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I Hail from the Exotic, Far Off Land of Minnesota

Don’t ya know.

You know how I’ve always kind of sort of really wanted to live in a foreign country?  Well sometimes it feels like I already am living in a foreign country.

I moved to “The South” (I think they get mad if you don’t capitalize it) in late 2003, when the man who would eventually become my husband scooped me up in his pickup truck and carted me and my very limited number of material possessions down to Valdosta, Georgia where, over the years, I would become accustomed to such things as people saying, “I’m fixin‘ to go to the store” and drinking “soda” instead of “pop” and iced tea that already has the sugar added.

It’s crazy.

But there are certain things about living here that really irritate the crap out of me.  Although, I’ll admit that it probably has more to do with living far outside of any major metropolitan area than actually living in The South.

Yesterday afternoon I went to the grocery store.  It’s a chain called “Food Lion” (yeah, because that makes sense), and from what I understand without doing some quick Google research, it’s a fairly large chain.  And while it’s nice because it’s only 5 minutes from my house (when most other commodities are 35-45 minutes away), it can sometimes leave something to be desired if you’re looking for… less “southern” ingredients.

I will say they have a pretty decent selection of Hispanic food, considering the population around here, but if I’m looking for Asian, Indian, or ingredients from another type of culture, I’d best look elsewhere.

Case in point:

I headed to the store today with 3 new recipes in mind.  I left missing at least one ingredient from each recipe, not because Food Lion was out, but because Food Lion – or at least this particular Food Lion – doesn’t stock them.

And these weren’t crazy things, people.  I wanted things like orzo, which is just a rice-shaped pasta and not all that uncommon.  I wanted a beef brisket, which is just a certain (albeit slightly more expensive) cut of beef.  And I wanted some damn Panko breadcrumbs, which are Japanese breadcrumbs, “fluffier” than the stuff you normally buy, but again, I thought not all that uncommon.

I mean… It’s not like I was looking for tripe, which they HAD:

Cow stomach, anyone?

Or beef tongue, which they also HAD:

At the value price of $2.08 for the WHOLE tongue, I’m pretty sure you can’t go wrong.

And who needs Panko breadcrumbs when instead, you can get crumbs made specifically for chicken, pork, fish, general seafood, plain crumbs, seasoned crumbs, Italian crumbs, beer batter, medium-hot, spicy, two varieties of hushpuppy batter, and of course, any variety of Shake ‘n Bake you can imagine.

But NO. F*cking. Panko.

And yes.  I realize I’m incredibly fortunate to even have the option of choosing between tripe and tongue (two things that, I’ll admit, I’d probably be in line to try at a renowned restaurant – just not in my own novice kitchen) when there are starving children in the world, but I can’t help it.

The heart wants what it wants.

And my heart wants Panko.

So.  I can get what I need by driving a bit further to my favorite Asian market or another large chain grocery store.  (Which is not Piggly Wiggly, by the way.  Did you know those are real?  We actually have one.  It’s the only grocery store I’ve ever had to go through a metal detector to get inside.  Never.  Again.)

So it’s not like I’m living somewhere devoid of all things different.  But I have to work a little harder to get them, and something in me longs for the ability to step outside my front door and walk down the street to any variety of specialty shop or restaurant and carry everything home in a couple of reusable bags and call me crazy, but I think I would just be happier overall if the ‘burbs weren’t so… suburban.

You know?

How easy is it for you to get your groceries?  I know Bec’s chain grocery store has about 4 parking spots, is “missing” one wall, and she can find a million different dried beans, but a tiny block of cheddar cheese is like $8.  Many of my former co-workers make the effort to buy from local farmers markets and grow their own vegetables and herbs.

So how about you?  Can you walk to your local grocery store?  Do you have to visit 12 different stores before you can find all the ingredients you need?

Am I just a big spoiled brat who should stick her beef tongue where the sun don’t shine?

Hey!  I might be a little Southern, after all.

I Bet My Lunch is Better than Yours

I have a confession to make.

It’s not like this confession or this confession, where my mistakes were embarrassing but innocent, yet they were just that – mistakes.

No, this is something different entirely.

This is something that could be considered a flaw of character.

I know.

I didn’t think I had any of those, either.

Well maybe this isn’t so much a character flaw, as it is a taste flaw.

I can’t believe I’m about to admit this on this blog.  My foodie friends read this blog.

But those of you who know me – like know me, know me – are already aware of this fun little fact.

One of my absolute, all-time, mouth-is-watering-right-now-just-thinking-about it foods is…

A hot dog.

Correction – a good hot dog.

But I’ll eat the bad ones, too.

Justin and I decided to go out to dinner last night because our heater is broken, it’s unseasonably cold, and refusing to conform to what most people would do in our situation, which is call someone to fix it and eat Ramen noodles in an attempt to save as much money as possible for something that could potentially do catastrophic damage to our already-dwindling savings account (more on that later), we decided to pretend that the problem didn’t exist and go try a restaurant we’ve been wanting to try for quite some time.

