The Stories We Tell Ourselves

The other day I had my first ever meeting with a financial planner. He asked why I had contacted him. My response was a verbal outpouring along these lines:

"I'm 34 and I am totally incompetent with respect to my finances. I have no budget. I don't even know where to start. I am terrible at saving, and great at spending. I definitely don't have enough retirement savings. I pay bills on time but feel totally clueless. I make far, far too much money to feel like I live paycheck-to-paycheck. I have no "emergency fund." I have school debt to pay off. Plus credit card debt from being in school. Someday, maybe in the next 10 years, I'd like to buy a house, I think. On top of all that, I have a major cashflow issue because I travel a lot for work and have to front the expenses - to the tune of eight to ten thousand dollars a month. I really just don't know what I'm doing and feel like an idiot about all of it. When I think about it all I get really overwhelmed and I need help. A lot of help. Like, really, a LOT of help."

His response to me was sort of like a gentle but serious verbal slap in the face:

"The first thing you need to do is stop beating yourself up about this." 

Oh.

(Why do I get the feeling that's going to be the hardest part of this whole process?)

It made me think... We all tell ourselves stories about what we're good at and what we're bad at. Often those stories started in childhood - sometimes memorably, and sometimes not. A lot of the time, they make no sense. (I'm smart and I can do basic math so why should I be utterly unraveled by basic budgeting? And yet, I am.)

I have definitely been telling myself this story that I'm "incompetent at money" for probably my whole life. Or at least since I knew "incompetent at money" was something I could "be."

In fact, this is about the only area in life in which I feel incompetent. Why? I can successfully create and manage clients' budgets. I understand how to prioritize their funds given their goals and objectives. But once we turn the tables back to my own personal life...the wheels come off and the feeling of paralyzing incompetence takes over.

I should stop that. Why choose incompetence if competence is possible?

While I'm on the sofa having this little therapy session, here's another one:

I have been led to believe I am terrible at making salad dressing.
Indeed, I believe I am terrible - a genuine abomination - at making salad dressing.

How is that possible, you ask? (Yes, I realize you probably did not ask that but if you stuck with me through that whole money bit, this is the part where I start talking about food again, so hang in there for a little more, ok?)

It used to be my responsibility, as part of contributing to the family via chores and whatnot, to make our green salad every night for dinner. We always had a green salad. Every night. Typically it was comprised of romaine, carrots, tomatoes, and celery. Sometimes it would also have cucumber, or some green or red pepper. Very rarely, watercress or endive. Maybe alfalfa sprouts.

This was back in the dark days before salad greens came in a bag and some people in the household were VERY picky about the lettuce being hand-torn, not cut with a knife. And everything in appropriately-sized pieces that required only a fork, not a knife. This is just how it was done.

As you might have surmised, I'm at least partly a creative soul and "just how it was done" often didn't fly with me. Making this same salad every night practically bored me to tears. Around this time - I was about 10 years old or so - I also began reading cookbooks. For fun. You know, like a normal kid. [Snort.] I discovered a whole tab in my Mom's Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook dedicated to salad dressings. And I started to add a little creativity to my nightly salad chore.

The real problem was not that I couldn't make salad dressing by following a simple recipe. It was that we didn't have a lot of the ingredients the recipes called for on hand and I had to improvise quite a bit as our local grocery store was more of a walk than a drive. There were a couple of successful blue cheese dressings. Some terrible Catalina dressing (like a cross between Italian and French dressings). Some chokingly acidic vinaigrettes. And so on.

With those recipes, I learned the hard way that composing salad dressing is sort of like baking. It's about proportions and is therefore rather scientific. You can't just substitute ingredients and quantities and hope that things will turn out edibly. Indeed, they rarely did. And I quickly developed a reputation as being "terrible at making salad dressing."

So I stopped. Who wants to do something at which they're judged to be "terrible"? Not this girl. Not anyone, really. To this day - a quarter of a century later - I still feel a little anxiety swirl around in my stomach at the thought of having to make a dinner salad.

