Green Beans with Lemon Pepper Oil

The full name of this recipe (another from Fast, Fresh & Green) is "Provencal Green Beans with Lemon-Pepper Oil and Herbed Sea Salt." It sounds fancier than it is and I did not stay completely true to the recipe for a few reasons. 

1) The lemon-pepper infused olive oil sounded awesome, but my kids would not eat anything that spicy. Green beans are one of the surefire veggies that they will wolf down, so I try not to get too adventurous with them.

2) The herbed sea salt is made by combining the salt with lavender buds. I have no more lavender in my garden, but even if I did, I'm not sure it would go over well. The alternative was to use crushed rosemary, but Jeeps has a funny thing with rosemary.

So I will give you the full recipe here, but just know my version was green beans tossed with lemon olive oil and sea salt. They were perfect alongside some grilled apple sausages and pan-roasted red and blue potatoes. They'd also be great just as an appetizer.

The sausages, by the way, were served with cider-beer mustard made by my amazing friend Becky (who brought me the pyrex dishes full of barbecued chicken, potato salad, and love). We attended her family's incomparable Oktoberfest a few weekends ago, and I left her house with a ziplock bag of bratwurst and 3 darling little jars of cider mustard, cranberry mustard, and dill relish.

Provencal Green Beans with Lemon-Pepper Oil & Herbed Sea Salt

The lemon-pepper oil is made by combining 2 tbsp of olive oil with a tablespoon of lemon zest, and 8 grinds of the pepper mill. Make this first and let it sit for 15-2o minutes to let the flavors infuse the oil. The oil keeps well in the fridge so double or triple the recipe if you like and use it on grilled fish or any steamed vegetable.

The herbed sea salt is made by combining 1/4 tsp chopped fresh lavender buds or rosemary leaves, with 1/2 tsp sea salt. Use a coarse salt like fleur de sel.

Then you simply steam or blanch a pound of green beans until they are tender to the bite but still have their nice green color. Drain, let cool a few minutes, then transfer to a serving dish. Drizzle most of the lemon-pepper oil over them.  Sprinkle with some of the herb salt. Taste a bean and add still more salt if you like ("Be generous!" says Susie Middleton).

They went so fast I could barely snap a picture.

On the subject of lemons, its essential oil is a great thing to keep around the house. Jeeps likes to mix vinaigrette into hummus and add a few drops of lemon EO to make a really tasty salad dressing. Mixed with baking soda and vinegar, it makes a great all-purpose cleaner. And I love to use it when I make soap, especially blended with geranium and rose oils.

The team at OilingPoint.com has a great article about the benefits of using lemon essential oil. You can read it here.

Debbie's Vanilla and Cardamom Squash

Can I tell you how much I love this book? It's become my bible of late, and I have three truly great dishes to share with you. 

I'm sorely tempted to pack all three into one post but I realize that a good backlog benefits the cadence of the blog, so three separate posts it shall be.

Tonight I'll be telling you about Vanilla and Cardamom Glazed Squash, and this post is dedicated to my friend Debbie. I smile with a great deal of irony as I write that because I do consider Debbie my friend, and certainly my foodie soulmate, but I've never met her. We "met" on Facebook through a mutual friend, got to know each other through various comments on food, NPR, scrabble, and such, and then she friended me and I accepted and there we went and there we were. The bond was only strengthened when I was posting about something or other and made reference to the fact that cardamom is my favorite spice. Debbie commented that I was the only other person she knew whose favorite spice was cardamom.

I really should meet her someday. In the meantime, Debbie, I made this for you...

Vanilla and Cardamom Glazed Acorn Squash Rings

The recipe calls for 1 small acorn squash, which I didn't have. I had 2 smallish "carnival" squashes, seen here. Actually I had 3 and they were part of the Halloween display on my kitchen pass-through shelf, but 1 rotted. I'm still killing the fruit flies. Let's not talk about it.

