Coconut shortbread with blueberries and banana frangipane

Banana blueberry bar cookies

Banana blueberry bar cookies

I think I was visited by three spirits of parenting last night. Not past, present, and future precisely, but maybe representing varying degrees of parenting flaws. I had three bad parenting-anxiety dreams in a row, and woke up each time feeling confused and flattened. Why? I asked myself? Why now? We’ve been spending a lot of time together lately, Isaac and Malcolm and I, with their holiday from school. Mostly it’s been very fun – we’ve gone for walks, played games, cuddled on the couch and read. But I have had a few bratty outbursts of anger, and therein lies the guilt. I yelled at a crying Isaac for letting the dog take his food. In fact, when I sprayed her with her bad-dog spray bottle (for taking the food) I sprayed him, too, which, amazingly, did nothing to quell his tears. And I cursed at Malcolm. I think that’s the one. I could tell you about five heavy bags of groceries, 3 nights of insomnia, 2 coats and children sprawled on the floor in my path, and one sassy and hurtful comment. I could tell you about how I felt so childishly hurt that I didn’t want to apologize. But there’s no excuse. I shouldn’t – I don’t – talk to anyone in the world like that, so how could I speak like that to Malcolm, my son, my friend? I did apologize, of course, but it has weighed heavily on me, and it’s coming out in my dreams. I was thinking about one of the dreams after I woke up, and maybe it is a premonition of parenting future – at least a preview of the kind of anxiety that must only get worse with time. In the dream, Malcolm and Isaac and I were exploring a cave. We were having a nice time, and they were looking forward to finding the center of the cave, which held a pool they could play in. But we got to one part that was tight and winding, we had to crawl upwards in a space not much bigger than our bodies. I’m a bit phobic about close, winding, airless spaces in real life – caves and lighthouses and crawl spaces – and apparently I am in dreams, as well, because I decided to head out of the cave. I told them to go on ahead, that I’d wait for them at the entrance. I thought about them, winding through the cave; I told myself, they’d be alright without me. Cut to: hours later, I was in a room crowded with people. I don’t know where I was or how I got there, but suddenly it dawned on me that I wasn’t waiting outside the cave for my boys. I panicked, in my dream, and woke up in my bed, in a sweat, straining my ears for the sound of the boys snoring gently in their room. But that’s what it’s going to be like going into the future, isn’t it? They’ll want to explore things on their own, and I’ll have to let them go, and I’ll think, as I did in the dream, that they probably make it home safely without me. When the boys wake up from a nightmare, I always say (like a broken record) “It was just a dream, you’re safe and warm and mommy and daddy love you.” Hopefully I’ve said it enough that they’ll always remember, even when I’m not with them on their adventures. Hopefully they’ll remember that, and not the bad-tempered moments.

Well, enough of this little dream-journal confessional. Let’s talk about cookies! We bought a bunch of adorable tiny bananas, thinking that the boys would like them. They rarely ever finish a regular-sized banana, so this seemed like a good solution. Sadly, the tiny bananas were greeted with indifference. So we had quite a few rapidly ripening bananas to dispose of. I wanted to make something different from banana bread or banana cake, for a change, and I had the idea of combining the bananas with almonds, sugar and eggs, to make a banana frangipane. Fun to say, and good to eat!! I also wanted to remake the coconut shortbread layer of the cherry chocolate cookies I’d made the other week, because I had a nagging doubt that I’d gotten a measurement wrong. So we have a layer of shortbread, a layer of good blueberry preserves, (I used bonne maman, ironically!) and a layer of banana frangipane. It turned out nice! Soft, flavorful, but not too strongly banana-y – more of a haunting fruity sweetness that goes beautifully with the almond flavor. The cookies are like a newton, maybe, in texture. Newtonian. But without the seediness.

Here’s Tom Waits with Innocent When You Dream.