*This problem is much more difficult to ignore today, while I’m sitting here typing with the very real fear that the tip of my nose is going to freeze off, which, if you’ve seen my schnoz, wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen to my face aesthetically speaking, but I’m pretty positive it wouldn’t feel all too pleasant.

The restaurant is called The Steele Pig, and is located a mere 25 minutes from our house, which is remarkably close for an actual chef-owned restaurant ’round these parts.  We didn’t even know it existed until a couple of months ago.  It’s incredibly understated, hard to see from the street, minimally decorated, doesn’t have an overabundance of tables, and none of that matters because holy crap, it’s a real restaurant less than an hour away from our house!

Now, I’m not a “foodie blogger.”  Unlike my friends Steven and Matty, I can’t wax poetic about chef credentials and food names I can’t properly announce and why certain reds are better served in a tulip glass because the liquid will hit my not-so-refined palette in just the right place and are you still talking because I’m seriously trying to eat over here.

So I’m not even going to try.

All I can tell you is that while there are some things on the menu that sounded absolutely delicious (crawfish cakes or a fried green tomato BLT, anyone?), I knew my choice had been made for me when our server told us about their $12 hot dog they had on special that night.

That’s right – $12 for a hot dog.

I knew it had to be good.

I waited anxiously with my tasty $5 mojito, and we downed some fried pork wontons that were gone before I could snap a photo.

*All of these photos were taken with my crappy camera phone, by the way.  My apologies.  I tried to be discrete because I know Justin loves being seen with the girl taking pictures of her food.  I only wished I had my giant DSLR to take better photos…

But then – then – came this:

A giant, delicious, 100% beef (I think) dog on an egg bun topped with incredibly tender pulled pork and homemade coleslaw with my choice of either a traditional red barbecue sauce or a North Carolina vinegar-based sauce.

Oh. My. God.

I had to eat this with a fork.

It was also served with homemade applesauce and incredible herb and garlic fries.

Heaven.

In fact, I think I’m going to go devour the other half right now before I go in search of a warm place (maybe a bookstore?) to spend the afternoon.

Let’s hope the heater fixer guy has good – and not expensive – news, shall we?

The Steele Pig on Urbanspoon

Indulge.

Back in what I like to call the “Golden Days,” when I could eat and eat and eat and never gain an ounce of body fat, back before I discovered wine and beer and the accompanying traces of cellulite that inevitably appear if I don’t pay a visit to Jillian within 24 hours of consumption, back when my butt stayed firm of its own accord, and back before the elves started forgetting to oil my joints at night – particularly in my left knee – which makes me feel like the oldest 28-year-old I know, I liked to bake.

A lot.

I rarely cooked, but boy did I bake.  Cookies and cakes and brownies and bars… I felt comfortable baking because everything was precise.  As long as I followed the directions, it was hard to mess up.  And even when I did mess up, I could eat the mess and it was still tasty, if not pretty.

But now that I’m old enough to consume the empty calories found in alcohol, I try to limit my baking to events and special occasions, because let’s face it – I don’t need the extra calories tempting me while I’m in the house all day long.

Then I stumbled upon this recipe.  This perfectly enticing, decadent, chocolaty recipe for double fudge Irish cream cookies that combines baking with alcohol – and not in a miniscule way – and I just had to make them on St. Patrick’s Day.

Because if a day when I’m allowed to pinch people if they aren’t wearing my favorite color isn’t a special occasion, I don’t know what is.

And I realized today that while I’ve been sitting on this recipe (and the extra layer of fat it’s undoubtedly formed on my derrière) for the past couple of weeks, I’m doing myself a disservice.

Because if I have to be fat from making and consuming ridiculously delicious desserts, so should you.

By the way, my photos of the finished product are horrible because I was too busy actually eating the cookies to worry about taking decent pictures.  Luckily, Jessica at How Sweet it Is took some amazing photos of her own recipe, and she might give you some healthy recipes and fitness tips to make up for her irresponsible posting of these muy rico delicacies.

The good news is, I bet you can eat just one – they are super rich.

To make them, you will need:

  • 1 cup butter, softened
  • 1 1/2 cups sugar
  • 2 eggs
  • 1 teaspoon vanilla
  • 2 2/3 cups flour
  • 1/2 cup cocoa powder
  • 1 1/4 teaspoon baking soda
  • 1/4 teaspoon salt
  • 1 teaspoon instant coffee powder
  • 8 tablespoons Bailey’s Irish Cream
  • 1 cup white chocolate chips
  • 1/2 cup chocolate chips

1.  Cream the softened butter, eggs and vanilla with a wooden spoon until fluffy.  I’m pretty adamant about the wooden spoon thing.  Sure, you could pull out your fancy, schmancy industrial mixer, but we’re making cookies, people.  Cookies should be made like our mothers and grandmothers made ’em.