The other day a funny thing happened. I got brave.
I don't know where it came from. But there it was.

I was having the girls over for Ladies' Night Dinner. I wanted to make our family lasagna recipe and decided what would be just perfect with it would be a nice, big green salad.

Coincidentally, as I was thinking about the menu, I happened upon a recipe in a new cookbook I just acquired (thanks, Mom!) from Omnivore Books: Canal House Cooking, Volume No. 6: The Grocery Store.

Specifically, page 49: "Escarole Salad with Lemon & Parmesan"

I kicked aside my fear of possibly serving guests inedibly dressed greens and went for it. Worst case, they could just eat lasagna and dessert. Have a little more wine, nothing to see here.

It's a pretty simple recipe.

First, some garlic and salt gets mashed together in a big wooden salad bowl, with a wooden spoon. Diced up preserved lemon and some fresh lemon juice get stirred in.

Extra virgin olive oil gets added to the mix, and clean, dry greens get plopped on top.

Either escarole isn't in season or it was just out of stock at my Whole Foods, but I used a combination of arugula, kale, and romaine which worked great and had enough bite to stand up to the dressing.

Once that all gets tossed together, shavings of parmesan (via the vegetable peeler) get piled on top. A little freshly ground black pepper and that's it.

I love this salad bowl - a Christmas present from Mom & Doug.

So easy, and rave reviews.

See that, salad dressing? That's me OWNING you.


What are the stories you tell yourself?
Let's get brave and kick those stories to the curb. We are all better than that.

Salads on a Plane!

I'm on a plane right now. It's a bit bumpy. It's hard to tell if it's bumpy because of turbulence or if it's because the guy in the aisle seat of my row has an aggressive leg shake. Actually, not a single leg shake. He alternates legs.

There's also a cat on the plane, two rows behind me. The cat is not very happy about flying.

This is an understatement.

In fact, said cat might be the least happy about flying of all the sentient beings onboard, except for all the people on the plane who have to listen to the cat screech and whine. 

Cat's got some pipes, man.

Anyhow,  I brought my lunch with me on the plane today because on Sunday I had the foresight to pull together this summery salad which I am having a minor love affair with this month.

Please note the gigantic bottle of water. I get two of these now before every flight. You really don't realize how dehydrating planes are until you start to fly so often that it practically hurts to blink.

This is barely a recipe. But here are the component parts.
Quantities are approximate (at best).

Kate's Summer Travel Salad

Serves 4 as a side or 2 for full meals

Ingredients

Half a sack of roasted baby potatoes. I think that's about 3 cups. I'm talking about the ones the size of large marbles because I love miniature food but of course you could just chop up and roast a regular Yukon Gold or two. (Toss with olive oil and salt and roast for 20-30 mins at 425 degrees until they are a bit browned in spots.)

A pint of slow-roasted cherry tomatoes. (Cut in half and toss with olive oil and kosher salt; roast at 325 for 40 minutes to an hour, until they get caramel-y. Yes, that's a word.)

2 large handfuls of steamed green beans, trimmed, and cut into 1- to 2-inch pieces

Sauteed chunks of summer squash, from about 2 squashes, any shape. I like mine sauteed to the point of being practically charred. It tastes delicious like that. 

One-third of a bunch or so of flat-leaf parsley. Pick the leaves off the stems but leave the leaves whole. Or just very coarsely chop the parsley if you are lazy or pressed for time, or both.

1/2 of a preserved lemon rind. This is the magic ingredient. Chop up the rind (after removing the pulp and rinsing) into 1/4-inch bits. 

Pitted, oil cured black olives, halved. If you don't like oil-cured olives, used pitted green olives that aren't too briny. Do not use Kalamata, they are far too briny and puckery and will make the whole salad taste sour.

Extra virgin olive oil, kosher or sea salt, and freshly ground pepper


Directions
Combine all the vegetables and lemon in a bowl and toss until everything is well-distributed.

Drizzle with olive oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper, toss, and taste. 

