ετσι ειναι η ζωη: Livin' the good life, Greek-style.

My Frappe: Metrios Me Gala

ετσι ειναι η ζωη: Such is life.

(phonetic: etsee-eeneh-ee-zoe-ee)

This was one of the first phrases I learned from my Notre Dame-North-Carolina-Indiana-Jones Professor upon arriving in Ancient Corinth in 2003.  Such is life.  At the time I was in full Greek-immersion mode, "efharistoe"-ing my way around the picturesque village, downing bowls of avgolemono and living mostly off of homemade wine bought from the little old lady's back room in a tiny village outside of town, that we, naturally, used to store in large, plastic gasoline containers on the front porch.  Life seemed good.  It seemed very good.

When I think back to that brief period on the Peloponesos in the summer of 2003, I recall nothing but the ideal of what life was: hot summer days, the esoteric beauty of piecing together Ancient yellow-limestone Corinthian roof tiles to reconstruct a geometric era temple, of meeting third-generation Pot-shard experts from the local village and watching them apprentice their sons for the same, the views of the peninsula from the top of Acrocorinth (Ακροκόρινθος), that first dinner at the local taverna where I learned how to properly pronounce Moussaka (μουσακά), eating raw garlic by the clove with 20-hour cooked mutton and homemade bread and cheese in the mountains, pathetic attempts at sketching Penteskoufi (a tiny ruined village nestled in a beautiful valley near our house), learning to orient myself based solely on the Isthmus and the surrounding mountains, diving into the impossibly beautiful waters of Perachora on a hot summer day and admiring the bountiful sea urchin next to the ancient Greek ruins of the Heraion (Ηραίο Περαχώρας), eating freshly washed, ice-cold cherries at a roadside restaurant with a view of the ocean and a nice breeze after cruising at indecent speeds in our cooky professor's dilapidated, A/C-less, white Lada, window shopping in modern Corinth while sipping a Greek Frappe (Metrio me Gala, for the record), learning bazouki songs after a giant outdoor barbecue of a whole lamb in a hand-dug charcoal pit, laughing and singing and telling stories late into the night, every single night, with a tiny glass of wine (ποτηράκι) in hand.

I didn't tend to think about the less than ideal aspects of the "good life" in a tiny village in Greece: village gossip - especially about expats and the new "archeology arrivals," constantly changing rivalries between family-owned restaurants and bars which effectively reduce your eating options by 50%, no hot showers - and no indoor showers, for that matter - oh, and no indoor toilets either, no air conditioning (even when it's bitterly hot), being jokingly punished for too much drinking by being forced to climb Acrocorinth while seriously hung-over, a mostly-vegetarian diet (this was particularly painful for me), sleeping in a room with crumbling ceilings and a perpetual fear of rodents, lizards and spiders crawling between your sheets, endless afternoons spent sketching temple blocks on graph paper in a hot room, or even more endless afternoons spent sorting through endless piles of said-ancient temple blocks to catalog and re-sketch them again.  The list goes on.

Still, that summer, like many others I've lived, is one suspended forever in my mind and heart as representing a form of true happiness - the kind built upon utter simplicity and freedom, making it ever-memorable and, in its own imperfection, perfect.  And the one culinary memory that best represents that carefree Grecian summer for me is the Greek Frappé.  I drank them every chance I got.  They were one of the first things I learned to order on my own.  And they hit the spot on a hot, dry afternoon of too much antiquity.

Summer these days is, admittedly, full of neighborhood pools and play dates more than leisurely dips in pristine Hellenic waters, but, one day in June, on a perfect Denver afternoon, I decided to take a moment for myself by making a frappé after almost a year since touching my $13 / can Greek Nescafe.  It transported me immediately.  And reminded me that whether it's the Colorado sun, or the Corinthian heat, summer is summer.  Happy is happy.  And ετσι ειναι η ζωη: Such is life.

*  *  * 

Image credit

To make your own frappé, first, find a Greek grocer near you and purchase this.  Then go to Frappé Nation and check out their real Greek recipe and method.  I prefer mine metrios (2 sugars) "me gala" - with milk.  If you have regular American Nescafe, just add more coffee.

Jolly Good Cranberry-Almond Biscotti.

crispy, crumbly, jolly good.

'Tis the season to be jolly, and never am I jollier than when I am baking.

I have a Christmas party to attend today with a couple of girlfriends and their babies, and when I racked my brain last week for what I could bring that was delicious, appropriate, and relatively simple to make, I quickly decided upon an old tried and true favorite recipe adapted from my favorite baking book: Cranberry-Almond Biscotti.

These Italian "twice-baked" cookies or "bis-cotti" are from the same baking master that brought you my "Best Banana Nut Bread Ever. Period." - Francois Payard. And I would say that both recipes are of the same ilk: dead simple and shockingly delicious. His original recipe is for Pistachio-Almond Biscotti, but I like cranberries and almonds together much more, and I scale down the, IMO, over-the-top amount of anise seeds he uses.

Either way, the biscotti are always a hit because they are not-too-sweet and make wonderful small gifts or favors for any kind of holiday get-together.

If that's not enough reason to be jolly, what is?

* * *

Top 5 Reasons to be Jolly this Christmas
rosey cheeks, jelly-belly and all

5. Mulled Wine
Not only does this Christmas favorite taste good, it generally does the job of making you feel "jolly" pretty quickly. At least I know my version always includes copious amounts of rum in addition to red wine, and everytime I've ever served it at a party it's the first thing to go and the last thing people forget.