With love and good old-fashioned elbow grease.

Except not real elbow grease, because that would be gross.

And who has greasy elbows, anyway?  If anything, mine tend to get quite dry.  If I’m not careful, I’ll end up with “ashy elbows” ala Tyra Banks and I don’t know anyone who wants to look like her.

2.  Add the Bailey’s and mix it in, one tablespoon at a time.

Now.  If you’re a dough-eater like me, you might think this tastes a little… strong.  But stick with me, here.  The taste of Bailey’s gets much subtler after the cookies bake.

And yes, I know eating dough with raw egg is bad.  But it’s bad in such a good way, you know?

3.  Add the flour, cocoa powder, instant coffee (I crumbled mine up in the package a bit first), baking soda, and salt to the bowl.

Mix everything (again, with a wooden spoon – it’s imperative) until combined.

Be careful with the cocoa powder if you’re an enthusiastic mixer, like me.  It’s a bitch to get out of clothes.  Especially white shorts.  Seriously?  Who cooks in white shorts?

4.  Fold in the white and milk chocolate chips, then cover the bowl and refrigerate the dough for 4-6 hours (I actually refrigerated overnight, and it was still fairly sticky to work with).

5.  When you’re ready to bake, preheat your oven to 350-degrees F.  Use your hands to roll the dough into balls.  I like my balls fairly big (tee-hee).  Bake the balls on an ungreased baking sheet for 8-10 minutes.  Since my balls were fairly big (tee-hee), my first batch came out slightly under-baked.

I thought that was perfectly fine.

These cookies are moist, with almost a creamy, buttery center, ultra rich and decadent.

Jessica recommends eating these with a glass of Bailey’s, but the richness for me almost requires a glass of cold milk.

Indulgence doesn’t get much better than this.

Fake it ‘Till We Make it

Oh, boy.

Do I have a treat for you.

Have you ever had a mild panic attack when you realize people are coming to your house – people who might expect food – people who might expect cutsie, bite-sized, appetizer-ish food – and you pretty much can’t stand the idea of going through the work of assembling a million crab-and shrimp stuffed tartlets and mini cheese quiches?

Not that you would ever do that anyway, but you get my point.

So it’s a good thing for us that we can fake it.

I’ve discovered a tasty little treat (I actually might have ripped it off from a restaurant) that is so simple and so impressive and so delicious that you might just find yourself throwing it together for lunch on a lazy, rainy, Sunday afternoon while you sip wine and watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

Not that I would ever do that.

Except for maybe today and every lazy, rainy Sunday afternoon from here on out.

You only need a few ingredients to make this twist on a mozzarella caprese salad:

  • Some type of French or Italian bread
  • Butter or margarine
  • Garlic powder
  • Fresh mozzarella cheese (We’re talkin’ the ball of wet stuff – you can get it in the specialty cheese area of most grocery stores)
  • Fresh basil
  • Roma tomato
  • Balsamic glaze (this is something I found at my nicer grocery store.  I suppose you could use any brand, but I use H.T. Trader’s from Harris Teeter.  I found it where they sell the balsamic and other flavored vinaigrettes.)

1.  Slice and toast the bread.

2.  Spread a small amount of margarine or butter over the top and sprinkle with garlic powder.  (You could broil the bread with the margarine and garlic powder if you want to get all fancy, but my method works fine if you’re just making a small amount.)

3.  Place a slice of mozzarella and a slice of tomato on top of the bread.  Drizzle with the balsamic glaze, then sprinkle some chopped basil over the top.

Viola!

It’s that simple.  And it really does taste spectacular.

Anybody can make this and seriously impress some people.

Especially if you don’t show them the bottle of balsamic glaze.

Weekly Goals and Paninigasms. You Heard Me.

My friend Leslie was kind enough this morning to point out that I neglected to fulfill a promise I made last week about keeping you posted on my weekly goals so I can finally get a bunch of projects done around this wreck of a house.

I was supposed to tell you yesterday (Monday), but instead, I was actually working on fulfilling said goal.

But Leslie made me realize – If I don’t disclose the goals on here (or to anyone, for that matter), I’ll never get them done.

Because no one would give me a hard time about it.

And that’s what friends (and blog readers, who are practically friends because there isn’t much on here I don’t disclose about myself) are for – to give you shit when you start slacking.

Because they care.

I actually have 2 goals for this week:

1. Finish that damn closet so our coats can get off the guest bed and back into the closet where they belong.  Haven’t you heard?  It’s springtime, baby!

2. Sell a bunch of the “big” items taking up space in the garage and office so they can both get cleaned out.  That’s what I was working on yesterday – putting our old dining table, range, 2 office desks, and an office chair on Craigslist in the hope of selling them sometime this week.