Add more salt and pepper as needed. 

Look at that nice fat square of preserved lemon on top, mugging for the camera.

This recipe is hard to screw up so feel free to play around with it. Basil would be a great addition. So would corn.

I like adding a poached egg or two to turn this into "dinner," when not on a plane. Some grilled chicken would be great, too, and travel-hardy.

This salad is awesome because it can sit in your bag unrefrigerated for a few hours during the whole TSA-frisking-through-harrowing-boarding-process, through takeoff, and even several hours into your flight and stay perfectly fresh. There's no lettuce to wilt - the parsley stays really perky. You can also make this the night before or even two days in advance with no compromise to taste or texture. (I think the flavor actually improves when it's been mixed at least a day ahead of eating.)

Bon Voyage and Bon Appetit!

MBAs cannot pass up low-hanging fruit. We just can't.

I recently came into possession of slightly more than a pound and a half of fresh, wild blackberries.

This is because I picked them. On, essentially, the side of the road in Sonoma County. With my friend C.C.

It was actually C.C.'s idea to pick the berries. She's the smart one. "Do you know how much these would be at Whole Foods?!"

Exactly, C.C.  Exactly.

We both came home with bags filled with hard-won blackberries. I say "hard-won" because have you ever picked blackberries? Those brambles are NOT a JOKE.

This is about what the two of us sounded like while picking berries:

"Ooh, these look great!"
"Nice!"
"OW! Motherf---!!"
"There are so many berries over here!"
"Damn it! OW!"
"My fingers are covered in prickly things."
"Can you imagine having this job? This job would really suck."
"Could you wear gloves?"
"I don't think so."
 "I am picking a lot of low-hanging fruit. Ahahahahaha."
 "AAAAAHHH Ouch."
"This. Berry. Is. SO. Sweet!"
"GODDAMN IT, BLACKBERRY BUSH! YOU HURT!"


Anyhow, then I got home and was like, "Hey, Kate, one and a half pounds of blackberries is kind of a lot to eat fresh. I mean, these aren't strawberries!"

So I got to cooking.

First I made Blackberry Jam.

I used a pretty basic jam starting point - fruit plus sugar and citrus peel/juice for pectin but I added a little of my own pizzazz. That means I put some Grand Marnier in it. When I add pizzazz, that's what I add. Now you know.

Actually, I didn't put "some" Grand Marnier in it. I put "a lot" of Grand Marnier in it because I tipped the bottle over a bit too far. No harm, no foul. I cooked the booze off a bit and you can't even really tell it's in there. I swear.


Very Sketchy Blackberry Jam Recipe I Just Made Up 
That You Should Probably Not Ever Try To Make Yourself

I took the pound and a half of (cleaned) blackberries, combined them with a long strip of lemon peel, a teaspoon of lemon juice, a bay leaf (thanks, Martha Stewart, for the ingredient suggestion!), two cups of sugar, and a pinch of salt in a 4 quart pot. I cooked it for about 10-15 minutes, then added the pizzazz. Did the whole jam-freezer-plate test, and filled a pint jar. (No processing here, just keeping this stuff in the fridge.) My wooden spoon seems to have suffered permanent staining as a result of this endeavor.

That's what I did. What I should have done was mash and strain the seeds out of the berries first, before I started cooking. Instead I strained some of the seeds out partway through - about half of them. Half, it turns out, isn't enough. Trust me when I tell you there is a reason you can only buy seedless blackberry jam at the grocery store. Unless you really like to chew. If your jaw needs a workout, and you're tired of gum and Grape Nuts, by all means leave the seeds in.

It does look prettier with the seeds in, so there's that...

I let that cool and then made some blackberry cookie bars. After straining the seeds out of a large portion of the jam. Which took me half an hour. Because I am an idiot.

In case you're not paying attention, let me be clear: Strain first! Better yet, don't make blackberry jam without a food mill. Just buy a jar and save your jam efforts for wins like Tomato Jam.

After all that, I am not going to post the blackberry cookie bar recipe for you.