There's many-a-something old-fashioned, traditional and wonderful about mulled wine: the aromas, the sweet warmth, the delicate cupping of the mug. Perfect.


4. Baked Goodlies
The holidays are guaranteed to bring the inner baker out in everyone - even those of us that should maybe make a bigger effort to keep it hidden, even now. But, in general this jekyll-hyde transformation is a good thing because it brings us things like mince pies, cookies, brownies, muffins and all sorts of amazing cakes and pies.

I know I'm a professes savor-ite, but at Christmas even I can't keep my grubby little paws off the baked goodlies. :)


3. The Quintessential "Christmas Drink"
It seems to me that Christmas is the perfect excuse to catch up with or finally approach all the people you've neglected during the year. Long-lost friends, silent neighbors, even family members you haven't seen for too long.

And how better to rekindle interaction than over a quintessential "Christmas drink?" How many times do you hear that phrase thrown around in these two weeks of the home stretch?

The Christmas drink: It's not just a pint anymore.


2. Stocking Stuffers
I don't know about you, but I love hunting for fun stocking stuffers. Ironically, we never had stockings growing up (I think in Mexico kids use shoes instead, which we never did either but whatever), but we always got random little gifts that would have been considered "stocking-stuffers" had we had stockings: barbie underwear, bags of Hershey's nuggets, silly little toys, stickers, or trinkets of one sort or another.

This year as a joke, I've bought two bags of chocolate coins which I plan to present to the scrooges of the family (read: men) in little Dickensian-style money-bags. Hey, it's been a rough year for everyone. :) And as Dickens might have once said, it's all "jolly good fun!"


1. The Reason for the Season
I won't go "Papa Ratzi" on you here, but I will say that whether I say it or not, I do think it's a jolly good idea to reflect on the deeper meanings of Christmas. And if nothing else, it makes me happy to be able to once again give thanks for a year well-lived, well-enjoyed, well-eaten up. Amen!

* * *

Jolly Good Cranberry-Almond Biscotti
adapted from Payard's Pistachio-Almond Biscotti recipe

Makes about 20 Chunky Biscotti


pre-slicing and pre-second-baking

I'm not a big "biscuit" person in the American or British sense of the word. But I love biscotti. Maybe it's the Classicist in me, but there is something about the fact that these cookies were originally conceived as durable food for the Roman Army's many legions that I find hopelessly romantic and exciting. Plus, having lived in Italy a couple of times, there are issues of nostalgia to also be dealt with in my psyche, and these biscotti are a quick-fix.

As an added bonus, all Roman wants for Christmas this year is his two front teeth. These biscotti are great teething-biscuits for any little ones who love to or need to gnaw. :)

* * *

Ingredients
3 tbsps unsalted butter, softened
1/2 cup plus 2 tbsps sugar
1 1/2 cups plus 2 tbsps all-purpose flour
1 tsp baking powder
pinch of salt
grated zest of 1 lemon
2 large eggs
2/3 cup slivered almonds
1/2 cup dried cranberries
1/2 tsp anise seeds




Method

1. Preheat the oven to 350F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

2. Combine all dry ingredients including lemon zest in a bowl and set aside.

3. In another bowl beat the butter and sugar on medium speed until combined. Then add the dry ingredients and mix until just combined.

4. Mix in the eggs one at a time, beating well after each one. You may want to use your hands to make the dough come together.

5. Add the nuts and cranberries and work into the dough until just incorporated; do not kneed the dough, just combine.

6. Put on a lightly floured surface and shape the dough into a 12-inch long log. Then place on the cookie sheet and bake for 30 minutes or until the the top is firm to the touch. Don't worry, the log may look thin, but it widens up while baking to give the biscotti their long, traditional shape.

7. Remove from the oven, but leave the oven on. Allow to cool on the cookie sheet for 10 minutes, then slice into thin biscotti with a serrated knife and put back on the cookie sheet.

8. Bake for an additional 12-14 minutes or until biscotti are golden and baked-through-crispity.

Enjoy with a good Italian coffee or a glass of wine for dipping!

A Day of Much Stuffing.

Turkish perfection - stuffed with mushroom delectability.

For two years running now Matt and I have held an early-autumnal feast here in the land of the Pilgrims a weekend or two before THE holy Thursday. It is a chance for us ex-pats to come together with a lot of other ex-pat friends and be thankful and gluttonous. But besides that, it is also a rare opportunity to introduce friends of different nationalities to one of the few, truly identifiably, and uniquely (how many adverbs can I throw in here?) American traditions: Thanksgiving.

It's funny, but this year it seems like almost everyone I spoke to about Thanksgiving in the weeks running up to it seemed to say how much they love stuffing - even to the exclusion of the otherwise obvious main attraction and slang-namesake of "Turkey Day" - that unfortunate and delicious wattle-d animal, the Turkey. Weirdly, I found myself in many an unorthodox Thanksgiving conversation over the past couple of weeks that went something like this:

"Hey, if I don't see you have a great Thanksgiving - and enjoy the Turkey!"

"Oh yeah, the turkey - I will. But actually for me it's all about the stuffing."

or

"So, have you picked up your bird yet?"

"Yeah, we got a big one this year. But what I look forward to every year is the stuffing."

or even

"MAN! That is a big turkey you've got there. You better make sure to leave some room for dessert!"

"Oh don't worry - I never eat much turkey. I am a stuffing kinda girl."


Fine, I made a couple of those up - but really!? Who knew that people were so stuck on the quieter, shyer, uglier cousin of the Thanksgiving star-of-the-show?