• 1 small acorn squash, or 1 to 1 1/4 pounds any type winter squash
• 2 tbsp unsalted butter
• 2 tsp pure maple syrup
• 1 1/2 tsp vanilla extract
• 1/8 tsp ground cardamom (mmmmmmm...yes...yes...and no, I don't have an 1/8 measuring spoon, I just eyeballed a few judicious sprinkles)
• Kosher salt

Preheat oven to 475. Line a baking sheet with a piece of parchment paper.

With a sharp axe (aka a chef's knife), cut the acorn squash in half lengthwise (through the stem end and the pointy end). PLEASE be careful! Scrape out the seeds and fibers with a spoon. 

Put each half, cut side down, on a cutting board. Slice off about 3/4" from each end and discard. Slice the squash crosswise into 1/2" half-rings. If you want, trim off any remaining fibers and goo. Put the rings on the parchment paper.

In a small saucepan, melt the 2 tbsp butter over low heat. Add the maple syrup, vanilla and cardamom. Lean over the saucepan and inhale deeply.  Deeply. Make room for the girl who will stagger into the kitchen, eyes glazed, breathing deeply, wondering aloud, "What is that?" 

Breathe it in again, it's divine.

Use a pastry brush to lightly brush the squash pieces with about half the butter mixture. Sprinkle lightly with salt and turn them over. Brush this side with the other half of the butter mixture but save about 1 tsp if you can, or add another tsp or 2 to the pan for later. Season this side lightly with salt.

Roast the squash for 15 minutes. Use tongs to flip the pieces over. Your kitchen is going to smell amazing. 

"What is that?" Jeeps cried when he and Redman came in from soccer practice. Smile knowingly. You are a goddess.

Roast another 15 minutes until they are nicely browned (the bottoms will be browner than the tops) and tender when pierced with a paring knife. Move to a serving dish.

Reheat the butter mixture briefly over low heat if necessary. Brush the butter mixture over the squash slices and serve.

Some quotes from the dinner table:

"This is like pumpkin pie."

"This is like dessert for dinner."

"You could eat this for breakfast."

"It's almost too sweet."

Oh, and most interestingly, "The skin is the best part!" Yes indeed, you can scoop the squash flesh away from the skin and eat, but amazingly, the skin is perfectly edible and really really tasty. Don't you agree, Debbie?

I thought so.

Breathe

There's nothing like a stomach bug to put you in your place. It levels the playing field. Ego has no leg with which to stand on the bathroom floor, we are all equal and humble when felled by digestive upset. 

I will spare you the gory details because this is, after all, a food blog. Suffice it to say I got my due last night. Why am I even talking about this?

Because when throwing up and throwing down, my mind still continues to make funny little observations about life, love and parenthood. 

To start with, I take my hat off to single parents everywhere. I lay down at their feet and worship them. I am a worm next to their daily endeavors. Why? Because when you are young and single and childless, you can wallow in the existential misery of a stomach bug because nobody else in the world matters. When you are parenting as a couple, part of your partner's job is keeping the kiddies from witnessing such carnage. There is help at hand. Single parents are on their own.

Last night, Redman was in my bed, not five feet away from the bathroom door, blithely reading and oblivious. Jeeps was down in his office and out of earshot. 

It was that real paralyzing kind of nausea so it took me about ten minutes of focused mind-control (breathe through it, come out the other side, breathe through it, come out the other side, you're doing great, ride it out, go right out the other side, this too shall pass, breathe, just breathe) to muster up the strength to speak.

"Red," I called quietly. (Breathe)

"Yeah?"

"Please go get Dad." (Wow your voice sounds good, that theatre degree came in handy)

"Why?"

(Breathe) "Please go get Dad, tell him Mom is sick and needs him."

"Are you throwing up?"

"Yes, please go get Dad." (do not come in do not come in do not come in)

"Can I come in?"

