Panic Attack Casserole

Dear Reader,

I have a friend, let's just call her Sally, who is going through a period of terrific angst at the moment.  There is angst in her career, anxiety at home, and she's basically tied up in knots of gordian proportion all around.  She was coming for dinner the other night and had specifically requested something cheesy and warming, to calm her frayed nerves.  Problem was, she invited herself, and I didn't have time to go to the store.  But no matter!  I am the MacGyver of comfort foods.  I quickly checked my cupboards and saw that I had rice and broccoli, as well as a pack of Quorn tenders.  It is no secret that I am a fan of the mysterious Quorn.  Anyhow, you could make this same thing with chicken, if you wish.  My mind went instantly to a casserole, but I had no cheese, and only skim milk, which would amount to a pretty weak casserole, not at all what Sally required.  Then I found, tucked behind my thousands of vinegars, exactly what I needed.  Sally wasn't going to get some nasty broccoli mushroom soup casserole.  No ma'am.  For Sally, only the pseudo-French would do.  Thus was born this conciliatory dish.  Enjoy.

Panic Attack Casserole

 Here I sauteed shallots and some of an onion in some butter.

And here's the part where I lightly steamed some broccoli.

 

Did you hear the one about when I threw this bag of something chicken-ish into  the pan with the shallots and onions?  No?  Well, I also added a splash of vegetable stock!

 I boiled 1 3/4 cup water and added 1 cup basmati, lowered heat, covered, and simmered for fifteen minutes which is a pretty standard way to deal with a cup of basmati.

 Voila my secret ingredient!  I made the "Bearnaise" according to the packet directions, and slopped the whole thing together because nobody was looking.  If someone had been present for the event, I would have gingerly mixed all the ingredients, and used a nice wooden spoon to spread out the casserole in the dish, while wearing my adorable apron and listening to Edith Piaf.

 I toasted a couple of slices of whole wheat bread, whizzed them in the processor, mixed with a little parmesan, olive oil, salt, and pepper, and sprinkled on top.  Then I baked at 350 for about 20 minutes.  Actually I don't know how long I baked it for because Sally arrived.  I opened some wine and listened to her rant, cry, and hyperventilate simultaneously, which only made me drink more wine, and I totally lost track of time.  Also I forgot to take a photo of the finished casserole, so the one above, taken after we ate, will have to do.  Let me tell you one thing.  That mofo was delicious.  Sally left in good spirits, which may have been due to the wine, but I like to think my casserole helped.

Eggplant Extravaganza

Dear Reader,

Living in New York City provides myriad opportunities for someone who likes to cook.  Specialty grocers, farmers markets, exotic spice bazaars, and whole buildings devoted to nothing but cheese abound.  I tend to decide what I'm going to make for dinner sometime just after lunch, and then go pick up whatever I will need for that night's meal.  I don't need to tell you how expensive this can be.  In effort to be more thrifty, and clean out some of my cupboards which are in danger of falling off the wall, my husband and I decided to try something.  In one afternoon we would pick up all the produce we would need for the entire week's worth of meals.  I know that a lot of people do this as a matter of course, but we're a bit new at it, and as a result, one of us thought that we would definitely need at least six eggplants.  We never eat eggplant, although I like it very much, and found myself at the end of the week having to make a meal for my family that used six eggplants.

EGGPLANT EXTRAVAGANZA

 I was inspired by Jaime Oliver's Eggplant Parmigiana, so began with his sauce which you see in the picture above.  Doesn't it look delish?  It was.  Olive oil, onion, garlic, oregano, tomatoes, wine vinegar.  I didn't use the suggested basil, as I didn't have any, and this was a strictly use-what-I-have kind of affair.

 I sliced and grilled the eggplant in my grill pan.  I should have cut the eggplant more thinly to minimize the slime factor.

Lovely parmesan made soft and fluffy with my microplane grater.

 I made breadcrumbs with the ends of whole wheat sandwich bread, toasted and tossed with a bit of olive oil.

 I layered the sauce, the eggplant...

 ...and the cheese, until it reached the top of this lovely dish which was a wedding present ten years ago.  I can't recall who gave it to me.  If it was you, I thank you again, and you'll be happy to know that I use it frequently.