Mean, right? Not really. Actually, I am doing you a favor.

Here's why: They came out delicious but SUPER buttery. Too buttery, really. Eat-one-and-wonder-if-you're-going-to-be-ok-buttery. I would hate for you, dear reader, to make these and be all like: "Kate, if I wanted to lick a stick of butter, I would have just done that.  No need to gussy it up with your homemade jam."

Which is probably what my co-workers will say when I bring these cookies into work. 

Sorry in advance guys! Thanks for being my guinea pigs!
By the way, that milk isn't just food styling. You really will want some milk with these.
Consider yourselves warned.

Health in a Bowl

As I mentioned last month (cannot believe it has been that long - ugh!), I've spent a couple of weeks feeling rather under the weather recently. Being sick for a few days sucks. Being sick for two weeks is really a whole other story that I hope to never experience again. At some point in week two of this malaise I decided what I really needed was a bunch of vegetables. I'm sure if I owned a juicer I would have been going crazy with that thing.

I don't own a juicer.

I actually am kind of anti-juice. I don't understand why or how juice could possibly be better for you that eating the whole fruit or vegetable itself. But I'm funny like that. Juice is just not my thing.

On the other hand, I can really get behind a good, brothy veggie soup. This was another "let's be thrifty and environmentally responsible and everything and use what's already in the fridge" move. Also an "I feel like crap and don't want to walk a block to the grocery store" move. And with a few supplements, I had a pretty tasty vegetable soup that I will happily make again, only in probably half the quantity as I've discovered that three consecutive days of a vegetable soup meal represent my absolute limit.

If you want to feel healthy, or if you have a lot of veggies in the drawer that are about to go, this is your recipe.

Doesn't this gorgeous kale just scream "I AM SO GOOD FOR YOU!"?

Kate's Vegetable Soup
Makes four big servings

Ingredients

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 small yellow onion, diced
2 cloves garlic, sliced
1 carrot, diced
1 celery stalk, diced
1 small red or white potato (thin-skinned, not Russett), peeled and diced
1/4 teaspoon dried thyme
1/4 teaspoon dried oregano
4 cups chicken broth (I'm a fan of Swanson Natural Goodness)
1 can diced tomatoes with their juice
parmesan rinds (optional)
1 zucchini, diced
1/2 roasted red pepper, seeded and diced
1/2 bunch of kale, chopped coarsely
kosher or sea salt & freshly ground black pepper

Directions

(Before you start, I highly recommend pre-chopping all the veggies.)

1. Roast your red pepper if you haven't already. I only had half a red pepper but I still just stuck it on the burner. (God, I love having a gas stove.)

2. Once the pepper is good and blackened, put it in a bowl and cover the bowl with plastic wrap. Let the pepper steam for about 10 minutes. Then use paper towels to rub off the blackened skin. Chop the peeled pepper.

3. Meanwhile, heat the olive oil over medium-high and saute the onion, garlic, carrot, and celery until the onion turns translucent, about 10 minutes. You don't really want to brown it here. 

4. Add the potato, spices, chicken broth, and tomatoes. Simmer until the potatoes are tender, about 5 minutes. Toss in one or two parmesan rinds, if you have them. 

5. Simmer for another 15 minutes or so, until the broth looks a little cloudy and starts to smell delicious. 

6. Add the zucchini, red pepper, and kale.

7. Simmer for another 5 minutes or so, until the zucchini is tender but not mushy. 

I love all the gorgeous colors. It's like rainbow soup.

8. Salt and pepper to taste. Serve with some whole grain crackers. And a big spoon.

I finally kicked that crazy flu a couple of days after I made this soup for myself.
So clearly, this works. Sample size of one. I'm a believer.

A Fall Salad and My Perfect Granola

Hi Blogosphere,

I miss you. It's been awhile. A lot has happened since I saw you last. Although nothing very exciting, to be honest. I made a bunch of food. I took some pictures. I did a lot of work. I went to some concerts. I had lots of fun with friends.