(Breathe, don't panic) "No. Please go get Dad.  Thank you." Pitter patter of helpful little feet and all I can think about are my friends who are single parents and how do they do it, how, how, how, what would I do, how would I manage...(breathe, this is not the time for dire scenarios, it is time to breathe)...

So Jeeps came to the rescue, shooed Redman and Panda—both now loitering anxiously outside the bathroom—back to their beds, and brought comfort and help. And Clorox.

My next funny little observation, which I discussed a little bit with Panda this morning as I negotiated a cup of peppermint tea: giving relationships the Stomach Bug Test. I think I started doing this in college. Could a guy pass the Stomach Bug Test? Meaning, if I were laid low in these most fragile, vulnerable, and, face it, gross circumstances, could I imagine him there? Would he indeed be there? Would he be helpful? Would I rather he went away? These are important things to consider when considering someone in the long-term. 

"Because you don't marry the guy who just looks good," I said to Panda. "You marry the guy who looks good holding your head while you throw up."

Last night, Panda brought me a stick of gum and a cold washcloth after I was back in bed. This reminded me so much of my dad, who was never without a pack of Lifesavers or Wrigley's Doublemint gum when I was a kid, and always had either at the ready if my brother or I were sick.  

"Poor Mommy," she mourned, this child of mine who feels everything to her very bones. "Feel better. I hope you sleep okay. If you can't fix my hair in the morning, that's fine, I'll manage. Don't worry."

I guess we strive so hard to shield our children from life's upsets, when sometimes there's something to be learned by letting them see you at your worst. They often surprise you.

Meanwhile, all Redman wants to know is how much, how far, and what color.

(*gag*)

Veal Stew

"Well, you all," Polly said, "I've got another of those awful reading seminars downtown and I must dash." "Oh, darling," Wendy said, "must you?  You've barely gotten here."

"I must," said Polly.  "I'm seeing you for lunch tomorrow anyway, Mum, so you'll have tons of me.  These seminars are boring but invaluable, I'm afraid."

She went around the table kissing everyone good-bye...She kissed her husband on the top of his fragrant head.  "Henry, don't let the children eat another thing until I get home except for a glass of milk and a cookie at four.  I'll be home by six.  At five-thirty take the brown crock out of the fridge and put it into the oven.  It's veal stew...Good-bye, everybody."

--Laurie Colwin, Family Happiness, Alfred A. Knopf, New York, 1982

Family Happiness is one of my absolute favorite books ever - a beautiful portrait of domestic life and a frank, flawed love story (it's actually not a reading seminar; Polly is going to meet her lover).

In my slow-cooker book is this wonderful-sounding recipe for lemony veal stew with chickpeas and spinach.  I hardly ever eat veal:  formula-fed could break your heart, and organic, milk-fed, free-range veal costs a fortune.  But at last, I found some of the latter on sale and could finally try this stew.

It follows a very classic formula of preparation, much like the chicken stew or beef carbonnade.  You dredge the meat in seasoned flour and brown it in batches.  You then brown your vegetables, add the seasoned flour, deglaze the pan, dump it all in the cooker and let time do the rest.  This came out as wonderful as it sounded:  filling for a chilly fall day but still bright and fresh-flavored from the lemon and herbs.  Plus, because I only had 1 1/2 pounds of meat instead of the required 3, it was the perfect amount of food:  there is none left.  Now I will be snapping up organic veal whenever I see it.

Lemony Veal Stew with Chickpeas and Spinach

• 1/2 cup flour
• 1 tsp kosher salt
• 1/2 tsp ground black pepper
• 3 pounds boneless veal shoulder, cut into 1 1/2" cubes for stew
• 1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil, divided
• 1 medium onion, diced
• 1 celery rib diced
• 1/2 bag baby carrots, left whole (my addition because I cannot conceive of stew without carrots)
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 tsp chopped fresh rosemary leaves
• 1 tsp dried thyme
• 1/4 tsp ground ginger
• 1/2 cup white whine
• 1 1/2 cups chicken broth
• 1 15-oz can chick peas, drained and rinsed (because I only had half the meat in the recipe, I used two cans of peas)
• Juice and grated zest of 1 lemon
• 1 bay leaf
• 1 6-oz bag baby spinach, coarsely chopped

Mix flour, salt and pepper in a medium bowl or ziplock bag.  Add the veal and toss until the meat is evenly coated.  Shake off the excess flour and reserve seasoned flour.