I mean, stuffing (or dressing, or whatever you call it!) is not that pretty to look at most of the time, especially if you cook it inside the cavity of the bird. It's brown and crumbly, or even gooey and steamed - so much so that you can slice it! But the secret that most people never talk about is that it has all the stuff in it that delicious Thanksgivings are made of. An understated, unflashy conglomeration of the bits-and-bobs of true Thanksgivingness that is the perfect accompaniment to what should be, in my mind, a simple roast bird.

Yes, yes, yes, Thanksgiving IS all about the sides. I do agree. But no side, in my mind, can come close - if done right (and you can bet your bottom dollar it was done right this year!) - to matching the appeal of stuffing. Onto the list.

* * *

Top Four Reasons To Stuff Yourself This Thanksgiving
with stuffing or whatever else is cooked and within your grasp.
Screw the diet - it's the holidays (again).

4. Corn Pudding
Is it wrong to say that maybe in some bastardized crazy way this time-tested Thanksgiving staple is a shout-out to the Native Americans that so kindly showed the pilgrims how to farm and therefore also metaphorically kindled the embers that one day became the roaring fire of America? Is that so wrong?

Well even if it is, I think you and I know that whatever and whenever and whoever the hell this dish came from, there's a reason it shows up every year and gets eaten to the last Americana-encrusted-crumb every year. We all have our secret recipe - sugar or not, jiffy or not, kernels or not - and we all horde it (for absolutely no good reason) and all these things make corn pudding more than worthy to be on this list of reasons to stuff and be stuffed by the ones you love this Thanksgiving.


3. Cranberry Sauciness - Annual Permission to be Irreverent.
When else can you, in all seriousness, buy cranberries in a can, pop said can open and pour it - IN CAN FORM - onto a small platter and serve straight to guests with applause and glee all around?!
My little sister gets upset if I ever try to mash down the can shape and insists it's part of the Thanksgiving aesthetic. I cannot say I disagree.

And for the record, I like both with cranberry chunks and smooth. Availability of both is ideal for prime-stuffing situations.


2. Turkish (but not really) Perfection
In the painfully adulterated words of Michael Jackson...

"If you'll be my [Turkey] it don't matter if you're [dark] or white."

*awkward drum / cymbal slap*

For those of you who would otherwise avoid dark meat during the year because of its rich, fatty nature, now's the time to indulge. I like chicken legs as much as the next, but there is something perfectly thrilling (and positively medieval) about the size and deliciousness of Turkey legs that deserves a little respect and indulgence, and Turkey day is the night, day, and morning after for said indulgence.

Go on, have a second, or even third helping. Yes, the requisite delicate slices of breast meat should not be neglected (but let's be honest, you drench those in gravy anyway), but neither should the moist, fatty chunks of wing and thigh that we all know we're eyeing anyway. :)


1. Stuffing: The Ultimate Farce

Farce: a comedy which aims to entertain the audience by means of unlikely, extravagant, and improbable situations, disguise and mistaken identity, verba humor of varying degrees of sophistication, which may include sexual innuendo and word play, and a fast-paced plot whose speed usually increases, culminating in an ending which often involves an elaborate chase scene.

Sounds like Thanksgiving at my house pretty much every year around the time that I am trying to take the Turkey out of the oven.

But seriously, I bet you didn't know how sophisticated stuffing really is. According to this article, stuffing was actually called "farce" in the middle ages, which came from the Latin farcire or "to stuff." It is apparently also still called "forcemeat" by some people and only started to be referred to as "dressing" because of the (predictable) snootish propriety of the Victorian upper crust who found it offensive to use the term "stuffing" with reference to their nourishment.

Well now, I think the fact that we can use the word stuffing without fearing that our sensibilities and/or honor have somehow been slighted is as good a reason as any to get on into the kitchen and stuff stuff stuff!

* * *

Truly Delectable Mushroom Stuffing

Serves 10


Roman's First Thanksgiving

This year at our Thanksgiving party I got more compliments on my stuffing than I ever have in my life. Granted, I haven't made stuffing THAT many times, but I've tried as many recipes as I have times I've made it and this was a clear winner. It involves lots and lots of mushrooms, giblets galore (go on, be adventurous!), and a couple of predictable Brenda twists (red pepper flakes, for one) to give it my secret touch.

You've got to cook it in the bird or it just doesn't get that extra buttery, Turkey moistness oh-so-necessary for it to have a truly addictive quality. But if that's not how you roll (and I take great issue with you if it isn't) then go ahead and bake it in a casserole dish, but add a whole lot more liquid in the form of Turkey drippings, stock, shiitake broth, wine or a generous mixture of all. Either way it's guaranteed to have you and your guests "wattling" poetic by the end of the meal.

Ingredients

3/4 loaf stale white bread, chopped into small squares
4 tbsps butter
4 cups chopped chestnut mushrooms
2 cups soaked and sliced shiitakes, broth reserved
2 medium onions, chopped into small pieces (not fine, not coarse)
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 tbsp fresh thyme (or 1 tsp dried)
1 cup dry white wine
2-3 tbsps chopped fresh tarragon
2-3 tbsps chopped fresh parsley
1 tbsps red chili pepper flakes
1 set turkey giblets (heart, liver, kidney, gizzard, neck meat) chopped / shredded finely
1/4 cup shiitake broth
1/4 cup chicken or turkey broth
salt, pepper to taste

our buffet table, waiting to be stuffed

Method

1. Leave your loaf of bread (and I mean normal, sliced bread - not a baguette or the like) out and open for one night so it is nice and stale. Chop into thin slices and then small squares (pretty small actually). Put into a large metal bowl and set aside.