Mostly, I didn't blog. But I'm back and I'm vowing to do this more regularly. I'm sure I'll regret this. But like taking my packet of vitamins each morning, I believe it's good for me. Kind of like this salad.

Because I've been a bit under the weather lately, I've been doing a lot of working from home. The benefit to working from home (i.e. one of the few benefits to being sick) is making lunch for myself, on the spot. For some reason, I love making lunch for myself. A couple of days ago, I opened the fridge and decided to just make a salad from what was in there. Here was the result - a very tasty autumnal salad.

Mixed greens, sliced fennel, mission figs (fresh!), green apple, halved grapes, sliced parmesan, toasted walnuts with a dressing of sherry vinegar, olive oil, a little bit of honey, and salt and pepper.

It was a delightful little lunch and I think it even made me feel a little bit better. Food can do that, you know.

Unlike the salad, which I made up on the spot, this granola recipe has been several months in the making. I actually honed it at the end of July but, as previously discussed, have lacked the time to blog about it. By which I mean, I totally didn't prioritize it. Clearly, I had time. I just didn't make time. So now. I'm making time now. Even though I did a terrible job taking pictures of this granola. Oh well. I'm out of practice. Or something.

Anyway, I've finally got My Perfect Granola. I still can't believe how easy it is to make. I'm never buying granola again. For real this time.

This recipe is super easy to modify. You can add or change the quantities on pretty much anything. I like the balance of this one. It's just a little bit sweet and just a little bit nutty.

I certainly don't know anyone like that. 

Kate's Perfect Maple-Vanilla-Pecan-Coconut-Pepita Granola

Ingredients
3 cups old-fashioned (not quick!) rolled oats. Quaker Oats. Obviously. 
1/2 cup chopped pecans
1/2 cup pepitas
1/2 cup unsweetened coconut flakes
pinch of kosher salt
1 vanilla bean, split, seeds scraped
1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons canola oil
1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons real, pure maple syrup

Directions

1.     Preheat oven to 350F. Line a large, rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper.

2.     Combine oats, pecans, pepitas, coconut flakes, and pinch of salt in a medium to large bowl. 

3.     In a small bowl, combine canola oil, maple syrup, and vanilla bean seeds. Whisk to combine.

4.     Pour maple syrup mixture into oat mixture. Stir until all the future-granola bits are coated evenly.

5.     Dump granola into baking pan and evenly distribute across pan.

6.      Bake for 20-25 minutes, or until golden brown. Stir once in the middle of baking.

7.     Cool completely, then store in an airtight container. I like to keep mine in a glass jar with a rubber gasket like this one. 

8.     Eat! I like mine over Fage 0% Greek Yogurt with whatever fresh berries I can get my hands on. Or peaches. 

Or straight from the jar with a spoon.

Popeye, The Sailor Man

I bet you can guess what this post is about!  Spinach!

No. Actually it’s about having disproportionately large calves.

Just kidding. I have those, but you were right the first time. It’s about spinach.

Raise your hand if you’re tired of spinach. Personally, I feel like I eat it all the time. In omelets at brunch, in salads at lunch, as a side at dinner, on pizza, etc. And I really, really can’t stand that minerally, nails-on-a-chalkboard feeling I get on my teeth from eating cooked spinach.

Gag.

But spinach is something that my stomach doesn’t get bent out of shape about, and also, I just got a bunch of it (two bunches, to be precise) in the farm box.

Much like I am tired of cooking bok choy with the same flavorings over and over, I’m not sure I can do sautéed spinach with garlic and olive oil any longer. I’m done. After 30ish years of eating spinach prepared that way, it’s time for something new. Surely there’s another way to cook spinach. A way that's not creamed.

Thanks to last year’s 2011 “Learn to Cook Some Indian Food” foray, I pulled Madhur Jaffrey’s Indian Cooking at Home off the shelf and looked up “spinach”.  And there it was. Several of the usual ingredients – garlic, olive oil – but also some new ones – cumin seeds, cayenne.

Intriguing.