Heat half the olive oil in a large, deep skillet over medium-high heat.  Add the veal in batches and brown lightly on all sides.  Transfer each batch to slow cooker.

Add the rest of the oil to the skillet.  Add onion, celery, and carrots and saute over medium heat until tender, but not browned, about 3 minutes.  Add the garlic, rosemary, thyme and ginger and stir once or twice.  Add the reserved seasoned flour, stirring until the vegetables are well coated.  Add the wine and chicken broth and bring to a boil, stir until slightly thickened.  Pour over the veal.  Add the chickpeas, lemon juice and zest, and bay leaf.  Stir to combine and cover.  Cook 3-4 hours on high, or 6-8 hours on low.

Stir in the spinach and cook for 1-2 minutes, until spinach is wilted.

Serve.

Die.

Chocolate Pear Pudding

“In the world of fruit, pears are a cook’s greatest ally.”

— Laurie Colwin

I bought too many pears. They were on sale, a big bag of Bartletts and in the time it took for them to ripen, everyone lost interest. Suddenly I had a bowl full of ripe pears and no takers. I needed to make something with all of them. Could I?

Why not?

Laurie Colwin's More Home Cooking has an entire chapter devoted to pears, expounding on pears alone with cheese, poached pears, pear crisp and pear chutney. She writes of a recipe from Josceline Dimbleby's Book of Puddings, Desserts and Savouries for chocolate pear pudding. This sounded interesting. In the context of dessert, I usually associate pears with a spice or ginger cake, not with chocolate. But why not both? In the spirit of the chocolate ginger banana bread from A Homemade Life, could I make this a chocolate ginger pear pudding?

Why not?

Why Not Chocolate Ginger Pear Pudding

Original recipe is for a 8x8 cake pan. I doubled it for my supply of pears and my 9x13 baking dish.

• 2 pounds pears, peeled, cored, and cut in chunks
• 1/4 cup chopped crystallized or candied ginger (chop fine—you want hints of ginger here and there, and not big chunks to bite into)
• 12 tablespoons (1 1/2 sticks) butter: the 1/2 stick cut into small pieces, and the full stick melted for the batter
• 1 1/2 cups flour
• 2 generous tablespoons cocoa powder (stern look, and you are using the Hershey Special Dark cocoa powder, yes?)
• 1 tsp baking soda
• 1 tsp baking powder
• 1 cup dark brown sugar
• 4 tbsp Lyle's Golden Syrup (which I actually used to have a bottle of, during Christmas cookie season, but not at the moment. So I used 3 tbsp molasses)
• 2 eggs, beaten
• 1/2 cup milk

Preheat oven to 350. Butter a 9x13 baking dish, or spray with Pam. Spread the pears over the bottom of the dish, sprinkle the ginger bits on top, and then dot with the 4 tablespoons cut-up butter.

In a mixing bowl, sift flour, baking soda, baking powder and cocoa. Add the brown sugar to the bowl. Make a well in the dry ingredients, add the milk, eggs, syrup or molasses and begin to whisk. Gradually add melted butter, continue whisking until all dry ingredients are incorporated into the batter. There will be lumps.

Pour batter over the pears. It helps to dollop it here and there and then spread carefully with a silicone spatula. Don't fret if there doesn't seem enough or if it's not perfectly covering all the fruit. It'll be fine.

Bake for 25-30 minutes. Let cool, and serve alone or with ice cream.

This was a very interesting dessert. The top was very cake-like, but then underneath the texture was very much like pudding. And a scoop of Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey with this cake was awesome.

