dinnercraft | the website for ex-20 year olds

Last Night’s Dinner: Stuffed Peppers

Jillian — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 14:40:43 +0000

Stuffed peppers mean nothing to me. I have no attachment to them whatsoever. We never had them in my house growing up. I made them last night simply because we had the ingredients in the refrigerator and pantry. I was, as the dads like to say “televisioning the fridge” trying to concoct a plan from the ingredients before my eyes when I realized it was like a math problem bubble in a grammar school classroom. 4 + 3 = 7 while 4 x 3 = 12. It was only a matter of which formula I was prepared to attempt. This is how I rolled:

Ingredients

1/2 package ground beef
2 orange peppers
one cup Basmati rice
half a white onion
3 cloves of garlic
heaping tablespoon tomato paste
small amount of dried Ancho chilies
splash of white wine
chicken bouillon cube
tablespoon of olive oil
some salsa
Mexican shredded cheese

Method

In a deep saute pan I sweat the diced onions in oil, added thinly sliced chilies and minced garlic then the wine splash, ground beef and tomato paste, slowly and deliberately and in that order until browned and incorporated and moist. In a pot of salted, boiling water I dunked the peppers until they were bright orange, about three minutes, cut off their tops and popped out the remaining seeds. I cooked rice with a few drops of oil and a cube of bouillon then combined about half with the beef mixture. I filled the peppers, oiled inside, and placed them in a Dutch oven with an inch of water in the bottom. At the last minute I impulsively added a spoonful of store-bought salsa to the top of each pepper, a handful of cheese and popped them in the the oven at 350 for 50 minutes, and when they were done they were glorious.

We do not have the luxury of shopping daily for fine ingredients. We source the best vegetables and meat available (often from Costco) and try to MacGyver interesting dinners all week. For now the focus is on simplicity, layering flavor and mastering the basics, which is both very pleasing and methodical. If some day stuffed peppers become a fixture on our family dinner schedule we will fondly recall that they were born of necessity during the Mexico adventure early in our marriage.

Dinner Do-Over, a Redemption Song

Jillian — Thu, 18 Feb 2010 19:05:37 +0000

Every single element was perfect. But was the whole greater than the sum of its parts? Last night at 7:17, with the assistance of a glass of Soave, I constructed a peerless tower of power: Behold and revere Poached Eggs Camemparagus on Garlic Toast!

Here’s how it went down:

Ingredients

2 thick slices of rustic bread
1 tablespoon of olive oil
2 eggs
6 asparagus spears
Camembert, sliced lengthwise from the wedge
1 garlic clove
white vinegar
salt and pepper

Method

I brushed the bread and asparagus with olive oil and toasted/roasted it all on a baking sheet in the oven on low, about 15 minutes. I removed the vegetables and turned over the bread, rubbed it with garlic and laid on the cheese. Meanwhile I brought to a boil (in 2 saucepans) water with a shot of vinegar. When the Camembert looked just about gooey I turned off the oven and dropped my eggs. After 3 full minutes I plated the melty toasts and placed 3 asparagus stalks on each then topped with a frothy but firm whirl of eggy delight.

The asparagus was nutty, fruity and toothsome. The Camembert had achieved at-one-ment with the home-baked bread and one egg in particular was so lovely, with a viscous orange yolk cradled in angelic white it should have gone to the Smithsonian or the Vatican. We closed our eyes as we ate and experienced every flavor but in the end weren’t sure that it was right. Perhaps a different vegetable, spinach or mushrooms maybe and a less assertive cheese, like provolone or raclette? We’re on to something here, I can feel it. The poached egg and I are kindred spirits and we will meet again. As for last night dinner was redeemed but this dish has not yet been beatified.

photo credit Malcolm
recipe adapted from Real Simple

Dinner Fail: Don’t Panic/Randon Resturant Review

Jillian — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 19:54:27 +0000

I cocked up dinner once again last night. I swear it wasn’t my fault. I had planned to bake bread and do poached eggs with asparagus and Camembert (awesome, right?) but there was a mishap. The dough mysteriously didn’t rise and all other options were frozen solid. What is a poor housewife to do? Pout until her darling husband suggests a dinner date out, of course! He encouraged me to try again by adding a yeast/water/sugar mixture as directed on the Fleishman’s label so I whipped up a bit more dough and popped it in the warm oven (it’s been cold here in Yucatan) and grabbing a sweater we were out the door before a single tear was shed.

