Strawberry Cream Cake

We had a shock of summer - three days of 90 degree weather - but this morning's rain brought back chilly, rainy 55 degree weather. So while I dig out my warm sweater and snuggle under a blanket to read today's Washington Post Food section, I'm still dreaming about warm, sunny weather.



And nothing feels more like summer to me than strawberry shortcake. If strawberry shortcake is a cotton sundress, this strawberry cream cake is a Ralph Lauren linen dress -- a little more grown up and refined.

Modified from a Cook's Illustrated recipe, this uses a chiffon cake as the base. Heavy whipping cream is enhanced and thickened with cream cheese, allowing it to hold up the cake layers and strawberry filling without sliding out. The strawberry filling is a mixture of fresh halved strawberries - these form a rim around the perimeter of each layer, the middle of which is slathered with smaller pieces of macerated strawberries. For extra flavor, the juice of the macerated berries can be reduced and flavored with a liqueur. I liked the addition of Grand Marnier, but I'm sure Kirsch or even Creme de Cassis would work well too.

Happy Easter, thanks to Cooks Illustrated

I put the question to the Twitterverse - or at least to those 200 or so folks who are supposed to be reading my Tweets on Twitter: thyme honey glazed ham or herb roasted leg of lamb? Showing how immensely influential I am (inside joke), I got a total of 2 responses (interestingly from Jewish friends). One for ham and one for lamb.

In the end, the reluctant grownup got his way: lamb. And I made a mental note to start a family tradition of having ham for New Year's and lamb for Easter. I like the idea of being able to start a family tradition. Like if I decided every April 13th we would dress in cheap jogging suits, eat at Olive Garden and come home to watch Caddyshack - it would be our tradition.

(image courtesy of cooksillustrated.com)

For the time being, I think lamb may have to become a permanent family tradition. At least this recipe from my new favorite cooking obsession, Cooks Illustrated. (You will need to register to view the actual recipe, or you can come over and flip through my copy of the magazine.)

It was labor intensive: 45 minutes of fat trimming, 2 hours of brining and garlic roasting, lots of tying with kitchen twine, overnight in the fridge moisturizing under a thick slather of roasted garlic and herbs, searing in a pan and then finally into the oven for a good roast.

I would post an image of my creation, which was complete with roasted potatoes and buttery green beans, but someone left our camera-to-laptop cable at their office.

Bean Party

photo courtesy of frangrit on flickr

It probably wasn't until I was in college that I learned what a real dinner party was. Growing up, my family didn't have much disposable income and had no sense of "entertaining." As a good Christian family, we "ministered" to others. There was never any fine china, a prime rib coming out of the oven or fine wines being decanted. We had "bean parties."

Early on Saturday morning, we'd sort through 3 to 4 pounds of dried pinto beans. Picking out all the reject beans and the bits of stones and dirt was a job even the youngest could help with. Then we'd rinse the beans a few times and set them to boil in a industrial-sized stock pot. Add a ham hock or some bits of bacon. Bring to a boil, then simmer for hours and hours.

Later in the day - after dad had mowed the yard and we'd tidied up the house - we start to make the tortillas. I can't remember the exact recipe but I know it involved a few cups of flour, a couple scoops of lard (dad kept a jar of bacon drippings in the back of the fridge) or Crisco, baking powder, salt and enough water to make a dough. The dough would rest in a bowl for 20 or 30 minutes and then the rolling-out process would begin.

By this time, people from church would start arriving. (We could only hang out with people from church who were Christians. And don't think that Catholics were allowed.) Sometimes it would be a few dozen people, or sometimes it'd be 30 or 40. (Even inviting 2 or 3 other families meant a few dozen mouths to feed. Think TLC's Duggar Family stance on birth control.) A handful of people would gather in our small, hot kitchen - this would have been central Florida with no air conditioning. Assembly line in place, one person would start fashioning golf ball-sized rounds of dough. Then someone else would flatten these into a pupusa shape. Dad, with his jumbo sized rolling pin would roll them out to the perfect smooth thinness and cook them on a screaming hot cast iron skillet.

The pièce de résistance was the salsa. Here's the recipe as well as I can remember it:

4-5 jalapeños
1 habanero (optional)
1 can tomato sauce
1-2 limes
1-2 cloves garlic
large pinch of oregano (mexican)
large pinch of ground cumin

4-5 tomatoes, chopped
1 small onion, chopped
cilantro
olive oil
salt
pepper

Put peppers, tomato sauce, lime juice garlic and spices in blender and puree. Add tomatoes, onion and cilantro. Pulse to desired consistency (or don't blend at all for a chunky salsa). Add a few glugs of olive oil, and salt and pepper to taste.