Smoky Carrots & Fennel

My friend Potter got married a couple weeks ago on Governor's Island. It was an exceptionally lovely wedding withe three (3) kinds of cake: red velvet, carrot and key lime. One of them had bride-and-groom rubber duckies on top.

On the way home, we had time to kill in Grand Central before catching our train. The boys went into the MTA museum while Panda and I wandered through Pylones, which is a funky little store with no end of cool things. Often they have great little books. And sometimes great great books. I got a present:

I read it the whole way home, with visions of vegetables dancing in my head. This is a great book—awesome recipes and mouth-watering photos. Vegetable porn. It's too great, actually, because I end up dog-earing every page and then when it comes time to actually cook, I can't make up my mind. I want to make everything. Or I lack some essential ingredient to make the one thing I've been dying to try.

Finally tonight I told myself to be sensible and use up the oldest vegetables in the fridge, which in this case was a head of fennel. I thumbed the pages and decided upon...(drum roll):

Smoky Spanish Carrots and Fennel with Toasted Hazelnuts

Minus the hazelnuts because I did have them, but not toasted. Toasting hazelnuts is a thankless, high-maintenance job which involves babysitting the nuts in the oven, and then giving them a brisk rubdown with a dish towel to remove all the skins. My cleaning lady came today and the last thing I wanted was bits of hazelnut skin all over my pristine kitchen, it was bad enough I was making breaded chicken. Always, always the day Celia comes to clean, I end up making breaded chicken on my immaculate stovetop.

So this dish, sans hazelnuts, uses the "Walk-Away Sauté" method.  As Susie Middleton says:

“It does take time—about 30 minutes—to get the carrots and fennel to the perfect texture. But like most of the walk-away sautés, there’s not a heck of a lot you have to do during that time. Stir. Sip wine. Stir. Sip wine. That’s all. Oh, and you can fret a little when you think the pan is getting too brown. But it isn’t really a problem, I promise.”

I'm in love.

Susie Middleton's Smoky Spanish Carrots and Fennel

• 1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
• 1 lb (455 grams, and bless her heart, she gives measurements in standard AND metric) carrots, peeled, trimmed, and sliced.
• 1 small fennel bulb, trimmed, cored, and cut into 3/4" slices
• 1 tsp kosher salt
• 1 tbsp sherry or rice wine (I used sherry)
• 1/2 tsp Spanish smoked paprika (I don't know if mine is smoked paprika or sweet or what, I just used what I had)
• 3 tbsp coarsely chopped toasted hazelnuts (blah blah blah)

In a straight-sided sauté pan, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the carrots and fennel and season with the salt. Stir well with a silicone spatula to combine. 

Continue to cook, stirring occasionally at first, and more frequently as the pan begins to brown. Be patient, as it will not look like much is happening in the beginning. Keep stirring and cooking (and don't worry about the pan browning), until the carrots have shrunken quite a bit, are tender (test with a paring knife) and somewhat browned, and the fennel is tender—28 to 30 minutes.

Add the sherry to the pan and stir until it has almost evaporated. Sprinkle the paprika over the vegetables and stir for just a few seconds to incorporate the spice and release its flavor. Remove the pan from the heat and let cool a minute. Transfer to a serving dish and garnish with the toasted hazelnuts.

This was a perfect dish, Jeeps and I ate every bit. The fennel was smooth as silk and it and the carrots had great, smoky autumn flavor. This would be amazing over polenta. I can see where the hazelnuts would have added that extra something special so I will make a point of having them, pre-toasted, on hand, to make this again. Oh yeah, I'll make it again.

Random Reads

I've finished some good books lately and have to write them down immediately otherwise I forget.  Then people ask me "What have you read lately?" and I kick myself because I know I've finished a really great book but I can't remember a damn thing... Hothouse flower and the Nine Plants of Desire, by Margot Berwin.  I just finished this last night so it's fresh in my mind and it.  was.  wonderful.  SO sososososo wonderful.  Magic realism just the way I like it.  Please read it, too, and then let me know if you liked it.