We live about an hour away from anything you would want to eat after dark with one divine exception: La Pinata. The only very minor unfortunate fact about this al fresco dining option is that Progreso happens to smell like sewage 87% of the time. On the plus side, there’s tequila. We’ve finally learned our lesson when it comes to the old Don Julio bait and switch and are resigned to ordering El Jimador or whatever the mesero cares to serve. This is our place, the only one where we’re regulars. We were even in a print ad for them when we first arrived. La Pinata serves Mexican food, not Yucatecan and is probably only slightly better than average. But it’s cute, with Equipales furniture, diminutive palm trees and sweet-faced waiters, tin stars, ceramic figurines and videos projected on the wall. They’re trying, which is more than I can say for most restaurants at the beach.

I have never ordered anything but the burritas arrachera, and I swear I never will. It’s basically a grilled skirt steak quesadilla – nothing fancy, always good. Just good. Not stunning or astonishing and epic. Satisfying and Consistent, which sounds like code for “good personality” but counts for a lot down here. The dollop of guacamole is citrus-y fresh. The frijoles charros are chock full of meaty tidbits. The staff is at your service. Their pastor is servicable, the salsas you will not be writing home about. I could take or leave their tortas. But I always want to go back. If you are ever way out on Calle 31 in the Yucalpeten end of Progreso, Yucatan, Mexico feeling hungry after 7 pm this is the place to go. Trust me. While you are standing up gathering your purse and hat, sucking on your Starlite mint, a little wobbly from the well tequila you will say to yourself, “well, that was nice. I feel full and content.” And you wouldn’t wish for anything to be different. At La Pinata for some ineffable reason, everything is right with the world.

And when we came home I checked on the dough, which had filled our largest bowl to the brim with yeasty goodness. I heated the le creuset and sprinkled in a little cornmeal and cut the batch in half. Forty minutes later the wonderful scent of bread wafted through our house. The loaf turned out crusty, airy and fantastic and though we were stuffed we had to have just a crust spread with Danish butter. I should ruin dinner more often. Stay tuned tomorrow when I try once again attempt to perch a perfectly poached egg atop bread smeared with warm, runny Camembert reinforced with grilled asparagus spears.

Riding the Short Bus Into Hell

Tia — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 07:03:03 +0000

When I was a child, I was a judgemental and snotty little punk.

At some point in time, I had incubated and hatched the notion that kids with glasses were either:

a)mentally handicapped

b) unloved, unwanted, socially inept losers

c) lesser people, in a lower caste

The worst fate that could befall a kid, I believed, was to be forced into wearing pink, plastic-y, octagon/giant frames, with tinted lenses (girls) OR gargantuan, gold metal rimmed, tinted, aviator style monstrosities (boys.) One glimpse of a potential team-mate or competitor with tinted lenses, and I would recoil and keep a distance. My impulse was to push Little Mr. Four-Eyes down, and run like hell. However, I always refrained from doing so (because I’m not TOTALLY sociopathic, you know.)

Yes, I was a judgemental child, and I’m sure that karma is biting my ass (hard) as an adult because of this.

Eventually, a horrible Tom Cruise movie would be inflicted upon the world, which put one of these little mutants front and centre. I would always feel agitated when someone would point to the little four-eyed, lisping brat on Jerry McGuire and coo “Awwww! He’s so cute! he looks so SMART!” In my mind, I was thinking “Nooo. Creepy! CREEPY! The only thing missing is amber tint. Show him the money to fix that. Yikes!”

Time marches on as time is apt to do, and I eventually went on too push out two gorgeous, perfect, blindingly intelligent daughters. *cough*

Every few months, we would attend the required “Well Baby” check ups at our public health facility, where the baby would be weighed, immunized and screened for early childhood intervention in speech, dental, hearing and vision. My daughters tested slightly ahead of their peer group for most things, and never had an issue turn up in these screenings or at regular doctor’s appointments. The government encourages proactive screening beyond these assessments, and has benchmark ages where they advise parents to ensure their child has: seen a dentist, an audiologist, an optometrist before the age of two. These appointments (and any subsequent follow-ups( are subsidized for all children in the province, so there isn’t a reason not to go. I took my kids to the dentist. To the audiologist. It was all good, just as I had expected. Since neither of them had expressed any problems with vision, I didn’t bother with the eye doctor until way after the 2 year mark that is the preferred first visit. Being that the oldest was 4, and the youngest was 2, I decided to get it over and done with so I could check it off and wipe my hands.

The two year old was hunky dory. No problems, no worries. Just as I expected.

The four year old? Not so much.