 Ok, here's where I went a little crazy.  I wanted something filling, but still easy on the old Weight Watchers points, so I topped the whole thing with a pint of fat free Ricotta, mixed with an egg.  I added some salt and pepper, then topped with more sauce, the breadcrumbs and more cheese, then baked it in the oven for longer than I was expecting it to take.

I was a little excited when the dish was finally done, and forgot to take a picture before we ate it.  It was delicious, and my kids enjoyed it, too - even if they said they didn't.  The best part was all the room I had in the fridge after getting rid of those eggplants.  I wonder what he'll bring home this week.  Truckloads of turnips?  Mountains of mustard greens?  Or better yet, a bushel of beets.  I like beets.

Now here is something to entertain you on this Monday.   I forgot how weird this video is.  That's probably because at the time it was made I thought it was the decade's greatest artistic achievement.

Gingrich Spinach

Dear Reader,

Can you imagine folding the laundry, putting away your husband's socks and finding a whole bunch of girlie magazines in his drawer?  Yes?  Well how about finding a whole bunch of Newt Gingrich paraphernalia?  Horror!  That is exactly what happened to Steffi in Jacksonville, Florida this week.  Here you go, Steffi.  I wish you luck.

Gingrich Spinach

You will need:

3 pounds spinach
1 cloves garlic
1/4 cup flour
1 cup cream
1 1/4 cups milk
One small onion, diced
1/4 cup butter
1/8 tsp grated nutmeg
handful breadcrumbs
gruyere

Steam or boil the spinach until just cooked (or unfrozen as the case may be), then drain and squeeze all the water out, like you'd like to squeeze the brains of your husband if he thinks he's going to have some sort of new fangled "open" relationship.  Give. Me. A. Break.  Heat the milk and cream in a saucepan while you saute the onion and garlic in the butter.  Whisk in flour and cook for a few minutes to create a roux.  Add the warmed milk in a thin stream, like the thin stream of consciousness that must exsist somewhere in the head of the man you married.  Whisk constantly so that you don't get any lumps, you've already got one of those, no need to add more.  Stir in spinach, nutmeg, salt, and pepper.  Top with breadcrumbs and enough grated gruyere to make you feel better, and bake at 350 until golden brown and bubbly.  Go to www.newt.org and make sure your husband's name is first on the list to visit the moon base in 2019.


Now here is some music to help get you through these last six weeks of winter.

The I Love America Diet

Dear Reader,

It should be obvious that there is little I love more than a weird cookbook.  After all, I wrote one myself.  I have one that I have been meaning to share with you.  I bought it at a bookstore in Ithaca, New York, and it is from the mind of the one and only Phyllis Diller.  No just kidding.  That would be really awesome.  This one is from Phyllis George.  It's called the I <3 America Diet.  The premise behind this patriotic cookbook is that if you really love America you won't be a lardass.  America needs skinny citizens, not only to look good, but fatties cost too much

Here is what Phyllis recommends a woman eat in an average day, in effort to "reduce."

BREAKFAST:

1 medium orange

1 medium egg, scrambled

1 small bagel, with

1 tsp. margarine, soft

1 cup skim milk, fortified

     coffee, tea or water

LUNCH:

(You can brown-paper-bag this one)

1 cup tomato juice, preferably with no salt added

1 salmon salad, consisting of:

     2 ounces canned salmon, packed in water, served on a platter, with

     1 1/2 cups combined Romaine lettuce, watercress and sliced radishes, and

     2 teaspoons Italian dressing

2 slices whole-wheat bread

1/4 medium cantaloupe

     coffee, tea or water

DINNER:

1 cup fresh fruit cup (suggested ingredients: slices of banana and apple, grapes and orange sections)

3 oz. roast chicken, preferably white meat

1/2 cup lima beans, fresh

1/2 cup spaghetti, enriched, with tomato sauce

1 1-inch cube natural Swiss cheese

     coffee, tea or water

SNACKS:

1/2 cup broccoli, cooked or raw

1/2 cup cauliflower, cooked or raw

First, that's one mighty big brown paper bag she brings her lunch in.  Ms. George may have servants to rinse off her platters, but the rest of us have to make do on our own.  Second, if I ate like that I would be as big as a house.