Before Ever After, by Samantha Sotto, which I've mentioned a couple times before but now I've actually finished it and can officially say that this is an awesome story.

Mr. Rosenblum Dreams in English, by Natasha Solomons

A Proper Education for Girls, by Elaine di Rollo

Commuters, by Emily Tedrow Gray.  Also mentioned before and also first-rate but comes with a bonus of the author's favorite books listed at the back.  So I got a great read AND a great reading list, which led me to pick up:

Digging to America, by Anne Tylor

A Ship Made of Paper, by Scott Spencer

 

Went to the library last week and picked up this stack:

Sins of the Seventh Sister: a Memoir of the Gothic South, by Huston Curtiss

The Summer Kitchen, by Karen Weinreb

Swan, by Frances Mayes

       

Slow-dance Chicken

I started writing "Slow-Cooked Chicken" but I guess I had something on my mind because it came out slow-dance. Anyway. I've had this recipe dog-eared for a while because it struck me as what the disastrous maiden voyage of David Crockpott was SUPPOSED to have been: an attractive dish of tender chicken and vegetables. 

Key word: attractive.

So I made it tonight. This is how it looks in the book photograph:

This is how it came out on my plate:

I'm just being honest here, guys! All my chicken slid off the bone and when slow-cooked chicken slides off the bone, it shreds. Especially the white meat. So while it was totally delicious, it obviously didn't have the same eye appeal as the book picture. But I can live with that because it really was delicious.

As Val said in A Chorus Line: "Dance: 10. Looks: 3."

Slow-Cooked Chicken Dinner

• 1/3 cup flour
• 1/4 cup All-Purpose Spice Rub (see below)
• 1 roasting chicken, about 7lbs, or equal amount cut-up chicken
• 1 1/2 pounds golden or red-skin potatoes, quartered (I used the red and the skins turned a very depressing color. You may as well use golden)
• 2 tablespoons vegetable oil, divided
• 1 large onion, cut into chunks
• 24 baby-cut carrots (I used 30. Ha!)
• 4 celery ribs, cut into 3/4" lengths (Use a ruler. Ha!)
• 1/2 cup dry white wine
• 2 cups chicken broth
• 3 tablespoons instant mashed potato flakes (stay with me, you'll see. It's genius)
• 2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley

All-Purpose Spice Rub (Mix all in a small bowl)

• 2 tsbsp brown sugar
• 1 tbsp kosher salt
• 1 tsp paprika
• 1 tsp dry mustard
• 1 tsp ground dried sage
• 1 tsp dried thyme
• 1/2 tsp dried rosemary
• 1/2 tsp garlic powder
• 1/2 tsp ground black pepper.

Boil the potatoes in several quarts of salted water for 5 minutes. Drain and place in the slow cooker.

Mix the flour and spice rub in a medium mixing bowl. If using whole chicken, cut into 6 pieces and remove skin from all except for wings. Remove wing tips.  Dredge chicken pieces in the flour mixture until thoroughly coated. Pat off the excess flour and reserve the flour mixture.

Heat half the oil in a large heavy skillet over medium-high heat. Brown the chicken on both sides, working in batches, about 4 minutes a side. Transfer to a plate and set aside.

Add the remaining oil to the skillet. Add the onion, carrot, and celery and saute until lightly browned, about 5 minutes. Add the reserved seasoned flour and stir until vegetables are coated. Add the wine and bring to a boil. Add the chicken broth and simmer until slightly thickened. Pour into the cooker. Arrange first dark meat pieces, then white meat on top of the vegetables. Cover and cook for 3 to 4 hours on high, or 5 to 6 hours on low.

Remove chicken to a serving platter and surround with the vegetables. Turn the cooker up to high, stir in the instant mashed potato flakes, and continue stirring until gravy thickens. Stir in the parsley and spoon over the chicken.

