Sometimes, cooking is just manipulating ingredients. And sometimes it’s thisclose to alchemy.
For example. Say, for Valentine’s Day, you decided to make chocolate mousse. You could melt chocolate, separate eggs, whip cream, beat egg whites, fold airy ingredients into melted ones, and chill for hours before serving. Or you could whip up a lush, impossibly light mousse in about five minutes, with just two ingredients: chocolate and water.
I’m astounded that this works. But it does.
Oh, hello, cold and flu season. I was wondering when you might show up.
My coworker has a hellacious sniffle. Several of my friends are feverish. The woman standing next to me on the train this morning kept wiping her nose with her hand and then grabbing hold of the handrail. So when I caught myself feeling a little woozy at work and desperate for sleep, I knew exactly what I needed to do.
Bring on the soup!
Whenever I read another food blogger’s take on cacio e pepe–that is, spaghetti with cheese and black pepper–the rhythm is always the same. It’s always about how sometimes the simplest dish is the best measure of a cook’s ability. It’s about how the simplicity of the sauce lets you taste the pasta more fully. It’s about how the simple ingredients and simple preparation combine to make a lovely, thoroughly Italian plate of pasta.
In case you hadn’t noticed, this is a simple dish.
It’s also, at least in my world, the classic example of a sometimes food: a little guilt-inducing, best taken in small doses.
It’s the Monday after Thanksgiving. Chances are, you’re expecting one of two things from this post: a clever use-up for leftovers, or an antidote to last week’s indulgence.
Sorry. Not today.
Today, I’m all about stuffing vegetables with meat. And when I say vegetables, I mean mushrooms. And when I say meat, I mean sausage.
Time for another entry in the list of breakfast foods that don’t have to be sweet:
Don’t get me wrong. Sugary, crispy custard-bread is a fine foodstuff indeed. There’s a tiny roadside diner in Belchertown, Massachusetts that makes a gingerbread French toast I’ll remember for years. But for my money, that’s not breakfast. It’s dessert. It’s bread pudding by another name.
Breakfast French toast, in my book, is bread soaked in scrambled eggs, with enough salt and black pepper to make you sneeze. I love it especially when it’s made with Jewish deli bread: caraway rye or even a good chewy bagel.
Yes, I said bagel.
Guys, I have to apologize. I am about to be a tease.
Just as corn season is ending, I’m showing off a fresh corn recipe. And not just any fresh corn recipe, but one of the most magical and confoundingly delicious things I’ve made in a very long time.
It’s a pudding made from corn–and nothing else.
I know, right?