The initial appointment indicated that there were some alarming concerns with her sight. However, they assured me that what they were seeing was possibly a growth spurt related problem, and may well resolve itself in a few months. I felt relieved to have dodged the bullet. Clearly, my child who was reading, writing and drawing and never expressed a problem, didn’t need glasses! They booked us in to come back in six months. I mostly forgot about it. The sand in the hourglass trickled away, and we were back for a re-assessment.

It went on. And on. And on. And on.

By the end of it, they advised me that Julia would be needing glasses and that I needed to come back for another appointment so they could determine her prescription.

This got my hackles up. I could feel my jaw clenching.

I thought to myself “These bloody quacks are going to try selling me $500 in eyewear so that she can count birds on trees far away! Screw them! My kid doesn’t need to be the class pariah so they can turn a profit!”

I snapped at the doctor “What exactly does she need these things for? If this is minor distance correction, I’m not proceeding. She’s FOUR! This is ridiculous!”

The optometrist rifled through a drawer and brought out some lenses, and snapped them on to a pair of heavy duty glasses.

“Mrs. Everitt, if you put these on, you can see exactly what your daughter sees when she looks around.”

I snatched them, and tossed them on.

Water.

It was like seeing the world through the bottom of a glass of water.

My child couldn’t see a damn thing.

Not near. Not far.

I had never noticed. Not once.

I burst into tears, because if anyone deserved a kick in the clam and the title of “Shittiest Parent, EVER” it was me.

The optometrist assured me that my child had probably NEVER seen anything clearly, and had learned to strain and focus to see things.

Oh! That’s EVEN BETTER. Now I was NEGLIGENT on top of being an asshole. The day just kept getting better!

So.

What do you think my priority was?

“Oh God! She’s not going to need massive coke bottle glasses with tint like Bubbles from Trailer Park Boys, IS SHE? IS SHE??” I choked out to the doctor, as snot ran down my face. (I’m fairly certain that this is where I secured my reservation in Hell, by the way.)

“Well, they will be a little bit magnifying, because the prescription does that, but glasses have come a long way, and she can get a really cool pair that are not huge. Tint is optional.”

I went home weeping. Shallow, horrible thoughts ran through my head…

“My kid is going to get beat up at school because she looks like Bubbles from Trailer Park Boys….*sob*”

“People are going to think my kid is…retarded….*sob*”

“Julia is going to end up being a fat, single cat lady in pink bedazzeld track-suits, who lives in my basement, and will never find a husband…*sob*”

I mourned. I grieved. I lamented. I bitched. I cursed. I shook my fist at God.

Julia, on the other hand, was hot to trot for glasses, and totally gung ho.

And so, after another two appointments, we came home with a pair of over-priced, Disney Princess themed glasses in a tiny pink case.

Her glasses are funky, verging on trendy, and are navy blue. Not pink.

I declined the offending tint.

After borrowing a mantra from a mommy friend of mine “ON YOUR FACE OR IN THE CASE!”, we eventually became accustomed to Julia’s eye-wear, and it has not been destroyed or lost.

To date, she has not been shunned at school or on the soccer field. Most people tell her how much they love her spectacles. That she looks smart.

As for my hell-bound ass, old prejudices have melted away.

Finally, I can honestly say to another mother “Gosh, he looks CUTE in his glasses!” and actually mean it.

Maybe I’ll get a reprieve from eternal damnation after all?

Eating Light Tonight

Jillian — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 22:21:10 +0000

We found beautiful fruit, vegetables and eggs at the mercado earlier today. In order to compensate for overindulging at our favorite neighborhood taqueria last night and a pizza feast of epic proportions planned for tomorrow, we are making poached eggs and a simple salad of radishes, avocado, tomato and scallions. I think poached eggs are elegant, don’t you? If you’ve forgotten how we showed you here. Buen Provecho!

Last Night’s Dinner: Penne with Sausage and Broccoli

Jillian — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 20:53:59 +0000

If you’re looking for something super simple, tasty and slightly lowbrow to make for dinner tonight, have I got the recipe for you. Populism! This is how I did it last night:

Ingredients

broccoli
italian sausage
penne pasta
olive oil
garlic
dry white wine

Method

In a sautee pan brown three sausage links in olive oil; meanwhile steam broccoli and boil pasta (separately) until al dente. Drain pasta but reserve a ladle or so for sauce. Remove sausage from heat, let cool then slice into rounds. Add three cloves of thinly sliced garlic and half a cup of wine to the pan. In the empty pasta pot heat a little olive oil then combine all ingredients slowly and on low. Take a walk around your house or outside if it is not too cold. Return to the stove. Incorporate a blend of shredded Italian cheeses and serve immediately.