I served it over polenta which was very reminiscent of my mother's baked chicken with polenta from my childhood. 

Langoustine Risotto

Remember I found Langoustines at Trader Joe's and used them in a made-up fish chowder?  They're like my new besties, I always grab a couple bags when I'm in the store because they make such a nice alternative to shrimp. Tonight I wanted to make risotto, which I always associated with shrimp and peas, but I had neither shrimp, nor peas.  I had langoustines and asparagus.  And I had the Oracle - which is how my friend Bridget refers to the Internet, and I agree.  Seriously, what excuse is there anymore for not knowing anything?

...I'm going to have another glass of wine before I answer that question.

The original recipe comes from the UK's Sunday Times, byline Sue Lawrence, and is for Langoustine and Pea risotto.  I adapted not only the ingredients but I converted the measurements which naturally were all metric.  Actually I was really obnoxious and turned it into a torture session math lesson for Panda Girl.  She's not speaking to me right now but someday she'll thank me!!

 Converted Langoustine and Asparagus Risotto

• 900ml chicken stock (900 ml is 3.80407755 cups, how much is that rounded up, Panda?  4 cups, very good, that's one 16-oz box of chicken broth.  You know if you keep rolling your eyes like that they're going to freeze at the back of your head.)
• 50g butter (50 grams is 1.7636981 ounces but I'm sorry, I don't weigh butter, let's call it 3 tablespoons.  Some math problems don't adapt to real life.  Move on.)
• 1 small onion, peeled and chopped (Freebie!)
• 300g risotto rice (300 grams is...I don't care what it is because my 16-oz box of Sclafani risotto is 455 grams and I'm using it.)
• 100ml dry white wine (Panda has left the room.  It's 1/2 cup)
• 12 oz frozen langoustines, thawed (that's 340 grams, people!)
• 150g peas (or 1 bunch asparagus, in 1/4" slices)
• Grated zest of 1 lemon (I didn't have one, I wished I had)
• 2 tbsp freshly grated Parmesan (we're not even trying anymore)
• 3 or 4 large basil leaves, shredded (It was pouring rain and I didn't feel like going out to the garden for basil so I used chopped parsley which grows in a pot close to the house
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Bring the stock to a simmer in a saucepan, and keep simmering.  Be momentarily mesmerized by the fractal patterns of bubbles on the surface. Mmmm.  Pretty.

Heat 2 tablespoons of butter and a splash of olive oil in a large pan (I used Madame Le Creuset), and cook the onion until soft.  Add the rice, stir until coated in the fat and making a slightly crackling sound, then add the wine, and cook until evaporated.  Add the hot stock ladle by ladle.  Stir and add another ladle only once each bit has been absorbed.   You can step away from the stove for a minute but not much longer.  Risotto, unfortunately, needs a bit of babysitting.

With the very last of the chicken broth, add the asparagus to the rice.  Stir until last of broth is absorbed and asparagus is tender.  Remove from heat, add langoustines, Parmesan, lemon zest, the remaining tablespoon of butter, and the parsley.  Stir to combine.  Cover and leave for five minutes.  Set the table or nag someone else to do it.  Taste and if desired, season with salt and pepper.

Serve.

Die.

If you want my Gravy, Pepper my Ragu....

“If you want my gravy, pepper my ragu.Spice it up for Mama....she’ll get hot for you.”

— Matron Mama Morton: Chicago, Kander & Ebb

So Frank is doing well and on the mend and, frankly, she is amazing. So was her refrigerator the first week after her surgery. You opened the door and the Hallelujah chorus played. But of course: when someone we love is in need of comfort or sustenance, or in the midst of healing, what do we do? We bring food.

When I miscarried a baby in 2002, my parents were there in an hour with a pot of chicken soup. Frank came a day later with hot chicken sandwiches from Boston Market. Chicken is a no-brainer for comfort. Someone in trouble? Broken heart? Troubled soul? Stuffy nose? I must roast a chicken.