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Crispy cornmeal cakes and chard with chickpeas, olives and roasted red peppers

Corn cakes and chard

Corn cakes and chard

My favorite version of A Christmas Carol is from 1951, starring Alistair Sim. It captures the humor and the heart like no other version, and it captures the darkness as well. Visually, the play of light and shadow is beautiful, and it reminds us that the story of A Christmas Carol has a lot of darkness at its core. It’s despairing and macabrely funny, though it ends with an impression of warmth and hope. I’ve always found this scene powerful; it doesn’t shy away from the poverty and need that’s all around Scrooge, that he helps to cause with his business:

The children are ignorance and want, and they are the children of all mankind. This struck quite a chord with me this week. In these days following the horrible massacre of schoolchildren in Connecticut, which it’s impossible not to think about this season, it seemed as though all of us became parents. Everybody in the country, whether we have children of our own, whether our children are young or grown, we all became parents, we all became moved, responsible, hurt. And maybe that’s the way it should always be: we should always care for one another like we’re all children, which, of course, we are. And we should all take responsibility for ignorance and want. I was joking, yesterday, about finding the definitive meaning of Christmas. Of course, there is no one meaning, it has a different meaning for each person that observes the day, and even for those that leave it alone with indifference or with a bah humbug. I’ve been thinking a lot this season about children, and time passing, and I hope that I can fully understand this as my meaning of Christmas. I was so cranky and impatient this morning with my over-excited boys. I had so much catching up to do after a weekend of working, and the puppy-child cacophony left me feeling stressed and bewildered. But I don’t want to be like that, any more. Christmas is about the returning of the light. Days getting longer and brighter. I want to use that light to capture time as it’s passing, and imprint it somewhere inside of me, so that I recognize the beauty of my boys’ excitement, and their understanding of Christmas. So that I can keep it all year long, like Scrooge kept Christmas. That’s my Christmas wish.

Welladay!! I guess I’m feeling more serious than I thought! Let’s talk about food instead!! These little corn cakes were so tasty! I made a light, flavorful, eggy batter using only cornmeal, which gave it lots of depth and texture. And I fried them in a little olive oil. The mix of chard, chickpeas, roasted red peppers and olives is savory and delicious, warm and juicy and meaty. And very festive, all green, red and gold!

Here’s another track from my new favorite Christmas album…Jimmy Smith’s Silent Night.
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Vegetable soup that my boys like

Vegetable soup

Vegetable soup

Here at The Ordinary, we have an institute devoted to deciphering The Meaning of Christmas. Apparently, nobody knows what it is anymore, so we have different theories thrown at us with alarming speed. It’s bewildering! Is it the presents? (ask a seven-year-old!) Is it peace on earth good will to all men? Is it the food? Is it the partridge, sitting plumply in the pear tree? The time off work? The hope for snow? The solstice? And then, of course, there’s the Christ, which apparently somebody has stolen from Christmas. This one has been drawn to our attention by lawn signs and billboards. We are not experts, here at The Ordinary, nor are we Christian in any organized sense. And yet we understand about the Christ in Christmas. It’s his birth day, after all, that we’re celebrating! Of course, in our not-very-well-informed opinion, Christ as we understand him is not the sort of fellow to want some big hoopla on his birthday. And he’s certainly not the sort to pout because he doesn’t get a big hoopla from every single person on earth. The problem, for me, is that it often seems as though the people bemoaning the lack of Christ in christmas are the very same people who are opposed to gun control, suspicious of welfare recipients, supportive of lowering taxes for very wealthy people, and of wars that serve no function other than to benefit the oil companies and weapons makers. There’s a disconnect! You can’t have it both ways! Surely a person can’t seethe with righteous rage, as christians, that people don’t say “merry christmas,” without understanding the lessons that christ taught. Admittedly I’m no scholar, but shouldn’t we be working for peace, and helping all people, including the less fortunate, and recognizing the value of good will and good works over money? Charity and forgiveness! This is the time of year to reinforce those ideas, and remind us of their importance, and strive to make the light of our understanding last the whole year!! Holy smoke (get it?) I’m getting all preachy. I apologize!! I’ve obviously been spending too much time in the basement vaults of The Ordinary, pondering the reason for the season, as we examine tinsel through the magnifying glass, and dissect candy canes in petri dishes.