Comet Wings

In my opinion, these are the best wings in town. Now, if only I had the recipe for that horseradish/creme fraiche dip.

Time for Botox?

As relayed by our good friend, K:

[Last night 2-year-old daughter] calls me to get her out of her crib at 9:00 pm (like clockwork) to go to the bathroom. I'm keeping her company, sitting on the edge of the tub next to the toilet.

She touches my forehead and says, "What's that?"

Me: "My forehead?"

She: "No, Mommy, what's that? " (running her hand horizontally)

Me: "My eyebrow?"

She: "No, Mommy, it's cracked." (pronounced "cwacked")

Me: "Oh, my wrinkles."

She: "Mommy, why you so wrinkled?" (pronounced "whinkled")

Good question. If ever there were an argument for Botox...

Bail me out

As the Democrats and Republicans fight over this massive billion dollar bail-out deal that will hopefully save the American and global economy from completely collapsing, I'm really starting to get a bit worried. What if I or the reluctant grownup should lose one -- or both! -- of our jobs?!

Like any late and guilty converter, I'm starting to pay more attention to the financial picture. I've put all our financial information into mint.com (it's online, it's free and it's so much cooler than Quicken) and have started examining our family’s budget a bit more closely.

Exercises like this are always way too revealing. Kind of like the time I decided to keep a food diary. Two generous glasses of red wine, schmears of creamy Brie cheese, several slices of French bread and a handful of olives. Eighteen thousand calories. And that was just the first course. Needless to say, I'm one of those people who prefers to play dumb when it comes to the number of calories that I am consuming. And, as reality avoidance would have it, the same also goes for the number of dollars that I'm typically spending.

So here's the harsh reality: our family budget has been set up to accommodate the appetite of a new 90210 starlet when in fact we have John Goodman raiding our refrigerator.

What I've budgeted for:

• Childcare - Nanny, 40 hours
• Transportation - Subway/bus
• Clothing - A few sensible items from the Gap, Old Navy a few times each year
• Groceries - For healthy, non-processed, home-cooked meals
• Recreation - Netflix
  

What I actually spend:

• Childcare - Nanny, 45 hours, competitive DC rates, extra $ so she won’t leave us, several hours each week of time-and-a-half overtime due to client emergencies at work
  
• Transportation - Car payment, exorbitant gas prices, downtown parking garage fees, speeding tickets (as I rush home to avoid paying nanny overtime)
  
• Clothing - Designer clothing to better “complement” those curves, several pairs of $40 Spanx control top/butt/thighs/tummy undergarments (because I haven't had time to work out and haven’t lost the baby weight)
  
• Groceries - Groceries (many of which typically rot in the refrigerator), Chinese delivery that has our credit card on file, Dominos.com, cases of wine, bottles of single malt
• Recreation - Bar tabs, food/wine tabs, babysitters, pharmaceuticals (and resulting therapist bills)

Dinners this week

I've realized that being able to come home and cook a decent dinner is an absolute must in order for me to feel sane. Ordering pizza, making mac & cheese in the microwave and resorting to cereal is my version of shit happens. Putting together a quick, delicious, healthy and budget-conscious dinner makes the perfectionist cook in me smile.

So with our recent decision to sign up for Washington's Green Grocer, I am making an even greater attempt to make good dinners - and get enjoyment out of doing so.


(photo courtesy of epicurious.com and by: Romulo Yanes)

In this week's basket we got: eggplant, portabello mushrooms, corn, grape tomatoes, red leaf lettuce, broccoli, zucchini, cantalope, bananas, plums, peaches and a ruby red grapefruit.

At the outset my strategy was to grill a bunch of vegetables on Sunday to have ready for dinners throughout the week. This was my plan:

• Sunday: BBQ chicken and corn. (Also grilled zucchini, extra corn and eggplant. Mixed ricotta with some herbs and rolled up in the eggplant slices.)
• Monday: Eggplant rolls and garlicky broccoli. (Took the ricotta-stuffed eggplant slices and threw into the oven topped with a quick tomato sauce -- sauteed can of tomatoes, couple cloves of garlic and few leaves of basil -- and mozzarella cheese.)
• Tuesday: Zucchini, corn and basil fusilli with bacon. (Super quick and easy since the zucchini and corn were good to go.)

This is the point in the week where my email inbox starts exploding, the kids run out of clothes because I didn't finish the laundry this weekend, my husband and I start bickering over finances and I start plotting how I can swing a happy hour. Pushing ahead though, there's still some semblance of a plan...

• Wednesday: Pinto beans. (Still have most of a package of bacon and the cooler weather reminded me to bring out the slow cooker.)
• Thursday: Pappardelle bolognese. (As I was frantically rummaging through the freezer for something that would soothe the baby's teething pain - discovered bolognese sauce I made and froze back in February. I'm sure it's still good. Oh, and we don't have pappardelle. Linguini should work.)
• Friday: Have you checked out dominos.com?
  