When I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer in 2003 (it was a bad couple of years, don't ask) my friend Becky showed up at my kitchen door with pyrex containers filled with barbecued chicken, potato salad and brownies. This combination of foods might mean "picnic" to most people, but to me, they will always be Becky and her firm, clear loyalty and love, at my kitchen door in my time of need.

For healing properties, however, you must go with slightly heartier stuff. I made my turkey meatballs for Frank, two ways: medium-sized ones plain, and tiny ones in wedding soup. I brought that over with some grilled vegetables and a loaf of ciabatta. This all paled in comparison to what her neighbor had bestowed earlier in the day: mozzarella-stuffed meatballs in gravy.

Gravy.

Now when I say gravy, I don't mean the sauce for roast chicken or pot roast. I mean gravy like the Italians mean it on Sundays. Ragù if you want to get technical, but it's gravy.

GRAVY!!!

Frank's husband and I have been talking about and trying to dissect this completely amazing gravy for ten days now. And no, the recipe is not simply given out to the mere mortals. I've been scouring recipes in the slow-cooker books I own and searching online to try and replicate the holy and wholly secret gravy of Frank's neighbor. It had layers of meat in it: chicken and short ribs and possibly sausage, suspended in rich tomato sauce. Possibly it had crack in it as well, I'm just saying.

So what I ended up with is a mongrel recipe that picked and chose between recipes I found online, and a ragù from my slow-cooker book. It's still open to interpretation and tweaking, and I don't know if you could call it authentic. But it tasted pretty damn good, therefore I will call it mine.

Mongrel Ragù

(And you must sing "ragù" in the style of old Yahoo commercials:  Ragùuuuuuuuuuuuuu-hù!!)

• 1 pound sweet Italian sausage
• 4 boneless, skinless chicken thighs
• 1 pound steak tips cut into 1/2" pieces (or short ribs, trimmed, which I didn't have but would have used)
• 2 onions , chopped medium
• 2 carrots, peeled and sliced
• 2 celery ribs, sliced
• 12 garlic cloves, minced
• 2 teaspoons dried oregano
• 1 tablespoon dried oregano
• 1 6-oz can tomato paste
• 1/2 cup dry red wine
• 1 28-oz can diced tomatoes, with juice
• 1 15-oz can tomato sauce
• 2 cups chicken or beef broth or tomato juice
• 2 tablespoons each chopped fresh basil and parsley

Heat 2 tsp olive oil in heavy skillet over medium-high heat. Squeeze sausage out of its casings and brown well in skillet, breaking up with the side of a wooden spoon. I don't know why, but I find breaking up sausage with the side of my wooden spoon to be an extremely tedious chore. Remove sausage to paper-towels to drain, then place in slow cooker.

In the rendered sausage fat, brown the chicken thighs 3-4 minutes each side.  Add to slow cooker.

Season steak tips with salt and pepper, then brown in the skillet in batches. Don't crowd the pan or it will steam the meat, not brown it. Put meat in slow cooker.

Deglaze the pan with the red wine, scraping up bits from the bottom with the wooden spoon (which I never find to be a tedious chore). Pour wine over meat in cooker.

Add another tablespooon olive oil to skillet and heat. Saute onion, garlic, celery, carrot, oregano, and rosemary until vegetables lose their raw look, about 3-4 minutes. Add can of tomato paste and stir until vegetables are coated well. Cook another 2-3 minutes and then add to slow cooker on top of the meat.

Add tomatoes, tomato sauce, and broth (or tomato juice) to cooker.

Cover and set to Low for 8 to 10 hours. Then walk away. Just walk away. You want the longest cooking time you can: mine went from 1PM to 10PM and it was a beautiful thing.

Before serving, skim fat off surface, and stir in chopped parsley and basil. Serve over pasta or polenta, or just eat a bowlful by itself. That's what I did for lunch.

Yum. Oh very very yum. Yes indeed. Can we get in closer, please?

Thank you.