2. Soak the shiitakes in extremely hot water to rehydrate for 20-30 minutes. Slice once cool and reserve liquid.

3. Melt butter in a medium pan over medium heat, then sautee the onion, garlic, and red pepper flakes until translucent. Add mushrooms and thyme; sautee until well-cooked.

4. Increase heat to high and add white wine and leave to reduce until almost all liquid is gone. Season with salt and pepper generously. Remove pan from heat and pour onion-mushroom mixture over bread squares.

5. Add chopped giblets and shredded neck meat to bread mixture as well as tarragon and parsley. Mix well and then season again generously with salt and pepper.

6. At this point the mixture should look like fluffly stuffing. Pour shiitake and turkey broth over it and mix well. The mixture should not be soggy or wet looking.
MAKE AHEAD: Make stuffing night before Thanksgiving; put into ziplock bags and refrigerate until needed the next day.

7. When you're ready to make the turkey, stuff both the main and the neck cavities with the stuffing, and be sure to baste it generously with turkey drippings as the turkey bakes.

PLEASE NOTE: It is safe to bake stuffing in a turkey as long as the turkey and stuffing are both at room temperature before they go into the oven - do not bake stuffing in a bird that is partially or wholly frozen or the heat will not penetrate the stuffing fast enough!

The Fat Italian Part II: The Zabagli-- err,Tiramisù

lady fingers soaked in coffee and Marsala

I don't know what made me believe that it was a good idea to try to make tiramisù with a sick five-month old child and an impending family visit hanging over my head. Roman was in fine finicky form, the house was still only half-way decent, and I had about a million other things to take care of in my half-over day, and yet, I decided to increase the level of chaos in my life by making a somewhat time-consuming dessert that involves lots of dirty dishes, lots of machinery, and lots of messy mixtures. (Hey, you only live once right?)

I was about 45 minutes in to my method. Roman had been ok so far, though he was starting to fuss and punch his teddy bear (never a good sign), and I only had an hour before the dry cleaner closed. I was feverishly whipping the cream to put into the zabaglione and I was, admittedly, getting frantic - but I kept telling myself: only a few steps left before I could start assembly!

I finished whipping with the mixer, grabbed the glass bowl full of cream and started to run to the kitchen island to mix the zabaglione, neglecting the fact in a moment of cranial-gas that I did NOT let go of the plugged in mixer. Yes. I was immediately yanked back by the mixer's chord - cartoon style - and dropped the glass bowl. In slow motion I watched as the glass shattered, the cream splattered, and Roman immediately began to wail. Grande.

a whippedy mess

I had no shoes on and was surrounded by glass shards and covered in whipped cream. Amazingly enough, Roman seemed kind of amused. Realizing that was the last of my cream, I, for one insane moment, asked myself if there was any way I could salvage some of it for the zabaglione and if anyone would notice. Then I slapped myself and surrendered to the reality that not only would I have to run out and buy more cream, I would also have to sweep and mop the entire kitchen and deal with my now hysterical and neglected sick baby before cleaning the rest of the house. Ah, the things we do for culinary dalliances. :)

* * *

In my last post I recounted how I was overcome with culinary rapture upon tasting the Fat Italian's tiramisù and how said rapture prompted me to re-learn to properly to make my own. But first, a bone to pick:

The Picking of a Bone On the
Subject of Pronuncing Tiramisù:

As you may or may not have heard, tiramisù is a running together of a couple of Italian words that translate loosely into "pull / throw me up." The accent is on the last syllable, the "u" and evokes an exclamatory, metaphorical pick-me-up thanks to the chocolate and espresso in the recipe.

I find it really annoying when people mispronounce the name. I'm not sure why besides my tendency to obsess over language and have an admittedly unreasonable sense of entitlement to correct peoples' pronunciation in any language I happen to speak. So get it right or pay the price. There are others like me lurking around this crazy world.

* * *

Having lived in Italy for several years, I'd been taught before, but never bothered to really commit the recipes to memory or write them down, because as a teenager, everyone has something better to do than cook dessert. But now, as an adult, I regretted those fleeting moments of puerile (or should I say "puellile?") forgetfulness. I needed to find a good recipe for tiramisù - one that approximated Fabio's - and it wasn't going to be easy. But nothing great is every easy is it? :) I perused the internet for longer than is appropriate for a woman with a 5 month old baby, and finally came across three versions I thought I could combine to my liking (this one, this one, and this one).


They all had different things I did and didn't like about them but they all helped me refine what I thought would make the ideal Tira. With these things in mind, I set out to create a delicious dessert to serve to my mom and step-dad who would soon be visiting us in London. It was time to quell the zabaglione-eating beast lurking within.

* * *

Top 3 Ingredients for an Ideal Tiramisù

mess included.

3. The Individual Serving Cup.
One of the things that always put me off about tira is having to cut it out of a giant rectangular pan. If the zabaglione-to-lady-finger ratio is to my liking, you always end up with a ridiculous, soggy, soppy mess on the plate. No perfect little square with dusted cocoa neatly sprinkled - not unless you're some kind of magical tiramisu wizard.

The first recipe I mentioned offered up the possibility of individual cup servings, something I'd been toying with, but feared because I didn't know how to change ingredient proportions. Suddenly it was very possible, and opened up a plethora of non-messy, classy-looking serving options that I knew were right up my alley.


2. The Dipping Alcohol of Choice.
Apparently -- and I don't know if I buy this because there's much disagreement on the origins of this dessert -- the original Tiramisù was aimed at children and old people and therefore did not contain alcohol. Sounds pre-tty darn suspicious to me knowing the penchant Italians have for their tasty liqueurs. If they're giving babies wine to try as soon as they're able to eat, why fuss over a couple of tablespoons of coffee liqueur? But I digress...