There was one nugget in this book that I found extremely enlightening.  You know how people are always saying we should eat slowly?  I've always taken that to mean chewing slowly, which is kind of disgusting.  Phyllis advises, "Bring your food to your mouth slowly.  Count 1-2-3 from plate to mouth.  You'll soon forget you ever shoveled it in at high speed.  Your dining partners will appreciate the change to a more graceful you."  I'm absolutely sure my dining partners would appreciate a more graceful me.  I'll try this one at home!

Here are some more of Phyllis' pearls of wisdom:

*  When you dine with thin people, observe how much faster you finish your meal than they do.
       This is especially true if your thin companion is going to the bathroom to vomit between courses.
*  Bring a mirror to the table and watch yourself eat.
       If you want to look like a total idiot, this is a great idea.
*  If you have a motion-picture camera or a video recorder, take pictures of yourself eating.  You may not smile when you see yourself on candid camera.
      Andy Warhol did this.  He ate very slowly.

*  Eat with your knife, fork and spoon - never with your hands.  That applies when you eat anything - a sandwich, a slice of bread, a roll or a piece of fruit.
     Again, a good idea if what you're really after is to look like an idiot, carving up your strawberry with a knife and fork.  Paging George Costanza.
*  Put only one kind of food in your mouth at a time.  Not steak, potatoes and onions in one mouthful.  But one mouthful of steak.  One mouthful of potatoes.  One mouthful of onions.  That's three mouthfuls instead of one, and that takes three times longer to consume.
      Does she suggest you deconstruct your sandwich before eating?  I'm highly opposed to that idea.  Especially if you then have to eat it with a spoon.

I want to leave you with a recipe from Phyllis George, and as it is Monday I will advocate for Meatless Mondays and pass on her "Frank Kebabs" (yes, hot dog kebabs are good for America) and "Oriental Beef."  Enjoy.

PHYLLIS GEORGE'S VEGETABLE NUT LOAF

You will need:

Wheat germ, unsweetened
1 cup chopped carrots
1 cup chopped celery
1/2 cup chopped onion
1/4 cup butter or margarine
1/4 cup flour
1 tsp. salt
1/8 tsp. pepper
1/4 tsp. thyme
1 1/2 cups milk
1 cup natural cheddar cheese, shredded
1 cup walnuts
3/4 cup wheat germ, unsweetened
3 eggs, slightly beaten

1.  Preheat oven to 350.

2.  Grease 8x8x2-inch baking pan.  Coat with wheat germ.

3.  Cook vegetables in fat until onion is tender.

4.  Stir in flour, salt, pepper and thyme.  Stir in milk.  Cook and stir over moderate heat until thick.

5.  Stir in cheese, nuts and 3/4 cup wheat germ.  Add eggs.

6.  Pour into baking pan.

7.  Bake about 40 minutes or until well browned and firm.

8.  Let stand a few minutes; cut into serving-size pieces.

Egged in the Head Chocolate Chiffon Pie

Dear Reader,

You know how sometimes you're standing outside your house, talking to the fishmonger, and some neighborhood yahoos drive by and hurl a bunch of eggs and one orange at you?  No?  Well my friend Sophia does.  This chocolate chiffon pie is for her.  She needs it.   So much for "jolly old England."

Egged in the Head Chocolate Chiffon Pie

You will need:

Eggs
Graham crackers
Sugar
Butter
Gelatin
Unsweetened chocolate
Vanilla
Salt
Cream of tartar
Heavy Cream
Sugar
Dark Chocolate

The first thing to do is help up the poor fishmonger, then place a really large order for fish just to get him out of there. Then scoop up whatever eggs you can find and bring them in the house. From your ear remove one egg yolk and reserve. In a food processor, whiz up graham crackers to make 1 1/2 cups crumbs. Mix these with 2 Tbs. sugar and 5 Tbs. melted butter, which you can easily melt right in your hand because you're boiling mad. Press mixture into a 9 inch tart pan and bake for 10 minutes at 375. Look out the window to see if the kids are back. Place at the ready four eggs, so that the minute you see them you can retaliate. Fashion an egg slingshot from a heavy rubber band and salad servers to maximize both velocity and trajectory.