Figuring I had nothing to lose, I whipped it up. It honestly couldn’t have been easier. This is not a dish you need “cooking skills” to make. All you really need are tongs.

You have tongs, right? If you don't, go get yourself some, they are the most indispensable kitchen tool I own. Seriously.

Heat a few tablespoons of oil in a large skillet. I used a combo of olive oil and grapeseed oil, and my 12” pan.

When the oil gets hot, add a teaspoon of cumin seeds.

When those little guys start dancing in the pan, add three cloves of garlic that have been, essentially, julienned (cut into thin strips lengthwise).

When the garlic starts to become golden, add the spinach (washed, stemmed, still damp, and coarsely chopped if not the baby variety).

Use tongs to toss/distribute the oil/garlic/cumin and then put a lid on it.

Let it steam/sauté for about 4 minutes or so? I don’t know. Check it.  Toss it with the tongs occasionally. You know what cooked spinach looks like.

When it looks done, add half a teaspoon of salt and a pinch of cayenne. Turn off the heat and toss with the tongs to incorporate.

It’s wild how different this tastes than your typical spinach. I actually stuffed some into a quesadilla I made with Monterey jack cheese (and a spelt tortilla, THANK YOU RUDI’S ORGANIC BAKERY) which was amazing, like some kind of Indian-ish burrito.

Try this sometime. It’s eye-opening, in a good way.

The Glass is Half Full

I tried two new recipes today, with a 50% success rate. 

I'm being glass-half-full about this.

First of all, this was the kitchen I was working in. How can you not want to cook in a kitchen like this?

Recipe #1 was for Spelt Crackers from this cookbook. I was so excited about it because I actually had just picked up some spelt flour (admittedly not "white" spelt flour which may have made a difference in the final product). 

Why spelt? The thing is, my doctor has me on this new diet in an attempt to solve my continuing digestive problems. I don't want to get into details - and I assure you that you don't want me to - but the short version of the story is that this new diet eliminates a LOT of foods - mostly a broad selection of fruits, vegetables, and grains. It is hugely inconvenient and has, overnight, turned me into an extremely high maintenance eater. Eating out is virtually impossible and so frustrating. 

There is light at the end of the tunnel and I think that at some point I won't have to be quite this high maintenance and we'll have this all a bit more under control and I'll be able to eat a wider variety of things but for now I'm just trying to avoid being sick. 

Being sick is no fun.

That said, I basically ate zucchini, potatoes, and cheese for Christmas Eve dinner. At least the wine was delicious. Thank God I can still drink wine. 

The good news - the really, really great news -  is this: gluten isn't my problem! This is awesome. I kind of always knew all along that wheat might be a problem but not gluten and, indeed, my intuition was right. I still can't eat wheat. But gluten is ok. Which means that a world of ancient grains have opened up to me, my favorite of which is spelt. I love spelt, because it's like wheat, but magically doesn't make me sick.  

Spelt tortillas taste just like regular flour tortillas. It's amazing. I'm so happy. This discovery feels like a really wonderful Christmas gift.

Alright, so I've digressed a bit but now you have the backstory required to understand why I was absurdly excited to run across a recipe for Spelt Crackers this morning while I was eating breakfast. I can eat spelt crackers! I just had to make them. And so I did. The recipe (printed here) was pretty easy. 

Mix some salt and water together. 

Add the spelt flour and stir...

Until combined.

Knead the dough a little bit until it forms a lump. (Not shown.)
Overturn a sheet pan and flour it with more spelt flour.

Roll out the dough. (Put a damp kitchen towel under the pan as otherwise it will slide all over the counter when you try to roll the dough.)

Get it as thin as you can. Mine wasn't thin enough. Go off the edges, and do some trimming.

Dock the dough (i.e. poke holes in it with a fork). Spray it with water. Sprinkle on sea salt, a little coarse pepper, other seeds to your liking. (I did mine 1/3 plain sea salt, 1/3 sea salt and pepper and 1/3 sea salt, fennel, and caraway because that was what we had on hand.)