Because this is what the garage looks like right now:

Nope, it ain’t pretty.

So far I’ve learned 2 things:

1. I priced the dining table and range too low.  I’ve gotten about a billion responses, and now I’m kicking myself for letting people convince me I couldn’t get very much for them.

2. Craigslist folk are unreliable.  The lady who was supposed to buy the range told me she’d be here before 10:00.  It’s now after 11:00, and she still hasn’t shown.  She’s probably going to be pissed when I call the next guy in line, but sorry lady!  You snooze, you lose.  This thing has got to go.

I should’ve known, though.  Erin warned us once about the perils of Craigslist:

So, yeah.  It’s not going that great so far.

On a completely unrelated note, have you ever seen the movie Spanglish with Adam Sandler?

It’s one of those movies that wasn’t originally my cup of tea, but for whatever reason I watched it again, and then again, and then again because there’s just something about it that’s so honest about human nature and our flaws and our idiosyncrasies that it just feels raw and real and… I don’t know… imperfect.  But that’s okay, because that’s the point.

Anyway.

There’s this scene where Adam Sandler’s life is just crap.  He’s an amazing chef with a beautiful house and family, but it doesn’t matter because things are falling apart in his marriage, the kids are suffering from huge self-esteem issues inflicted by their crazy mother who can’t recognize the reasons she’s so unhappy, his mother-in-law lives with them and happens to be a raging alcoholic, and their entire family is having a negative impact on the “pure” and holistic upbringing their nanny, who is a beautiful, single, illegal immigrant from Mexico, is trying to impart on her own impressionable young daughter.

And all of these things are weighing on him.  They tear him down every day.

But in this scene he’s about to have a moment – a moment of pure bliss.  He’s fixing himself this amazing sandwich.  We’re talkin’ the mother of all BLT’s, with crispy bacon, fresh butterhead lettuce and ripe tomato slices, mayo (of course), and thick wheat bread with some Monterey jack cheese that’s been broiled to perfection, all topped off with a glorious fried egg whose yolk doesn’t break until he slices into the sandwich’s divine center belly, the golden fluids bleeding out onto the plate for a perfect dipping opportunity.

Then – then – he pours himself some kind of gourmet-looking dark beer into a tall pilsner glass (at which point I completely jizz in my pants) and the entire scene is done in silence with just the sounds of the egg being fried, the crack and fizz of the beer as it’s poured into the glass, the grate of the knife on the plate.

Perfection.

I will never forget that scene.  It’s like this moment he so desperately needs – just himself, the paper, the perfect sandwich, and a beer.

Of course, it all gets ruined for him before he can take the first mind-blowing bite, but that’s beside the point.

The point is that sometimes you don’t have to get too fancy to have a completely satisfying meal.  Sometimes a sandwich – a sandwich that you take a little care and time to prepare correctly – can be the perfect ending to an otherwise less-than-perfect day.

And I want to thank my sister, who reminded me of that last night when she encouraged me to make this:

Known henceforth as the “Orgasm Panini,” which, if executed correctly, could cause a paninigasm (thanks Jeff, for the term).

For a list of ingredients I used, check out the description of this photo on the Domestiphobia Facebook page.

Yep.  I’m sneaky like that.

***UPDATED***

Here are is the cast of characters for the Orgasm Panini (I figure it’s only fair if you stumbled across this later to not make you search for the ingredients) from bottom to top:

Some type of thickly sliced bread, mayo with lemon juice and basil, Cajun turkey from the deli, fresh tomato, freshly sliced or grated Mozzarella, cooked bacon, artichoke hearts, fresh baby spinach. Toast in panini press and enjoy.

Maybe even multiple times.

Lovin’ Marines and Coq au Vin

I just learned that the Marines are in town, apparently conducting their annual spring artillery training.  Which, incidentally, would explain why the ground is tremoring in this fault-free zone, my house is shaking out of sheer fright, and outside it sounds like “thunder” when there is no storm.

Gotta love living near a military installation.

Lately, with all the noisy aircraft flyovers, it feels like I’m living next to a major international airport without the convenience of… you know… living next to a major international airport.

But I have to admit – the planes are pretty sweet.  Sometimes they make for some fairly amazing backyard barbecue shows.

Unfortunately, I have yet to see something like this raining down over my backyard (they usually manage to hit the drop zones):

I have no idea from where this photo originated.  It’s very likely that it belongs to a local photographer, so if it’s yours and you want credit (understandably) or want me to remove it, please let me know.

Anyway.  This post isn’t going where I’d planned.

It’s just that those explosions are so distracting!  It’s like the handicapper ear buds George had to wear in the short story Harrison Bergeron, by Kurt Vonnegut.  They periodically make loud noises so George, who was smarter than your average bear, couldn’t concentrate, thereby making his thought process more on par with his simple-minded wife, Hazel.  And every time a loud noise went off in George’s ear, Hazel would see him wince and say, Boy, that one was a doozy, wasn’t it?