The Epicurious recipe and the Giada recipe both brought to my attention the fact that as far as tira goes, there does not seem to be any kind of consensus with regards to what alcohol should be used for dipping the lady fingers. Yes, you use coffee, good Italian espresso ideally. But beyond that you generally either combine some kind of coffee liqueur or other alcoholic beverage with the dipping coffee or drizzle it over the lady fingers as you layer the dessert.

Let's examine the choices:

Some say Tia Maria, a Jamaican drink, is best, but personally I can't see how a caribbean coffee liqueur could possibly be authentic. Others advocate for Kahlua, the Mexican version of Tia Maria, older, better known and also, like Tia Maria, owned by that pesky own-it-all Pernod Ricard, this coffee liqueur offers up the same syrupy sweet, coffee-vanilla taste as Tia Maria, but none of the Italian essence I was looking for. Others still suggest rum. While I'm a big lover of rum in desserts, I simply couldn't pass up the last option offered up: Marsala wine. Sicilian, sweet and delicious - it's authentic, a staple in my cupboard, and a great way to spike the lady fingers. If you don't have Marsala in your cupboard -- what the hell is wrong with you? Go get some! RUN!


1. The Zabaglione. Zabaglione. Zabaglione.
If all this yummy-talk isn't a good enough reason for you to get off your toosh and make tiramisù then ZABAGLIONE! is. Not only is it the funnest word to pronounce ever (equal only to besciamella!) - and it's pronounced ZABAHYOWN if you're American, ZABAHLEEOHNEH if you're Italian - but it's also the secret to the delightful deliciousness of tiramisù.

Zabaglione is a sweet, impossibly light, Italian custard, thought to have originated in my favorite Italian city, Venice. It was originally made by beating air into raw egg yolks (though I think people generally do it over a baine marie now) combined with honey, sweet wine and whipped cream or beaten egg whites. These days it is made with sugar instead of honey, and Marsala or prosecco instead of the original sweet wines from Cyprus imported through Venice.

hand-whipping the zabaglione:
the workout to justify the indulgence

Whatever wine or sweetener you choose, I am confident that you will agree that a better more satisfying custard is hard to come across. Zabaglione has a mildly sweet, soft, smooth texture that is anything but gooey and gelatinous (unlike most custards). You won't find this stuff slapped on nilla wafers or poured over a cheap sticky toffee pudding. Traditionally served over fresh figs (they're in season - go for it!), it is far too delicate a flavor for that. Plus, it's too much work to waste on a sloppy product of pop-culture.

Making Zabaglione, like most labors of love, takes a little more effort than the average modern-day semi-homemade deal. Sure, you can pull the mixer out of the cupboard for the job and whizz it out in 2 minutes, but why do that when you can, in true Italian-casalinga style slave over a semi-hot baine marie and whip it by hand? :) Hey, if nothing else, you can truthfully complain about the work and sacrifice it took to put dessert on the table. Anything for a couple of extra brownie tiramisu points, right? :)

* * *

This Fatty's Version of the
Fat Italian's Tiramisù

Serves 6

the art of tiramisu-ing

So you've decided to try out this recipe - no doubt you've shopped around for other ones too. Well, I hope my couple of pointers have convinced you already that mine is head and tail above the rest.

Other thoughts: I tried making my zabaglione with egg whites and then another time with cream - the egg whites give it too much of an eggy taste. I do not recommend it. The cream, on the other hand, gives it a subtle, much lighter richness. If you're a cream lover like me, you'll understand.
Also, get good semi-sweet cocoa powder for this. It gives the whole thing a more grown-up taste and cuts the sweetness of the zabaglione.

Lastly, if you're looking for something that will impress without TOO much fuss, this dessert is perfect for a dinner party. It has to be made ahead of time and chilled and the flavors actually meld better the longer it is kept in the fridge (though I wouldn't recommend keeping it for longer than 3 days). It is easy enough to dust fresh cocoa powder on each cup when you're ready to hand them out and nobody will be the wiser.

Serve with freshly made espresso (Illy, of course) and sink into a delightful, temporary, zabaglione-induced coma. You'll thank me and the other fatty for it. :)

Ingredients
1 cup brewed espresso, cooled

2/3 cup Dry Marsala Wine (or coffee liqueur of choice), separated into two 1/3 containers
4 large egg yolks
5 tablespoons sugar, divided
1 1/2 cups mascarpone cheese, room temperature
1 cup chilled heavy cream
12 soft ladyfingers (savoiardi biscuits) cut in half
unsweetened or semi-sweet cocoa powder for dusting

6 1/2 cup containers (coffee cups or ramekins work well)

Method

1. Mix the cooled (freshly brewed) espresso and 1/3 cup of Marsala Wine and set aside in a small bowl. Have ready the six 1/2 cup containers you will be using.

2. For the ZABAGLIONE!
Over a baine marie (double boiler, look it up!) with barely simmering water, with a whisk (or electric mixer, if you must), beat the egg yolks with 4 tablespoons of the sugar in a metal bowl, until the mixture has tripled volume (4 to 5 minutes). Remove from heat and fold in the mascarpone gently, until fully combined.