I’ve been making some fancy food lately, in anticipation of Christmas. Double-crusted this, and sugar-crusted that. I felt like making something simple, nurturing, and warming, which almost feels more in keeping with the season, in a way, if that way is that I love my boys so much, and I want to make them healthy and happy, and somehow making a soup they like feels like a rung on that ladder. It’s a very simple soup, just broth and vegetables, and we had it with pasta shaped like tiny shells. But you could serve it over rice if you preferred. And you could always add beans, if your children like them and you felt like upping the protein content, which is always a good thing. I used vegetables my boys like – potatoes, carrots, peas and corn, which also felt like a very basic and traditional type of vegetable soup, but you could always alter to suit your taste.

Here’s Jimmy Smith with God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen. I love this song, and I love this version!!

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Vegetarian broth (and savory baked custards)

Broth with tarragon and savory custards

Broth with tarragon and savory custards

I’ll admit it, I’m fascinated by the history of food. I’m a buff. I’m curious about what people ate, and how they cooked it. I’m curious about how people discovered that food acted in certain ways when it was cooked – that some things melt and some things solidify. I’m curious about the things that people ate every day, and the elaborate dishes they created to impress people, for holidays and celebrations. I love to see pictures of ornate, inticately detailed jellies and creams, and pies bigger than my dinner table. I like to think about the care and craziness that went into these productions, which we still exhibit today when we make something special. I like to read about the foods people believed to be restorative, the meals they fed their children when they were sick; the cakes that contained a bit of soul; the gold-flecked cordials that held the power of the sun. Food is so much a part of who we are and where we live, such an elemental and intimate way to understand a person and the way in which he or she lived. It’s fascinating to see how things have changed, and how much they’ve remained the same. If we are what we eat, and the food that we’ve eaten has changed drastically over the centuries, have people fundamentally changed, too? It boggles my little mind. The history we read about in books may have been made in war rooms and battlefields, but surely a more profound and human understanding of the past can be gleaned from the larders and kitchens.

I stumbled upon this website, recently, called Historical Food. It’s a treasure trove of recipes and stories! Some outlandish, some delightful. Recipes for quince and gooseberries, asparagus ices, medlar cheese and the queen’s potage. One recipe is very similar to my version of Jane Austen’s white soup, right down to the pomegranate seeds and pistachio kernels. (Red and green for christmas!) And one was very similar to my version of soup meagre, except that it had little decorative savory custards floating in it. I read about this when Malcolm was sick and craving brothy foods, and it seemed such a sweet and simple preparation that I decided to try it. I don’t have the fancy punches to cut out the custard that they had at the time, so I made diamonds, but I made them red and green with smoked paprika and spinach. I made a broth and added baby spinach, green peas and tarragon. I wanted it to be simple and green. I thought it was quite good!! The little pieces of custard were a bit like pasta, I suppose, and the whole effect was very comforting. I should say that my kids liked the savory custard, but once it was floating in their soup they decided it was weird. Oh well!! I also thought I’d take this opportunity to post my recipe for vegetarian broth. I’ve been making broth every week, this season, and adding it to soups, stews, and risottos as I go along. I’ve provided my simplest version, and you can add vegetables, spices and herbs to suit your finished dish. And that’s that!

Here’s Linton Kwesi Johnson with Making History.