Aaaaaand I’ve distracted myself again.

What I really wanted to show you was what I made for dinner the other night.  Because I know you care.  And because I gave you a little teaser at the end of yesterday’s post:

Now, I’m not gonna lie.  There’s a bit of work involved in this one.  But it’s not hard.  It’s just work.  Work of the chopping, browning, and simmering variety.

Work I don’t tend to mind.

And I have to say, this is the recipe that you tuck away for special occasions or when you really want to impress someone.  Especially if that someone has a Y chromosome and a bunch of testosterone floating around where logic and reason would normally reside.  (Ha! I’m kidding.  You know I love you, boys.  Almost as much as I love my girls.  It’s the chromosome thing.)

The recipe is Coq au Vin – with an Italian twist.

Don’t let the fancy name scare you – it’s just chicken (well, literally rooster, but we’re gonna go ahead with chicken) and wine.  The Italian twist comes from the sausage.  Because you know I can’t just use chicken and leave well enough alone.  I like my greasy meats.

The genius original recipe can be found right here.

You could serve this over rice, pasta, or even mashed potatoes, but I chose a bit of a unique route.  Since the recipe isn’t exactly healthy, I decided to make faux mashed potatoes out of cauliflower, which I’ve done before with much success.  (Thanks Tracy for the fantastic recipe!) Of course it’s not quite the same as real mashed potatoes, but with a hefty helping of Coq au Vin alla Italiana over the top, who the hell cares?

Here’s what you need to make it the way I did (I cut the amount of chicken in half, but kept everything else pretty much the same):

  • 2 lbs. boneless, skinless chicken thighs (this might even taste better with bone-in meat, but I didn’t want to deal with it)
  • 1/4 cup flour
  • 1/2 teaspoon poultry seasoning
  • 1 Tbsp. vegetable oil
  • 5 cloves garlic, minced
  • 3 (4 oz.) links sweet Italian sausage, sliced (I actually had to use mild Italian sausage because my po-dunk grocery store didn’t have the sweet stuff.  I think the sweet stuff would’ve been better.)
  • 1 cup onion, chopped
  • 3 carrots, sliced
  • 1/2 lb. fresh mushrooms, sliced (I used more like 3/4 lb. because I bought them in bulk. I looove me some mushrooms.  And I knew I’d have plenty of sauce since I used less chicken.)
  • 1/2 tsp. dried rosemary
  • 1 cup red wine
  • 1 (14.5 oz.) can whole, peeled tomatoes
  • salt and pepper to taste
Coq au Vin ingredients

Whew.  That’s a LOT of stuff, I know.  But it also makes a LOT of food.

1.  Heat the 1 tbsp. of vegetable oil in a skillet over medium-high heat.  (I use my enameled cast iron dutch oven for this, because it allows me to make everything in one, single pot.  But if you don’t have one of these, that’s okay!  Just use a regular frying pan for this first part.  You’ll just have more pots to clean – sucka!)

While your pan is heating up, mix the flour and poultry seasoning together in a shallow dish.  (I like to use a pie pan.  Don’t ask me why.)

2.  Dredge the chicken in the flour mixture, then throw about half of your minced garlic into your preheated skillet and add the chicken to brown for a couple of minutes on each side.  Keep in mind that you’re not trying to cook the chicken, here – there will be plenty of time for that soon enough.

3.  Meanwhile, wash and chop your onion, mushrooms, and carrots.  (And you don’t have to peel your carrots, but I do.  I think they’re…I don’t know…nicer that way.  You know, as opposed to mean, dirty carrots.)

4.  When the chicken is browned, throw in your sliced sausage links and stir ’em around.  Let that cook for another few minutes.

5.  Add the carrots, onion, mushrooms, rosemary, and the rest of the garlic to the mix and stir everything together.

6.  Finally, add the wine and can of tomatoes (including liquids).

Notice the smell.  Oh, the smell.  It’s times like these I wish they had scratch ‘n sniff computer screens.

Stick a lid on your pot, turn the heat down to low, and let everything simmer and come together in a veritable orgy of deliciousness for about 25 minutes.  Then season with some salt and pepper (don’t forget to taste it!) and let it simmer for another 10 minutes or so.  The chicken will be nice and soft, the veggies will be cooked, and everything will smell oh, so delicious.

*Note: My sauce was still a little thin for my taste, so I added a tablespoon of corn starch to 1/4 cup of cold water and stirred it into the pot to thicken things up a bit.

7.  Serve alone in a bowl, or over cauliflower “potatoes,” regular mashed potatoes, brown rice… whatever floats your boat.

And if you have any of that red wine left, be sure to drink that, too.  Because, if anything goes with coq au vin, it’s… vin.

“Gee – I could tell that one was a doozy,” said Hazel.

“You can say that again,” said George.

