on that front. Next up: the ice cream maker attachment. Though maybe I should buy a table first.

And yes, I will do some actual cooking, just as soon as I explore all the delivery options in my neighborhood first...

Pear and maple syrup cake

It was last Sunday afternoon that I decided I must have a cake. I have written about this before: the gloomy Sunday slide into darkness that must be staved off by hook or by crook. I try to go out for a walk through the flower market on Columbia Road -- lined with shops selling furniture and trinkets from India and Thailand, each one a little bit less authentic than the last as they all carry the same bowls and incense holders; the high quality bespoke perfumier; the takeout window selling fried calamari and shrimp for 1.50 per bowl -- where the stall holders are almost Dickensian in their hawking and you can get bunches of flowers for practically nothing if you go at closing time. I try to take a bicycle ride in the country, where the promise of a pub lunch at the end of the road provides more encouragement for the cyclist than wanting to break a personal best. I go to the cinema, take in the latest exhibition at the National, poke around the tables of old prints and maps under Waterloo Bridge. Frequently these are all great outings and distractions from the impending work week. Sometimes, however, only a cake will do.

I read about this cake in Nigel Slater's column for the Observer a few weeks ago. His photo looked mouth-watering: soft pear, fragrant spices, sticky maple syrup. I could almost smell the aroma wafting from the pages of the magazine and filling the flat with warmth and comfort. (Emotional eating? Not me, nah...) It also looked fairly quick to make, and I thought I had all the ingredients on hand. I started to stir everything together, chopping up the pear and setting it on the stove to soften. Alas, my maple syrup was down to the last few sticky drops in the bottle, so I had to improvise by adding some dark brown sugar to the pears in lieu. I think the syrup would have been better, but my substitution was pretty good too. The pears didn't sink the way Nigel said, but made a good top layer. The cake was light and moist and redolent with pear and cinnamon. Warm out of the oven and served with a dollop of cream, nothing could have made life any better.

Nigel Slater's pear and maple syrup cake

100g butter, softened

50g golden caster sugar

50g light muscovado sugar

150g plain flour

1 tsp. baking powder

50g ground almonds

3 large eggs

2 Tbsp. of milk

a couple of drops of vanilla extract

450g ripe pears

20g butter (I used hardly any)

a couple of pinches of cinnamon

3 Tbsp maple syrup

Nigel's instructions: Line the base of a deep 20cm baking tin with baking paper. Peel, core and chop the pears. The pieces should be quite small, about 1cm square. Put them into a shallow pan with the butter and cinnamon and let them soften for 10-12 minutes over a moderate heat, stirring from time to time so they do not burn. Pour in the maple syrup, let the mixture bubble up briefly then remove from the heat. The pears should continue cooking until they are sticky and deep golden. Set the oven at 180C.

Put the butter and sugars into the bowl of a food mixer and beat till pale and thick. They need to be the colour of milky coffee. Sieve the flour and baking powder together. (I don't normally suggest sieving flour but it is essential when you are incorporating baking powder, to ensure it is evenly distributed.) Add the almonds to the flour. Beat the eggs and milk in a small bowl with a fork then add to the butter and sugar mixture a little at a time, alternating with the flour and almonds. Stir in the vanilla extract.

Tip the mixture into the cake tin and smooth the top. Spoon the pears and any remaining syrup over the cake mixture. It will gradually sink on cooking to make a sticky layer further down.

Bake for 40 minutes or till golden and lightly firm. Serve warm, in thick slices with cream and a little more maple syrup.

Shredded chicken in mole, roast acorn squash and pinto beans

Was this the world's easiest dinner? It seemed like it. It was definitely the easiest leftovers and made a fine lunch the next day.

After I made my mole sauce the first time around, I froze half of it for another use. When we had some friends around for dinner, I knew it was the perfect opportunity. I could whip up an impressive meal with practically no effort (but they didn't need to know that).

I bought some chicken breasts and poached them gently for about 20 minutes in lightly simmering water. I then shredded them and put them back in the pot with my defrosted mole sauce. After heating the mixture through, I served it with rice, pinto beans and acorn squash.

The acorn squash I had cut into wedges along the ridges of the squash, tossed with a little olive oil, salt and a pinch of chili powder, cumin and a dash of cinnamon for good measure. I stuck these in an oven at 350 and forgot about them for 45 minutes while I made the rest of dinner.

Easy? Definitely. Delicious? Oh yes. A perfect meal in all ways.