Mixing the egg yolk mixture with the mascarpone

3. In a glass bowl, with an electric mixer on high speed and clean beaters, beat the cream with the remaining 1 tablespoon of sugar until stiffish peaks form. **Do NOT overbeat the cream or it will not mix well into the zabaglione!!!** Lightly fold into the mascarpone mixture.

peaks that are stiff :)

4. Snap or cut the lady fingers in half to fit the six containers. Dip the sliced ladyfingers, 1 at a time, into the espresso. Line the bottom of each container with one lady finger (two pieces).

5. Spooning generously, cover the lady fingers with approximately 1/4 cup of the mascarpone mixture.

6. Repeat steps four and five once more, making another ladyfinger and mascarpone layer in each container.

7. Sprinkle with cocoa powder and leave in the refrigerator to set for at least 3-4 hours and up to 2 days. Serve cold.

zabaglione-y goodness

Business in the Front, Party in the Back: Red Mullet Madness

The only "tasteful" mullet out there: the red mullet.

Inspired by a previous entry which, only in passing, referred to one of my favorite "mulleted men," and the fresh summer weather, I have decided to devote a post to all (or as many as I can think of) my favorite and, IMHO, the most noteworthy of mullets.

First off, no, I don't know whether "mulleted" is a technical term, but I'm going to continue using it, and if it catches on, I'd like to take full-credit. :)

Secondly, in writing this entry I also came across several sites I find worthy of passing on (mainly because they are borderline disturbing):

Mullet Madness: Where terms like "Tennessee Tophat," "Kentucky Waterfall" and "Canada Passport" are thrown around with respect and knowledge.

Rate My Mullet: Where real people go to have their mullets rated. (Seriously?)

Mullet Junky: If you can make it past the introductory warnings about being a true lover of mullets, you'll enjoy the pics. My personal favorite is the "Animull."

Finally, and most tastily, today's recipe is inspired by the madness of the mullet. As mullets go, my favorite by far is the Red Mullet, or a delicious little red fish once regarded as a delicacy in antiquity and still prized as a good catch today around the Mediterranean. It is also known as the "Woodcock of the sea" because its liver is considered an especially delicious treat left in the fish when cooked, unlike most other fish where all innards are removed (why the term "woodcock" would refer to that is beyond me, but I'll just roll with it and pretend I understand).

* * *

My Top 10 Favorite Mulleted Men Out There
(or the ones that come to mind, anyway)

because, apparently, you're never too rich, too famous, or too talented to go there

10. The guy on the Mungo Jerry video.
Yeah, THAT guy.


9. Jerry Seinfield
Like it or not, that definitely qualifies. Sorry Jerry, your hilarity cannot excuse the shameless weirdness of your hair. And yet, you own it. I salute you for that.


8. Andre Agassi
I bet you forgot about that one eh? And if you didn't, then admit you at least tried to (God knows he did). Now that I see it again, I feel like he kind of resembles an elf in the Lord of the Rings. Odd.

7. Patrick Swayze

Hot. Sexy. Sweaty. Patrick was all this and more. And let's face it, we all had "the time of [our] life" watching that mullet spin as Baby got tossed in the air. That fact cannot and will not mask the reality that Patrick had a mullet. Worse than that reality, however, is the reality that we all loved it and wanted to grind with it - err, him. :)


6. Angus McGyver
Nothing do-it-yourself about this professional-grade mullet.




5. Chuck Norris
This just confirms two things: a) that Chuck Norris is nasty looking in every way imaginable and b) that Chuck Norris is so much of a badass that even with a mullet people still devote time to writing long lists about why Chuck Norris is a badass.


4. Michael Bolton
"For my money it doesn't get any better..." than Michael Bolton's mullet. :) I'm not ashamed to say I am a fan of that "no-talent-ass-clown's" music too. Bonus points for the mullet a) being curly and b) for him being half-bald. Both things add to the "grotesque aesthetic" I believe this gets categorized under.


3. Slater on Saved by the Bell
Sexy Latino Mullet? Check.
Amazing how he looks incomplete without it and the trademark ringlet curls covered in gel that used to flop around tantalizingly while he did his signature dances wearing MC Hammer pants...


2. Billy Ray Cyrus
This definitely gets the prize for nastiest mullet of all. A couple of issues contribute to this: the length and yet ratty thinness of his mullet, combined with its high ratings on the "ubiquity of the mullet" scale. Billy flaunted his party like nobody's business. Sorry Billy, you broke my achey breaky heart when you cut that thing off.


1. Romanorum Master of the Forum
Yes, you read right: shockingly enough, my own darling-of-an-offspring is currently sporting a mini-mullet of sorts. Certain other-halves insist we should not cut it off because it's his baby hair. I sometimes have to reference mulleted man number 2 on this list for Continental Europeans to understand what I mean by the term "mullet."
That fact alone is starting to get the old husband to admit perhaps it is time hair met steel...

My favorite mulleted man; 3 days old and rockin' it.

* * *

Baked Red Mullet with Oregano and Garlic
in the spirit of delicious mullets

Serves 2

Red Mullet to me is a summertime fish. Bright, red, and delicately tasty. It's best when small, so serve two small ones per person or one medium sized one. The skin is thin and not too fishy, and if you're brave of heart, eat the liver too.

Because the red mullet was popular among the Romans, I've invented a recipe as a small ode to my favorite ancients. It uses oregano, a very mediterranean herb and white wine (a little nod to Bacchus there ;) ), and is perfect on a warm and dusky summer eve, with a dewy glass of pinot grigio and the ripest of tomatoes in the mix...