“Gee -” said Hazel, “I could tell that one was a doozy.”

–from Harrison Bergeron

Getting a little R&R

Rest and Relaxation?  Definitely not.  Not after my browser decided to eat my post and I had to start all. Over.

Nope, this “R&R” stands for Rant and Recipe.  Because that’s what I’m sharing today.  Feel free to skip on down to the recipe (it’s really good) if you don’t want to read the rant.  I won’t mind.  Promise.

A fellow blogger and online friend Dennis, creator of Musings on Life and Love, called me out on something in my “Defining Domestiphobia” post the other day.  He basically pointed out that I sure do a lot of cooking (and home renovations, and crafty projects) for someone who’s a self-professed Domestiphobe.

And, if you didn’t read my post extremely carefully, you might be wondering the same thing:  Why all the cooking if I’m Domestiphobic?  It seems kind of counterintuitive.  And you (and Dennis) would be right.

It’s not what you would expect.

But here’s where I feel like I need to explain a little something about myself.  I don’t like to be told that I can’t do something – that there’s a particular goal or challenge or achievement that’s beyond my reach.  Cliché as it sounds, it’s just a fact.

Don’t get me wrong – I know my limits.  I know I’m not going to ever play for the WNBA or become a famous singer.  There’s a difference between natural talent and learned skills.  It’s the same reason I know I will never cook at a Michelin star restaurant.  I’m just not that good.

Like I’ve said before, I’m a follow-specific-instructions-and-hope-everything-comes-out-edible kind of girl.  And I certainly don’t create the recipes myself.

But I like cooking.  So I cook.  Simple as that.  I used to be afraid of it, then it became a challenge, and then I started enjoying it.  And if you’re still wondering how that can be possible for a Domestiphobe, the reality is that it falls in with my goals quite nicely:

1.  Cooking helps me “tie together the things I’m fortunate enough to have” (family, nice kitchen, drive to learn) “…with the things I’m crazy enough to want” (new skills, variety in my life, experience new foods).

2.  Not only is cooking a valuable skill to have, it expands my knowledge of world cuisine.  While I’d love to taste ethnic foods by traveling all over the world eventually, cooking at home makes it so I don’t have to wait.

3.  Cooking is therapeutic.  Instead of going home from my old job, ordering takeout, and plopping my ass in front of the television, I chose a recipe before I left work, picked the ingredients up from the store on the way home, poured myself a glass of wine and turned on the tube or the tunes, made the dinner, and then plopped my ass in front of the television.  I still unwind this way at the end of many days, even though I no longer have the 9-5.  I even do this when Justin’s out traversing the world with the military.  I do it for me.

4. I like food.  I like to know what’s in my food.  I’d like it to be relatively healthy.  And, when it’s not (which is quite frequent), at least I can control the amount of additives, preservatives, hormones, steroids, etc. that are going into the individual ingredients.  If I’m eating something that I know is going to congeal in my arteries, I at least what to be able to pronounce what’s congealing in my arteries.

So, with that long-winded introduction, I have a recipe for you today.  It’s one of my favorites EVER. Spinach Feta Quiche.

I know quiche sounds fancy if you’ve never made it before, but it’s just a savory (aka. not sweet) pie with some fillings and egg thrown in.  Even those of you who say you can’t cook (I’m talking to you, IWOM) can make this quiche.

It will definitely impress any people you whom you try making it.

Unless they don’t like cheese, sautéed mushrooms, or spinach.  In which case, you’re probably better off without them.  (The people, not the mushrooms.)

The original recipe is here. I change the seasonings a bit and use fresh mushrooms instead of canned, but otherwise it’s not too different. You will need:

  • 1/2 cup butter (I know… but butter is good for the soul.)
  • 3-5 cloves garlic, chopped (The recipe calls for 3, but you know how I feel about garlic: go big, or go home.)
  • 1 small onion, chopped
  • 1 (10 oz.) package frozen spinach, thawed and drained (I cut a slit in the plastic and microwave it for a couple of minutes until soft, then I squeeze the plastic bag to drain all of the liquids.)
  • 1 container fresh mushrooms, washed and sliced (The recipe calls for a 4.5 oz. can of mushrooms, but why would you do that when you could have the aroma of fresh mushrooms sautéing in butter floating around your house?)
  • 1 (6 oz) package herb and garlic feta (I can never find this, so I buy plain feta and throw in some Italian seasonings)
  • Italian seasonings (optional)
  • 8 oz. shredded Cheddar cheese (The recipe calls for the pre-shredded stuff, but I prefer to buy a block and shred it myself.)
  • 1 (9 inch) deep, unbaked frozen pie crust
  • 4 eggs, beaten
  • 1 cup milk
  • Salt and Pepper to taste

1.  Preheat your oven to 375-degrees F.

2.  Melt the butter in a large skillet over medium heat.  Sauté the garlic and onion in the melted butter for a couple of minutes.  Add the sliced mushrooms (if you’re using fresh mushrooms) and sauté for 3-5 more minutes, until the onions are soft.