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White bean, spinach and roasted mushroom pie with pecan sage crust

white bean, mushroom, and spinach pie

white bean, mushroom, and spinach pie

This is a very Dickensian time of year. I want to read Dickens, watch adaptations of his novels (good or bad), eat Dickensian food (like this pie!) drink hot gin punches. In short, I love Charles Dickens – I always have. I don’t care what anybody says about him. I don’t care if people think he’s nothing but an overly sentimental Victorian fuddyduddy. I’m not blind to his faults, I will admit that he can be a little ham-fisted with the sentiment at times. But he’s also darkly, bitingly funny, political, warmly human, and even light-heartedly absurd. His books contain everything a novel should – a broad, carefully calculated over-arching plot that feels complicated yet effortless; an expansive cast of characters so diverse, eccentric and detailed that they feel alive; and a powerful mix of humor and pathos, sweetness and brutality. What’s my favorite Dickens novel? I hear you ask. And without a second’s hesitation I will tell you, Our Mutual Friend. It’s a dark, dirty novel, swirling with life and death, like the river it describes. It’s about the river, and the bodies found there, and the people that make their living there, and those that try to escape its inky pull. Amongst the eccentric, extensive cast of characters are some of the most appealing Dickens (or anyone else) has ever created. There’s Eugene Wrayburn, witty, idle, disappointed, disappointing – the culmination of Dickens’ career-long treatment of the theme of a cruelly seductive wealthy man who ruins a poor young woman. There’s Wrayburn’s friendship with Mortimer Lightwood, a real friendship, generously observed. And Wrayburn’s love for Lizzie Hexam, who is far more than a poor but pretty face. And Lizzie’s friendship with Jenny Wren, one of the oddest characters in literature. She’s the twisted and crippled embodiment of the Victorian ideal of a child-woman – an ideal that Dickens helped to perpetrate. He’s created this bizarre monstrous little creature that stands as a criticism of his own work. She’s a perpetual child, physically, frail and beautiful, but her words are as sharp as needles, and she becomes a kind of chorus or surrogate for Lizzie, able to say the things Lizzie’s politeness will not allow her to express. She’s remarkable, I tell you! And of course this is only a small handful of an enormous cast of characters, but I can’t go on and on about it here.

Do you like Dickens? What’s your favorite Dickens novel?

Instead, I’ll go on and on about this pie. I love a double-crusted pie in the wintertime, one with a tall crispy crust that holds in any mashed potatoes you might pile on top. In some ways this is my ur-winter pie. I love the combination of roasted mushrooms and nuts, and smoky cheese, and savory spinach. The beans add substance and flavor. I love the combination of sage and rosemary with a bit of nutmeg. This pie has all those things! In this case the nuts are in the crust, which is light and crispy, and the filling is dense and satisfying.

Here’s the Dickensian Decemberists with The Chimbley Sweep.

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Honey rosemary goat cheese bread

Honey rosemary goat cheese bread

Honey rosemary goat cheese bread

So I’m on the facebook. I’m a bit lazy and telephonobhobic, and I like the fact that I can keep in touch with old friends from every point in my disjointed life with very little effort. And I like the vagaries of the facebook shuffle. I like the fact that disparate friends of mine will post status updates that echo each other very closely, even though they have no actual connection to each other. And I like the odd contrasts. The other day, one friend posted a meme (I believe it’s called) of an embroidered message that said, “Fuck your fascist beauty standards,” (or something close to that). And another friend posted lots of shots of half-naked conventionally beautiful young women. It struck me as very funny! Of course, at this time, I could go on and on about the objectification of women, and body image…and I probably will some day. But for now…let’s have a playlist!! A playlist of songs celebrating unconventional beauty. If you know me at all, you’ll know that I love songs on this subject, and I’ve been mentally compiling just such a playlist for years. And yet somehow, today, all I can come up with is four (brilliant) versions of My Funny Valentine, plus a handful of other songs. It will come to me eventually!! I’ve made the playlist collaborative, so add what you like!!