Ingredients
3-4 small to medium red mullets, gutted, cleaned and scaled (with tail intact - head too if that's how you roll)
3-4 bay leaves, preferably fresh
3-4 cloves garlic, peeled and minced finely
4-5 tbsps (a handful) of fresh oregano, finely chopped
1/2 cup dry white wine
4 tbsps good olive oil
1 lemon, juiced and zested
salt and pepper to taste

Procedure
1. Preheat oven to 190°C (375°F) and take out a large oven-proof casserole dish or baking pan.
Lay two layers of foil in the middle of the casserole dish and create a "pouch" with sides raised, so mixture will pool around the fish.

2. Place the fish in the ovenproof dish, within the open foil pouch, about an inch or two apart. Salt and pepper the fish on both sides, and inside and place a bay leaf in the cavity.

2. Mix the oil, garlic, lemon juice, zest, wine, oregano and 1 tsp of salt together in a bowl and allow to sit for 10 minutes or so.

3. Spoon the mixture over the fish evenly. Salt and pepper again over the mixture.

4. Bake for 20 - 25 minutes, or until the mixture looks browned and the fish is tender.

Serve with white rice and a nice zucchini and tomato bake with feta sprinkled on top!

feta-y-goodness :)

Bibliophilia and Its Merits

Dickens' David Copperfield:
aesthetically pleasing for more reasons than one.

* * *

"Books are like a mirror.
If an ass looks in,
you can't expect an angel to look out."

Arthur Schopenhauer

* * *

I can almost always remember where and why I bought a book I love.

In the case of H.G. Wells' The History of Mr. Polly, for example, I was at Chelsea & Westminster Hospital in London for an antenatal appointment last November. I can't remember what charity organization it was, but they had set up a used book sale in the middle of the hospital's atrium, and while I waited I perused the titles, hoping to find something exciting to give Matt as a Christmas gift. I left that day with several good books - many of them old, worn copies of European Classics. I knew Matt would enjoy them for their aesthetic value just as much as their content, a bibliophile to the end.

The books I purchased included:

1. The History of Mr. Polly by H.G. Wells; hardcover, green canvas binding with the original light blue dust cover in perfect condition. Published: 1940

2. Old Goriot by Honore de Balzac (English translation); hardcover, navy blue canvas binding with the original ocean blue dust cover and a plastic sleeve over that. Published: 1963.

3. Death in Venice & Other Stories by Thomas Mann (English translation); soft cover, Penguin Modern Classics edition with attractive browning of pages. Published: 1971

4. David Copperfield (our 2nd copy; I couldn't resist the color) by Charles Dickens; hardcover, lime green canvas binding with no dust cover but a hand-written dedication from a headmaster to a school boy in 1948 on the inside cover. Published: No date indicated.

* * *

"The pleasure of reading is doubled when
one lives with another who shares the same books."

Katherine Mansfield

* * *

Matt and I love to read. Granted, Matt takes it to a whole new level. He spends almost every single available non-working, waking moment with his nose stuck in a book: on the tube, on vacation, on the weekend, after dinner, before dinner, when I'm asleep, while I'm distracted doing laundry. As a child, he was the kid whose parents threatened to "take his books away" because he wouldn't go to sleep. I am an occasion-binge reader. I read very randomly and for very random reasons. I find the oddest of books in piles at the Salvation Army and make them my own. My choices are based on whim rather than planned, academic order (like Matt's), and sometimes I go for weeks without picking up a book. Yes, I like to read - no, actually, I love to read - but Matt and his books have a relationship even I can only admire from afar.

For this particular reason, I debated purchasing these four books for Matt that November day at Chelsea & Westminster. Not because I doubted he'd read or like them, but because we came to this country with about 10 books we couldn't live without or hadn't yet read (the other several hundred being holed up in boxes in a Connecticut barn with the rest of our adult possessions) and now, two years later, have nearly 100. Matt and his insatiable habit coupled with my love for old books and random book sales are going to make moving back to the US a pretty interesting and expensive prospect.

Non-book people don't get it. I had a friend come over the other day and say: "Wow you have so many books. I just go to the library so we don't have to keep them around the house." Somehow, I think she missed the point behind why we have books we have. They are not a burden, but rather a physical manifestation of the experiences and self-taught lessons we've shared over the past two years. It always shocks me when people don't share or understand that passion. Then again, sometimes I think Matt would rather give up a vital organ than get rid of his book collection, which is a little extreme.

But, I have to admit, when it comes to certain books, I'm right there with him. :)

* * *

Bibliophilia and its Merits
thoughts on collecting and admiring books


one of our bookshelves in London

4. The Aesthetics of Book Collecting
We love to keep books around the house for many reasons - some practical, some emotional, and some purely aesthetic. I see nothing wrong in feeling that having a book collection gives a room or even a home a certain je ne sais quoi (ok fine, an air of "refined intellectualism" - but I say that in the least pretentious way possible!).

When Matt and I first began sharing an apartment in NYC, one of the things I loved the most was his book shelf and the way he'd organized it. It's not done alphabetically or by color, as some would prefer, but rather by subject and genre, depending on what we have more of. For example, back in NYC we had an entire section devoted to my Greek Philosophy and Architecture books and Matt's Latin Classics from our college days. Here in London, Matt has a section just for his collection of books on Political Theory and dictators and I have my section for romantically-ratty used but classic British novels.

I love to look at the way they are organized - different heights, widths and sizes mish-mashed together. Some upright, some stacked horizontally to break up the monotony. Plus you can usually tell what we've been reading based on the dust covers hovering at the tops of book piles or the occasional empty space.

On the whole, I would dare say our bookshelves are some of the most aesthetically pleasing sections of our apartment. And that's a lot to say for someone obsessed with aesthetics.