Pour gelatin over 1/4 cup water, and let stand for 5 minutes while you go look for that orange. Heat 2/3 cup heavy cream in a sauce pot until simmering, then take off the heat and add 2 oz. unsweetened chocolate and 1/4 tsp. vanilla, stirring till the chocolate is nicely melted like the egg running down your back. Whisk in the gelatin.

Scoop up two more yolks and beat these with the one from your ear and 1/2 cup sugar and a pinch of salt. Slowly add in the chocolate mixture, beating as you would like to beat those egg thugs. Cover with plastic wrap and chill for fifteen minutes while you take a shower.

Beat the egg whites and 1/4 tsp. cream of tartar until you have formed soft peaks. Add 1/4 cup sugar. Beat the chocolate mixture for a minute just to feel better, and then fold the egg whites into it. Pour the whole thing into the pie crust. Beat one cup heavy cream with 2 1/2 Tbs. confectioners sugar slather over the top of the pie. Grate dark chocolate over the top and sprinkle on some zest from that orange.

Chill for two hours. Place remaining eggs from carton in pockets of jackets, should you see hooligans whilst out and about.   If they are with their mother, make sure you have an egg to toss at her as well.

Phew.

Boy am I glad that's over! Who knew that Central Park had alps in the northwest corner?! Here are a few photos from Saturday morning when I was a long distance runner.

7 AM, trying to figure out what I'm supposed to do with these orange tags.  Turns out they go on your shoe.

In a cab, freaking out because of the doom and gloom coming from the sky.

At the park.  Other runners heading for the starting line.  Are they faster than me?  Will they notice that I'm wearing sandwich bags over my socks to try and keep my feet dry?

Everybody ready for the race to begin.  At this point I'm freezing from standing around in the snow and am looking forward to running just to get warm.

I didn't stop for water here.  Mostly because I was afraid that if I drank water I'd pee in my pants.

For some reason I kept finding myself behind these two guys.

Close up of the conditions - everyone was sliding around with each step.  I've never prayed so hard for a stinking snow plow.  It never came.  Needless to say my ankles are still aching.

These dudes again.  Nice pom pom.

I got a little choked up at this marker, but not so much that I couldn't snap a quick picture and send to Facebook.  Priorities.

Yahoo.  I took this photo after I had finished, gotten the freebie apple as well as a delicious Gatorade, then walked back around to photograph the finish line, so this does not accurately reflect my time.  Just so you know.

Hobbling out of the park, shivering because I was sweaty and without a proper jacket in the middle of a snowy park, and what happens?  This bozo on the bike stops me to take a picture of him in front of the Dakota.  Actually he wanted me to take two.  Tourists.

Sandwich bags no help whatsoever.

Not only did I consume a whole loaf of French Toast, a few hours later I had this bad boy lasagna.  Yes, that is the Garfield-sized piece I ate. 

Now that my legs have stopped shaking, and my hip flexors can move again, and my knees are less creaky, and my ankles are only hurting a lot instead of a whole hell of a lot, I can say that this was an awesome experience.  It did occur to me that if I were running a whole marathon, I would have to turn around and run the damn thing again, a feat which for the moment seems impossible.  

But never say never.

Running on a Fantasy of French Toast

Dear Reader,

Tomorrow morning I will rise before the sun, don layers of something called "Capilene" and fleece, as well as sneakers, and set off for Central Park where I will run for somewhere around two hours.  It is the Manhattan Half Marathon, and something possessed me to sign up for it.  My goals are twofold:  to finish, and to leave my pants unsoiled in the process.  I've been working my way up to running 13 miles, so I should be able to make it, fueled by thoughts of the massive He Man breakfast I will devour when I'm done.  Think of me tomorrow, as it will be snowing here in NYC and I will surely be freezing.  I just hope I get some sort of medal that I can wear as an everyday accessory, perhaps pinned to the front of a turban.

What feast will be the subject of my race day imagination?  Fitness Test French Toast, of course - great slabs of brioche soaked in a custard of egg, milk, vanilla, and cinnamon, griddled to a golden brown perfection in a butter-laden skillet and topped with apples simmered in more butter (don't give me any Paula Deen crap - I will have run 13.1 miles and I bet Mrs. Deen can't even drive that far without needing a breather) and brown sugar, then anointed with a generous pour of maple syrup.  Oh yeah, and sausage.  There will be sausage.

Wish me luck.