This bread turned out really well! I wanted something to go with a soup, but I didn’t even think of it till 5 pm, so it had to be quick. It had to be a quick bread! This bread has a bit of olive oil, a bit of honey, some rosemary and some goat cheese. It’s pleasantly ambiguous – it could be sweet or savory, however you’d like to use it! Nice with soup at dinner, nice with coffee in the morning.

Here’s that playlist! Add what you’d like!!

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French cake a week – les sables de caen (with clementine zest)

Les sables au caen

Les sables au caen

In which Claire, who doesn’t speak French bakes her way through the cake section of a French cookbook from 1962. Here at The Ordinary, we’ve fallen way behind in our French-cake-a-week series. O! The angry uproar from our cake-eating fans! Our mailbox is crammed with notes that say, “merde!” and “zut alors!!” Where is our cake?!? Well, fear not! Here it is! We mark our triumphal return with the spectacular … well, the spectacularly simple sables de caen. As you will recall, if you can remember that far back, we had gotten into the custom of writing about films by french women to accompany our french cake a week. This week, the film I’d like to tell you about isn’t really french, and isn’t by a woman. But it takes place in France, and it does concern a woman. It is, in fact, the very last five-minute segment of Paris, Je T’aime, a film comprised of many such segments directed by many different directors, including such notables as the Coen brothers and Gus Van Sant. The film as a whole is very entertaining. Each segment is different, and some are light-hearted and amusing, some are stylish, some romantic, some heavy and dramatic, and one even involves a sexy french vampire. The last section, directed by Alexander Payne seemed completely different from all of these, and held a mysterious power – it felt like a gentle but powerful punch. It was very moving! In music and poetry, they speak of something called a “feminine ending” or a “feminine cadence,” in which a line, phrase or movement ends on an unstressed or “weak” syllable or note. Though it is called “weak,” the effect of such an ending is usually quite powerful, because it is unexpected and unresolved, it leaves you questioning and wanting more. Payne’s tiny movie felt like just such an ending. It was simple, sweet, thoughtful, a little sad, but ultimately uplifting. It was a story told by a seemingly very ordinary woman – a letter carrier from Denver – for her French class. She recounts her trip to Paris in a horrible french accent, and though it’s a very short narrative, and though nothing happens, by the end I was nearly in tears, I liked her so much, and I wanted to go to Paris more than ever. (The link above includes the whole narrative, which works on its own, but is probably better as part of the film as a whole.)

These little cakes are very simple, but quite delicious. They’re more like cookies, honestly, and I think they’d make nice Christmas cookies. They have a lot of butter, and precious little else! The recipe calls for orange zest or any flavoring you’d like, but I opted for clementine zest, because it’s a lovely mysterious flavor, and because that’s what I had! The recipe called for a large, round fluted punch, to cut the cookies. I happened to have ja tiny tart pan (about 8 inches) that I thought would work, but if you don’t have such a thing, you could use any cookie cutter you like, or even a juice glass of any size you like.

Here’s Clementine, by the Decemberists. I love this song!

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Red bean and tarragon stew with fennel and artichoke hearts, and rosemary cornmeal bread

Red bean and tarragon stew

Red bean and tarragon stew

Yesterday was a bright, cold day, with a ripple of agitation as the unseasonable warmth from the beginning of the week was blown away by the cold damp air of today. The sky was white blue, and the late afternoon produced the sort of slanting golden light that tricks you into thinking it’s warmer than it is. And on this late-fall afternoon, you could find me riding all over town, wearing Isaac’s backpack, on Malcolm’s BMX bike. Malcolm’s been home from school all week, and I wanted to pick up his homework and prescription, but I didn’t want to leave him alone too long, and I felt too lazy to haul my bike out of winter hibernation in the basement. So here I was, wheeling around town on a small, bright Tintin-blue BMX wearing a small bright serpent-green backpack. It felt good – the cold air in my lungs harsh but cleansing, the cold air washing through my stale, lack-of-sleep addled brain clearing off the cobwebs. I had this strange sensation – hard to place, familiar, but remote – something I hadn’t experienced in a while. And then it came to me…I felt cool. I felt like a cool kid. I nearly laughed, but that wouldn’t have been cool. I realized that I didn’t feel, for a moment, like a tired and anxious 43-year-old on her son’s BMX. And, of course, that realization brought it all crashing around me, because I was a tired 43-year-old on her son’s BMX. Malcolm’s back in school today, and he told me they’re having an assembly with a BMX ramp and, I assume, skillful young BMXers doing tricks. Wouldn’t it be funny if I came flying down the ramp at the assembly? Waving and shouting, “Yoo hoo, Malcolm! Yoo hoo! It’s mommy!” Heh heh. So Malcolm and I have had a nice week, it’s cold and rainy today, and I miss having him around, though, of course, I’m glad he’s glad to be back in school.