Sunday Supper: The Accidental Chicken

Jillian — Mon, 08 Feb 2010 19:47:34 +0000

Last night I cooked a chicken upside down. No, not to serve some satanic cult of poultry, merely because I am scatterbrained. Fortunately, it turns out that I am incapable of ruining a roast chicken and we sat down to a delicious Sunday supper that included steamed baby spinach, sauteed mushrooms, the always-satisfying Dutch-oven no knead bread, and of course unsalted Lurpak butter. You may not want to follow the instructions of a person so foolish as to invert a bird, but if you do here’s how I did it:

Ingredients

one whole chicken
one head of garlic
one white onion
a quarter cup of extra dry vermouth
a quarter cup of Dijon mustard
a quarter cup of olive oil
sea salt and white pepper

Method

Rinse and pat dry the bird, salt and pepper its inside. Plug up one end with some of the chopped onion and proceed to fill the cavity with the peeled whole garlic cloves and vermouth. Cram more onion in the other end and distribute the rest around the roasting pan. Whisk olive oil into mustard and season with white pepper. Finger paint the chicken with the mixture, then go wash your hands. Sprinkle a little salt over everything, which could include vegetables such as carrots and celery and roast in a preheated oven at 400 degrees Farenheit for 1 hour and 45 minutes. The juices run clear when completely cooked, though ideally you have a meat thermometer, which I do not. Always rest your chicken before carving.

When I pulled it from the oven it looked golden brown but contorted; it took more moments than I care to admit to realize my mistake. I am pleased to report it was so succulent, flavorful and well-cooked, I just might flip my chicken again. This proved to be a happy aberration, one that resulted in a fatty, fragrant dinner.

Last Night’s Dinner: Know Why?

Jillian — Thu, 04 Feb 2010 19:00:32 +0000

‘Cause it was friggin’ delicious. Also, chicken thighs! Here they’re called muslo de pollo and I’ve had a package of these mofos in the freezer since before Christmas. I’ll admit, I was intimidated. Although of late I’ve become quite the little butcher, there was a dark time in my past when I could barely summon the courage to cook boneless, skinless breasts; I would don gloves, use tongs to remove the icky, fluid-tainted plastic, and sip copious amounts of wine in order to steel myself against the twin horrors of poultry slime and botulism. But, the more I read about food and the alchemy of cooking, the more I understood that bones and skin mean tasty goodness and so I grow more daring with each passing day.

I selected a recipe by the boisterous and always hirsuit Emeril Lagasse. I have adapted his instructions, omitting and adjusting as only I know how. This is how it went down last night:

Ingredients

2 chicken thighs
olive oil
butter
white onion
16 mushrooms
two cloves of garlic
chicken stock
tomato paste
dry white wine
flour
rosemary

Method

In a deep skillet, brown salt and peppered chicken thighs in olive oil, skin side down for the first 4 minutes or so a side, remove from pan. Add a knob of butter and sliced mushrooms, cook down then incorporate sliced onions, minced garlic and wine. Sprinkle in flour and stir, pour in stock, two spoonfuls of tomato paste, and fresh rosemary, bring to a boil then turn down the heat to a low simmer. Nuzzle your thighs into the mixture – skin side down – and cook 30 minutes, flip the chicken and let it be for another half hour. Serve over rice to the delight of your thigh-wary spouse.

So, braising-it’s all about the slow and saucy low. This chicken was sultry and had a heart of gold. (This chicken was a hooker.) You must try this at home.

Poc-Chuc: Mayan-Style Marinated Pork

Malcolm — Wed, 03 Feb 2010 17:12:16 +0000

A bit of business to get out of the way before we begin: this is not “authentic” poc-chuc, and we’re not trying to make authentic poc-chuc. Why is that? The ubiquitous Yucatecan restaurant dish, which consists of of thin, flattened pork, marinated in orange juice, and served with pickled onions and fresh corn tortillas, as prepared by most restaurants, simply isn’t that interesting. Blasphemy, you say?

Poc-chuc, the way the Mayans did it, began its humble history not so much as a delicious way to prepare food, but as a means of preservation. Tough, wild pig was pounded out flat to tenderize the meat, and then cured with a salt brine. It could last this way for months, before the salt was rinsed off, and the pork was cooked over an open fire. Somewhere along the line, those rascally pyramid-building so-and-sos realized that, during the rinsing stage, the preserved meat would taste marginally better if it was rinsed in locally-available Sour Orange juice instead of water, and would taste even BETTER if it was then buried in a mound of habanero peppers.