Bake it.

Break it up into pieces.

 Eat. 

These crackers came out ok. If you are desperate for bread-like products, as I am, you might even eat them. But in truth, I didn't roll out the dough thin enough and the thicker pieces were quite a workout for the jaw. I personally feel this recipe could use some optimizing. 

Good thing recipe #2 worked out a bit better. Not least because it comprised a significant portion of my dinner. 

It helped that I had a snack of Leslee's Chicken Liver mousse, one of my favorite foods on the planet. To my knowledge, Leslee's can only be acquired at Schaefer's, locally. It doesn't look like much but it is divine. 

With a little food in my tummy, I was ready to tackle this recipe.

Tiny potatoes with creme fraiche, caviar and chives are a catering staple. They are classic hors d'oeuvres and perfect partners to champagne. I've always wanted to make them as they seem ever so sophisticated. Luckily, all the ingredients - potatoes, creme fraiche, caviar, and chives - are approved on this insane restricted eating plan. Despite the fancy finished product, these were superbly easy and if you're up for springing for a little caviar, they are a real treat. 

You barely even need a recipe.

Steam some small new potatoes, or in our case, fingerlings. About 15 minutes in the steamer basket.

 Cool the potatoes quickly in ice water, which, in Chicago this time of year means "tap water".

Then cut them into pieces and scoop out one end with a tiny measuring spoon - like the 1/4 teaspoon size.

You can see in the background that I attempted to use a melon baller at first but that failed - it was taking chunks that were too big. Racking my brain for a smaller tool, I ran across the measuring spoons. Perfect.

Fill the holes in the potatoes with creme fraiche. This couldn't be easier as you just scoop creme fraiche into a zip-top bag, cut off a tiny corner with kitchen shears, and squirt the stuff into the potato craters.

Put a tiny dollop - about 1/8 teaspoon - of caviar on top of the creme fraiche. Snip up some chives and stick a pair into each of the sour cream craters. 

And there you have it. They'd be perfect for a New Year's Eve party or even New Year's Brunch. I might have to make them again. Soon.

So fancy! So easy! My favorite kind of bite.  

I ate at least a dozen of these. 

And then we sat down for a friendly round of family Texas Hold 'Em. 

I am pretty sure champagne, caviar, and poker is precisely how the baby Jesus would have wanted us to celebrate his birthday.

Merry Christmas Eve!

Tastes Remarkably Not Like Dirt

6 am conference call tomorrow notwithstanding, things are looking up. I discovered that I "misplanned" (sort of my fault, sort of our benefits provider's fault) my FSA which means Santa's bringing me new sunglasses. And new glasses. Maybe even two pairs of glasses. There's a lot of money left in that FSA and not many weeks left in the year. 

I picked out these sunglasses which look ridiculous and awesome. I love them. They are so glam and absurd. I think I partly love them because I am 100% sure that every boyfriend I've ever had would absolutely hate them. I mean, I am totally channeling my inner horsefly here, or maybe Harry Caray. Somehow, knowing that makes wearing these all the more delightful.

Leave it to me to pick out the most expensive frames in the store. The description on the website says these glasses "are for style makers with discerning taste and an appreciation for exquisite details and unmistakable beauty." All I can say is vision insurance is totally worth that $5 a month or whatever I pay.

I tried on some Warby Parkers as well and think I'm going to throw my bets in on these and these. 

And then I channeled my inner Polish peasant and made turnip soup.

Seems logical to me. 

As you might have surmised, the farm box presented me with about a pound and a half of white turnips, greens attached. The last time this happened, I tried to make turnip gratin. It was fine but retained way too much of that "fresh like dirt" taste turnips sometimes have. I thought it was worth trying something new.

What I learned in my recipe searching is that there are really not very many promising-sounding turnip recipes. The poor, unloved turnip.

It's really cold here in San Francisco. It's hat-gloves-scarf weather. It got down to at least 45 degrees today. I might have to turn on the radiators.

I love this climate. 