Red bean and tarragon stew

Red bean and tarragon stew

While he was sick he craved brothy foods, and this was just such a meal. It’s quite substantial and has a lot of strong flavors, but they’re all flavors that I love, that work well together. It has a bit of zing to it, which transcends the potential (pleasant) stodginess of beans and potatoes. It’s a good meal for any time of year, really…in the winter I tend to stock up on jars of artichoke hearts and roasted red peppers to relive some of that summery flavor that you can capture fresh in other seasons. I like a nice crusty bread with my stew, so I decided to make one myself. I wanted it to be chewy and dense, but not with a fine crumb. So I added some cornmeal to the mix. And I kept the dough very wet – I had to use the food processor rather than my hands to knead it. I baked it in a bowl that I’d lightly greased, and it got stuck, so I had some trouble getting it out, but it was still delicious. Just a little messy, so you had to pull it apart with your hands, but that’s not such a bad thing!! I guess you could try a non-stick loaf pan, or just mound the dough onto a greased baking sheet. I’ll try it and let you know how it goes!!

Here’s Loch Lomond’s strange and beautiful Wax and Wire, in a video showing the most amazing BMX riding courtesy of Danny MacAskill, and the most beautiful landscapes, courtesy of Scotland.

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Nutella cookies

Nutella cookies

Nutella cookies

We saw such an interesting movie the other night. Female, starring Ruth Chatterton, is a pre-code movie. This means that it’s shocking, sassy and salacious! This, in fact, means that it was made before the enforcement of the “Hays Code,” a set of strict rules imposed upon the film industry in the early 1930s. These rules determined what you could show in a film and what you could say in a film, of course, but I find it fascinating that they also controlled the plot of a film. You could get away with showing a “bad girl” or a “fallen woman” if she was punished by the plot – if her immoral actions resulted in death or redemption (and marriage). I love to watch post-code movies and see the way that humanity, in all of its imbalance and immorality, seeps through the cracks in the plot, to watch for moments when it’s obvious that the outcome of the film has nothing to do with the characters in the film, with their desires or fears. (Watch Some Like it Hot, and remember that “the code” discouraged the depiction of gay characters.) Female (1933) is something of a cusp film – the code had been introduced, but not yet strictly enforced. It tells the story of Alison Drake, the boss of a large auto plant, who long ago decided to “travel the same open road that men travel,” and to treat men exactly as they’ve treated women all of these years. And so she does! She has brief affairs with any young thing that catches her eye at the office, and she forms no emotional attachment and expects that they’ll do the same. In the end, of course, she’s tamed by a strong “alpha male” who looks alarmingly like Ronald Reagan. And so, in a sense, it could be a post-code movie, despite all of the innuendo and her shocking behavior throughout, because she’s redeemed by marriage. But the film struggles against this tidy ending. For one thing, it’s very funny throughout, and when she declares her decision to leave her company to her future husband and to have at least nine children, it comes across almost as another joke. And the humor is so clever and satirical. The show Mad Men got a lot of attention for showing how degradingly women were treated at a certain time, especially in the work place. Alison Drake turns that world on its head, but with such honesty and good nature that we almost take her side, though she’s using and abusing all the handsome boys at the office. The film raises questions, but it doesn’t make simple judgments about the characters or their actions. For instance, throughout the film it becomes obvious that Alison Drake’s servants like her very much. They talk to her like an equal, and they take an interest in her life – the chauffeur goes so far as to fight for her honor in response to a slur on her character. This makes her seem like a real, human character, and one who cannot be penned in by a simplistic Hollywood ending. She’s told to be softer and more feminine to snag her man, and she tries this approach, but with an unmistakable smile on her face the whole time. Oh those naive days of yore, when women thought it would be clever to pretend to be something they’re not to get themselves married. Thank heavens we’ve grown beyond that, as a society. But wait, what’s this? On the Fox news website recently, and written by a woman! Advice that women should be softer and more feminine if they’d like to get themselves married! I won’t give it any more attention than it deserves, especially since Stephen Colbert has pretty much said all that there is to say.