Most authentic poc-chuc recipes, as used by both the home cook and in many restaurants, calls for the same brine-marinade-grill method of preparation, with the same palette-numbing results. We wanted to see if we could take some of the basic flavors of the dish, and brighten them up a bit, using thick cut pork chops instead of flat-pounded cutlets. It may not be authentic, but it is delicious, uses readily available ingredients, and doesn’t bog you down with all that brining business.

Mayan-Style Poc-Chuc Chops
Note: There is a print link embedded within this post, please visit this post to print it.

Ingredients:

1 cup freshly-squeezed lime juice
1/2 cup freshly-squeezed orange juice
10 cloves garlic
2 ounces achiote paste
Salt and pepper, to taste
Four thick-cut bone in pork chops

Method:

Combine first five ingredients in blender or food processor, and blend until smooth. Cover pork chops and marinate, refrigerated, overnight. Grill on hot grill or under broiler until crusty, caramelized bits form. Serve with beans, pickled onions, corn tortillas, and for extra pizazz, top with…

Mango Habanero Salsa

Ingredients:

1/2 red or orange bell peppers, seeded and deveined
1/2 red onion
2-3 mangos, peeled
2 tbls fresh ginger
1-2 habanero peppers (to taste)
1 tbls honey
2 limes

Method:

Chop first four ingredients as finally as possible, or until you run out of patience, and combine in a medium-sized bowl. The amount of mangos you use will depend on your proficiency with removing the flesh from the pit, but it shouldn’t take more than three. Add minced habanero peppers to taste, remembering that as the salsa sits, a lot of the heat will mellow. Finally, add the juice from two limes, and chill for at least 1 hour before serving.

Could I Interest You in a Gently Used Kidney, Sir?

Tia — Tue, 26 Jan 2010 22:48:50 +0000

People often ask me if I’m planning on having any more kids, or if I’m going to attempt the clichéd ”try for a boy” because I have two daughters.

The answer? No.

Finis! Kaput! Done!

Not only do I have a patience reservoir about as deep as a thimble, I don’t think I can subsist on less than 4 hours of sleep a night (which is about what I have been averaging for 5 years now.)

Yet, the real reason why I’m not pushing any more little people out of my body, is that between The Old Man and I, we have a finite number of expendable organs we can sell on the black market.

You see, little girls are expensive.

They eat.

They wear clothes.

They play with idiotic plastic toys.

They go to birthday parties.

These are things that we budgeted for. At this very moment, we’re funding: one tuition, two dance classes, one soccer membership, two swimming lessons, two gymnastic lessons PLUS all the gear that they require to do these sports. Because we’re sports people, this was important to us, and we factored this into our budget.

With athletics, academics and religion taken care of, what better to round a girl out than music lessons? Yes! Little girls should play an instrument!

Snort.

Nobody bothered to account for music lessons in the family budget, because neither of us are “music people.” Sure, I played french horn in school. I briefly dabbled in piano and guitar, but I never saw what my mother was paying for these things, and assumed that it was reasonable.

It’s not.

The Big Kid started piano lessons in the beginning of January. The lessons are in 30 minute increments, and run once a week. They also run nearly $20 for the 1/2 hour. Which means the piano teacher makes $40/hour.

Now. I realize that the piano teacher is a skilled person of considerable talent, but really? $40/hour? That’s far more than most people with a Masters Degree are making! Yet, here I am…paying $20 for 30 minutes of my kid pressing two keys down on the piano. Over, and over, and over, and over.

Oy vey.

What if my kid LIKES playing piano? What if she shows talent? What if she actually continues with it on a competitive level? What if my other child wants to play too? And continues on? I’m going to have to live in a cardboard box, on the street corner, under the piano. Clearly families with a large number of musical prodigies have parents who are musical themselves, because nobody with a millionty kids could ever afford to have them taught by someone else.

Because I’m a creative thinker, I’m trying to imagine how I’m going to be able to afford this in the long term. These are the options I see available at this time:

1 – The Old Man and I can sell some organs. Who needs two kidneys anyhow?

2 – Turn our recreation room into a bawdy house, and pimp out my friends and family. Happy endings for everyone!

3 – Teach them “music” myself. Screw theory. Screw reading music. Just go where the “music” takes you!

4 – Quit now, while we’re ahead, and give them each a plastic tambourine from the Dollar Store.

5 – Take on a job as an investment advisor, and embezzle money into the piano teacher’s bank account.

In the interim, I’m going to meditate on the merits of an all icihiban noodle/frozen mixed veggie diet for all of us for the next 15 years.

Pssst, Mister? Wanna buy a kidney?

I Coulda Been a… Furniture Mover?