At this point, your house will be filled with one of the best aromas you could possibly create. Take a step back, enjoy a sip of your wine (or beverage of choice), and bask in it for a minute.

This is why you try to cook.  You can’t buy this smell.

3.  Stir in the spinach, mushrooms (if you’re using canned mushrooms), feta cheese, and just 1/2 cup of the Cheddar cheese (don’t worry – you’ll use the rest soon).  Also add whatever seasonings you plan on using.

This last time, I used these:

4.  Spoon the spinach mixture into your frozen pie crust.

5.  In a separate bowl, whisk together the 4 eggs and 1 cup of milk.  You can use a fork if you don’t have a whisk.  Season with salt and pepper.  Pour as much of the egg mixture into the pie shell as you can, moving the spinach filling around with a fork to create “holes” where the egg mixture can seep in.  You probably won’t have room for all of the egg mixture, so just pour in as much as you possibly can.

6.  Now.  This is the only difficult part of the entire recipe (unless you decided to make your own pie crust for some crazy reason).  VERY carefully, transfer the quiche to the oven.  It’s a little nerve-wracking because it’s flimsy, and liquidy, and very near spilling all over your floor or the inside of your oven, but you can do this.  I have faith.

7.  Bake it for 15 minutes so it starts to set up.  Then take it out and add the rest of the Cheddar cheese.

It seems like a lot of cheese.  That’s because it is a lot of cheese.  And it’s delicious.

8.  Bake for an additional 35-40 minutes until you can insert a toothpick or knife into the center and it comes out clean.  Then let it stand for 10  minutes (if you can stand it) before cutting and serving!

*If the crust or the cheese starts to burn while it’s baking but the center still isn’t cooked, just cover the top with foil until it finishes cooking.

The cheddar forms a soft “crust” on top of the quiche, which is absolutely outstanding.  I didn’t take a picture of my piece that night because it somehow ended up in my stomach before I could pick up the camera, but I did get a shot the next day:

It’s excellent re-heated, and it’s one of my all-time favorite dinners.  Or lunches.  Or breakfasts.

It doesn’t really matter when you eat it, just as long as you eat it.

Fish, Rice, and Little Gold Men

There are many things I could talk about this morning.

Like how Anne Hathaway’s first dress at the Oscars is one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.  Ever.

Or how while Scarlett Johansson’s dress was pretty, she looked like she hadn’t washed her hair in 6 days.

Although my male friends will attest to the fact that it’s Scarlett Johansson.  It doesn’t even matter if she has hair.  Because, you know – she has boobs.  To which I replied, Yes, but her Oscar dress didn’t even show off her boobs!  I mean, whenever I go 6 days without washing my hair, I have to practically show nip to make up for it.

That shut them up.  (Thanks Jeff and Mark.)

Or how I admittedly have a girl crush on Mila Kunis.

Mila, will you be my friend?

Or how James Franco looked like he did one too many bong hits between bits.

But the thing is, I’m not a fashionista.  I don’t really know what’s hot or not.

I’m the girl who owned about 6 shirts and 2 pairs of pants that I rotated wearing to work, hoping no one would notice but not really caring if they did.

Because while I enjoy looking nice, there are other things I’d rather spend my money on.

Like travel.

And sushi.

Speaking of sushi, my post from last week generated a couple of comments and questions, and I wanted to come clean about the source of my sushi knowledge.  It’s only fair.

In my humble little opinion, a website called Sushi Day is the primary source for anyone who wants to try making sushi at home.  The site’s owner, Allison, says that while she’s not a professional sushi chef, she “loves making sushi in her free time.”  Umm, yeah.  I’d say.

The girl is amazing.  Her photography is stunning.  And her sushi concoctions are out of this world.

South Wedge Roll from SushiDay.com.  Beautiful photo by Allison Day.

She covers everything – From how to make the sushi rice (it’s not just plain rice, people!), to how to make delicious eel sauce to drizzle over the top of your rolls (it’s simpler than you’d think!), to tons of inspiring recipes, like the South Wedge Roll and the Bling Bling Roll.

She even shows step-by-step photos on how to roll and cut your sushi.  In fact, the only thing she hasn’t been able to help me with is figuring out how to get the roll tight enough and my knife sharp enough to cut the rolls without the pieces falling apart.

But like anything else, that’s just gonna take practice.

What?  We might have to make and eat sushi every week for the next month until I get this right or we use up all of my expensive sushi-grade tuna?

Damn.  It’s a rough life.

*I did not follow proper blog etiquette and ask Allison permission to use her photo prior to posting this, since I didn’t know until this morning that this is what I wanted to write about. So Allison, when you see all the links to your site from my site and come over here to check it out, just let me know if you want me to take down the photo.  I’d be sad, but I’d do it.  Thanks!