Tonight was perfect soup weather so I crossed my fingers and got to it. In the interest of full disclosure, I feel I must tell you that I hedged my bets by eating the remainder of the other night's Gruyere before I got started. You can't be too careful with your stomach and as I've been balancing on the precipice of cranky all day (see previous post), this seemed like no time to play chicken with my blood sugar. Plus, after all the glasses shopping was complete, it was quite late in the evening. 

Turnip Soup with Turnip Greens 

by Deborah Madison with Edward Espé Brown
The Greens Cookbooks

Yield: Serves Four to Six Ingredients THE STOCK None is needed for this soup (Why does the recipe list things you don't need? So odd.) THE SOUP 1 1/2 pounds small turnips (about 1 to 2 inches across), weighed without their greens Salt 5 tablespoons butter, in all 2 to 3 leeks, white parts only (about 8 ounces), sliced 6 branches thyme or 1/4 teaspoon dried thyme (If you use fresh thyme, take it off the stalk first. Trust me.) 4 cups milk White or black pepper About 2 to 3 cups turnip greens Fresh chopped thyme for garnish (optional) Preparation Peel the turnips (thickly, if they are large and mature) and slice them into rounds about 1/4 inch thick.  Peeling these suckers is tough. They are quite slippery. More than once, the turnip flew out of my hand while peeling. It reminded me of that escargot scene from Pretty Woman. Except I was wearing sweats instead of a fancy dress and no semi-handsome millionaire was in the vicinity. Let's discuss once again how much I love my mandoline. 1/4 slices. Perfect. Bring 3 quarts of water to a boil; then add 2 teaspoons salt and the turnips. Cover the pot and cook for 1 minute; then drain. Melt 3 tablespoons of the butter in a soup pot with 1/2 cup water. Add the leeks, the blanched turnips, the thyme, and 1 teaspoon salt. Stew them, covered, over medium-low heat for 5 minutes, and then add the milk.  See how I didn't remove the thyme from the branches? Don't do that! Otherwise you will be picking milky thyme stalks from your soup and trying to get the partly cooked leaves off. I should know.   Slowly heat it without bringing it to a boil, and cook, stirring occasionally, until the turnips are completely tender. (I think this took about 10 minutes.) Beginning slow heating. This failed rapidly. It boiled. It boiled over, actually. Oops. You can see the skin on the soup because I boiled it. More than once. It all went in the blender anyway, and I don't think the boiling made a big difference, just in case you try this and let the soup boil, too. Cool the soup briefly; then purée it in a blender. If necessary, thin it with additional milk or water. Season to taste with salt, if needed, and freshly ground pepper. Hot soup means taking that plug out of the blender lid and putting a dishtowel over the top, so steam can escape. Unless you want soup splattered all over your kitchen. I mean, if you're into that kind of thing... Sort through the turnip greens and remove any that are bruised or especially tough looking, and wash them.  Melt the remaining 2 tablespoons of butter (I only used one) in a pan, add the turnip greens, and cook them over medium heat until they are tender, about 5 to 10 minutes. Season with salt and pepper.  I deviated a bit from the recipe here. I chiffonnaded my greens before sauteeing, kind of like how I usually treat collard greens. It was a good call. Even though I only used one tablespoon of butter instead of the two called for, the greens were pretty greasy. I let them drain for a bit on a paper towel while I seasoned the blended soup. Remove the cooked greens to a cutting board and chop them, roughly or fine, as you prefer (or, chop them in advance like I did); then add them to the soup and serve. Or garnish with fresh chopped thyme.

 

This soup was surprisingly delicious which is good because I obviously have a lot of it in my fridge right now. Definitely very milky. If you do not like milk, you will not like this soup. I might consider replacing a cup of the milk with broth next time just for a little more depth of flavor. The turnips were not bitter at all, and the greens were so delicious I ate them all (even the ones I didn't need for garnish on this bowl), with my fingers, right off the paper towel. If you are ever presented with turnip greens, you should saute them. You will not be disappointed.