Good Eatin' in St. Louis

Well folks. St. Louis was not good for losing the baby weight. Toasted ravioli. Provel cheese. Ted Drewes frozen custard. Gooey butter cake. Pork steaks with Maull's barbecue sauce. And one of the best dining experiences in recent memory at Niche, owned by chef Gerard Craft who was just named one of 2008's Best New Chefs by Food & Wine.

As soon as the July issue of Food & Wine came out and I saw the St. Louis-shout-out to Niche, I made a reservation for the Saturday we'd be there. Craft's featured recipe in the magazine, Smoky Pork Pappardelle, sounded amazing. At the restaurant in real life, it was Smoky Lamb Papperdelle, but goddamn was it good. I will be making this recipe...as soon as the new exercise and healthy eating regimen starts working.

(pasta pic courtesy of Food & Wine)

Happy Half Year

I had many thoughts earlier today that ended with, 'yeah, that'll be good to blog about.' Sadly though, I can't remember too many of those.

Maybe it was the tortuous 3-hour car ride with screaming baby, chatty 3-yr-old and highly anxious husband, or the ill-planned Sunday night trip to Whole Foods to join the throng every annoying self-centered urbanite joined by - once again - screaming baby who it turns out is teething, or the scramble that was quickly cook dinner but try to entice 3-yr-old to poopy on the potty, or the well-deserved and must-needed glasses of Chardonnay. Regardless, the brain is fried. But I will leave you with this:

The baby is now Six Months Old. Yes, a big milestone. A half year. Six months. Wow. Can't believe we've made it this far. Everyone always says -- and even I've even taken to repeating it -- that the first six months is the hardest. Make it past that, and it's all downhill from there, they say.

Wonderful. But the 6-month mark has been a slap in the face to me. A bit of a wake-up call. Basically this gave me an okay-you-haven't-just-had-a-baby reminder. Yep. No more excuses. The baby weight needs to come off. I'd hate to be one of those women who complains about their baby weight when in fact her baby is. Seven. Years. Old.

So much for 'finding time' to work out. I now realize there is no such thing. I need to MAKE time. It may mean a few hours less sleep. It may mean a few hours less work - and a few more to-dos not done. It may mean a few hours less hanging out with the husband or a few hours less sitting on the porch drinking wine. But, it's gotta happen.

I'm tired of "empire waist" being my saving grace. At some point, I need to get back to being me and shed the post-baby weight. I'm giving myself another 3 months. That will be a full 9 months post-partum. I figure it took me 9 months to get here, so I at least should give myself a full 9 months to get out of it.

I feel like half the battle is realizing that the weight isn't just going to fall off by itself. It's going to take some work. And it's going to take some tough decisions to actually MAKE time. But I think I'm ready.

And the first shall be last

Over the weekend a friend and co-worker jokingly mentioned that she was basing her self-worth on the number of social media followers she had. I had to laugh because I realized that even more sad was what I use to evaluate my self-worth on a daily basis: number of ounces.

Lately it's been a measily 6 oz per day. Back in the day I could easily produce 12 or 15 oz.

Of milk that is. (Most of you are getting totally grossed out right about now.)

Of all the jobs I have, being a mammalian mother may be the toughest. I'm not discounting the hard work that ALL mothers have to shoulder. What you feed your kids -- whether it be the purest drawn breastmilk, Gerber baby formula, or Doritos and Diet Coke -- has little to do with the bulk of the effort. It's a hard pill to swallow when you realize that even after the pregnancy is over, it's still not my body, my choice. Having to think about what I can and can't put into my body, having to force in pumping time at work, and having to wake up at odd times in the middle of the night for months on end can take a toll on a gal.

Maybe the hardest thing about breastfeeding is the knowledge that you've got to take care of yourself in order to nourish the baby. And as all my mom friends will agree, one of the hardest things is trying to figure out where they stop and you start -- or maybe it's where they start and you stop.

Taking the time to exercise or eat a healthy meal or - gasp! - put my feet up is nearly impossible at worst and a selfish indulgence at best when the baby needs feeding, the 3-yr-old needs corraling, the laundry needs folding, the dinner needs stirring, the dog needs relieving, the husband need loving, the bills need paying, the report needs proofing and the dishes need washing.

So, ok, I guess it's not a breastfeeding thing. And maybe it's not even a mom thing. Universally we all struggle with where to put ourselves. First certainly doesn't work, but too low on the list ain't a good thing either.

For now, I'll try to keep up the breastfeeding gig. For all it's annoyances, it does guarantee some sweet cuddle time with the little guy and it does help out in the cleavage department. Speaking of which...