So…nutella cookies!! They’re like nutella because they’re made with cocoa powder and hazelnuts, and they have nutella mixed into the batter! They’re like nutella because they’re delicious and addictive! They’re crispy-outside-soft-inside-chocolatey-nutty-melty-pleasantly-plump-and-weighty. And they’re fun and easy to make.

Here’s The Carter Family with Single Girl, Married Girl. Surely one of the first feminist anthems, and from such an unlikely source.
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Butternut squash steaks with port wine/portobella/sage sauce and Hash browns with pistachios

Butternut steaks

Butternut steaks

Malcolm is home sick from school, and I’m not feeling 100% myself. We’re having such a nice day! We had a lot of big plans, but we’re not doing any of them. Mostly, we’re sitting on the couch, glad to be together, and reminiscing about the time Clio sneezed 6 times in a row.

I thought this was such a nice meal. It started as a mistake, almost, so it’s an example of taking a culinary wrong turn and finding yourself on an even better road! I had the idea of roasting “steaks” of butternut squash. I thought I’d try marinating them. I know they wouldn’t absorb as much marinade as, say, eggplant or mushrooms, but I thought they might absorb some. So I cut them about 1/3 to 1/2 inch thick. Then I made a marinade of rosemary, sage, garlic, port wine, balsamic and olive oil. I let them sit for more than an hour, turning them once. They did take on some of the color and flavor! Then I had the bright idea of trying to dip them in egg and bread them, in the manner that I make eggplant. This didn’t work at all! I think if I’d steamed them first, they would have absorbed more of the marinade, and been better able to hold onto their crust. As it was, the crust turned crispy and delicious, and then came right off the steaks. Did I panic? I did not. I scraped the crust (made from bread crumbs and pistachio kernels) right off of the steaks, and I mixed it in with my mashed potatoes! I’d been planning to make hash browns with some leftover mashed potatoes, because Malcolm likes them. I didn’t know he did, but he told me at the reader’s breakfast at school he ate all of his hash browns, and Isaac’s and some other friends, too!! It’s funny when you learn something new about someone you know so well! They’re a bit like croquettes, I guess with the crumbs and nuts added in. I suppose if you put some cheese in, you’d have a meal! Anyway…the butternut steaks roasted up nicely without the breading – they were soft on the inside, and just browned and a little crispy and caramelized on the outside. And I used the marinade sauce, combined with some roasted mushrooms, to make a sort of gravy for the steaks. Everything was very nice together – a real meat and potatoes meal!

Leftovers tacos

Leftovers tacos

The next day, after work, I combined leftover hash browns, leftover mushroom sauce, and diced leftover roasted squash with black beans to make a filling for tacos. We ate it with warm tortillas, crisp romaine lettuce, basmati rice and some grated extra sharp cheddar. Also very delicious!! It was so good it would be worth making from scratch! It would make a good filling for a savory pie!

Here’s The Joe Morello Quintet ft. Art Pepper with Pepper Steak
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