You See What I See, and I See Sushi

Last night we had sushi for dinner.

Normally, that would entail the hour-plus drive up to our favorite sushi restaurant in Durham.

Last night, however, it involved me making a trip to a grocery store and an Asian market, and then slaving over a hot stove, rice cooker, and cutting board to create the various appropriate sushi roll accoutrements, after which we could assemble them into lovely (mostly), bite-sized (mostly), tasty (always) morsels.

One of our rolls had spicy sauce…

Sashimi-grade tuna…

Imitation crab…

And cucumber.

Then we rolled it on up…

And cut it into nice, purty pieces.

Okay, so maybe they weren’t too purty.

(The messily-rolled roll pictured above contains avocado, smoked salmon, and… BACON!)

But when you drizzle them with homemade eel sauce (which, much to my disdain, contains no eel parts whatsoever)…

And lovingly sprinkle them with decadent black sesame seeds…

No one really seems to care.

Until it’s time to clean up.

(Photo taken with camera phone.)

My Big Fat Greek Wrap

I was hesitant about sharing this recipe today because while it’s certainly good, I think it could be improved.

(Well technically any recipe could be improved, but I like to post things I love and wouldn’t really change much.)

It’s called Pork Souvlaki and can be found here, but I just like to call ’em Greek Wraps.  You know, to keep it simple.  The pork in this recipe is cubed and skewered and roasted in the oven.  Now, I might not have been crazy about it because I bought pork chops; however, I think this would’ve been really tasty (and worked better for the wraps) if it had been shredded, pulled pork.  But that’s just me.

The flavor of these babies is fantastic.  Because of my “Life ADD,” I’m always experimenting with different ethnic flavors.  And I think Greek flavors might be among my favorites – oils, olives, and feta cheese.  What’s not to love?

Speaking of olives, there aren’t any in this recipe.  But maybe there should be.  Because olives, in my humble little opinion, are one of the best. foods. ever.  Green, black, kalamata… mmmm.  I love them so much that when I was little, I used to ask Santa for cans of black olives for Christmas.

You say crazy, I say practical.

Now back to your regularly scheduled program.  These wraps are pretty simple.  Just cook your meat, prepare your veggies, warm your flat bread, and assemble!

You will need:

  • 2 tsp. salt
  • 1 tsp. dry dill
  • 1 tsp. dry oregano
  • 1 tsp. garlic powder
  • 1 tsp. lemon juice
  • 1 Tbsp. olive oil
  • 1 lb. boneless pork, cubed
  • Flat bread
  • Vegetable accoutrements (optional – I used red bell peppers and cucumbers)
  • Feta cheese (optional, but why wouldn’t you use it?  It’s cheese.)
  • Tzatziki (optional, but highly recommended – this is a Greek yogurt/cucumber dip.  I found mine in the deli section at Wal-Mart.)

1.  Combine the first 6 ingredients to create the marinade for your pork.  Or is it a rub?  It’s kinda wet, kinda dry.  A marirub?  Rubamade?

This doesn’t look like a lot of wet/dry marirub, but it will cover the pound of pork quite nicely.

2.  Cube the pork (again, I used chops, but please educate me, those of you who know your meats, about what kind of cut might have worked better for this) cover the pieces with your rubbinade.

Just mix it with your hands if you like the feeling of squishiness between your fingers…

Mmmmm…

Cover the meat and let it marinade in the fridge for at least 2 hours (but as with any marinade, letting it sit overnight would be even better!).

3.  When the meat is ready, preheat your oven to 350-degrees F.  Stick the meat tightly on some wood skewers, place them on a foil-lined pan, and let them bake for 30-40 minutes.  (If I make it this way again, I will probably increase the oven temperature to 400 for the last 10 minutes or so to get the pork crispier on the outside.)

4.  Meanwhile, chop up your chosen vegetable accoutrements and sauté them in a little oil.  If you have a double-oven, these would be phenomenal roasted in a pan at 400-degrees.

5.  Just before your pork is ready, start heating the flat bread on the stove in a pan over low heat.  Get your other garnishes (feta and tzatziki) ready as well.

Tzatziki is the perfect accompaniment to these wraps.

And if you have to eat some of it with pita chips while your pork is cooking, I won’t judge you.

6.  When everything’s ready, set it up assembly-line style.

Just assemble the wrap to your liking!

Don’t forget the tzatziki.  Tzatziki makes the world go ’round.  (Or at least it makes my world go ’round.)

Or you could put a little Windex on it.

JUST KIDDING.  Do NOT put Windex on your wraps.  Windex should not, under any circumstances, be ingested.  But can you name that movie?  (The title of this post might be a slight giveaway.)

The flavors in this are wonderful. If you try these and figure out a more satisfying (less chewy) way to cook the meat, please let me know!