3. They All Tell a Story. Pun Intended.
In addition to being nice to look at, smelling good, and offering a wide variety of interesting textures based on binding, books we keep at home all tell a story. Not the one they have inside, but the one about where they were bought, for whom, by whom and for what purpose. Some books remind me of my time in Italy, of my days at University, of a random train ride or a cloudy day at home when I was sick. Some books are gifts I treasure dearly and some I actually even consider pieces of crap I'd rather never touch again (but I keep them anyway because what's life without a little crap to appreciate the good times by?).

Some books take me back to wonderful, enlightening lectures, to intellectual or emotional epiphanies, to rites of passages and days spent reading outloud for no other reason than wanting to be together. Some books have voices, faces, even hands that I can remember vividly. And some are simply books with lives and stories waiting to unfold in a future filled with continued curiosity and new experiences. Promises waiting to be made and days waiting to be lived. I find it delicious to be able to see and feel all this simply by walking into the living room.


2. Wooing with Books: Unorthodox but Effective.
Wooing with books is something Matt and I openly indulge in. Or maybe it's something I indulge in with Matt. Whenever I need to buy him a gift I can't help but feel compelled to buy a book that imparts a thought, a philosophy or a funny passage I know he would like or I'd like to share with him. There has been many a time that I have vicariously lived through my favorite characters and their stories as Matt read a book I gave him. I can think of nothing more romantic (well, maybe not nothing) than sitting down and having a really good, interesting, in depth discussion about a book with my husband. It's one of the reasons I found him attractive when we met, and I find that even now, past our school days, it's one of the more intense glues that holds our relationship together.

We read very different books, but through our distinct tastes and interests, we educate each other. I don't think I'd ever want to spend my time (much less my life) with someone who wasn't interested in constantly learning new things and thinking new thoughts.

It's an unorthodox but highly effective way to woo, IMHO.


1. A Good Book really is like an Old Friend.
One of the final reasons we love books is that they unconditionally and unconfinedly (is that a word?!) offer an entrance or an exit. Whether it's reading the content of the book itself or simply flipping through inner-covers to read heartfelt dedications, books are a way to transport without transporting.

Whenever I buy a book for someone, I make it a point to write when, where and why I've bought it in my dedication. If the book is for myself, I write my name the date and where I read and bought it. It always shocks and delights me to look through these tidbits of information and recall where I was and with whom when I read the gory details of American Psycho or fell in love with Rilke's prose-poetry.

And the best part is, opening a good old book is like coming home. All dog-ears, underlined passages and random bookmarks (business cards, restaurant receipts, flower petals and even bits of packaging) bring an old friendship back to life. That's something I never get tired of. And it makes me happy to dream of the pretty library we'll have one day (when our possessions aren't littered around the globe) where I can sit and meander through a crowd of familiar authors, characters, and locales - my life's journey all in one room.

The nerdy but awesome Classical /
Medieval book labels I got for Matt

* * *

"Until I feared I would lose it,
I never loved to read.
One does not love breathing."

Harper Lee

In Hopes of Spring Day 5: A New World Order - Green Lasagna

Green. Ides of March. Cute graphic. Need I say more?
Image credit, um, I think.

It was exactly 2053 years and 1 day ago in 44BC that (Gaius) Julius Caesar was assassinated by members of his own senate in ancient Rome. That day, unbeknownst to the cunning but well-meaning senators desperate to have their Republic back from the dictator perpetuo as Caesar had proclaimed himself, would live on in collective history as the beginning of a New World Order. (Sorry, had to include the gratuitous HOT photo of Ciarán Hinds as JC from the HBO show Rome.) Photo credit.

A "New World Order" because rather than giving power back to the senate as Brutus and Cicero had hoped, Caesar's death actually quickly catapulted Rome into the infamous and thereafter permanent Empire led by, ironically, Caesar's adoptive son (& nephew) Augustus Caesar, who did keep the senate in place, but more as a courtesy than anything else. Rome was forever altered. We were forever altered.

Similarly, yesterday, on the Ides of March, I thought it wise to attempt something almost as daring, as life-altering as the assassination of one's dictator in the name of Democratic, or in this case, technically, Republican liberty: a new lasagna.

A - dare I? well, yes, because I did - GREEN lasagna.

* * *

My Accidental Assassination of Traditional Lasagna for the sake of The Republic
or, A New World Order - Green Lasagna
or, where did it all go so terribly wrong right?

It all started one day a couple of weeks ago as I was watching Ina Garten's Food Network show The Barefoot Contessa.

A small aside:

1. What the hell is with that name? (Not hers! The show's! Though yeah, Ina? What is that?) I admit, I do find it somewhat aesthetically pleasing - the image of a beautiful contessa walking barefoot through an herb garden and cooking delectable meals from simple, elegant ingredients. But then the show starts and you see...well, Ina! No offense, she's a pretty and well-put-together lady, but come on - a "barefoot contessa" she is not.

2. I'm all for using real butter and real cream - but I find Ina, as fearless culinary leaders go, tends to be somewhat exaggerated in her use of both. Whatever - I still make her recipes. :)

End Small Aside

So, as I was saying: I was watching The Barefoot Contessa and happened to catch the episode where she makes a mushroom (vegetarian) lasagna for some girlfriends. I am and always have been completely in love with mushrooms, and in this episode she actually purchases the loveliest of Oyster Mushrooms (my FAVORITE) for the dish, so I decided to make it. Sadly, upon searching for the dish, I found she wussed out of including the oyster mushrooms ("too expensive" "too hard to find" I imagine - they are neither, btw) and entitled the dish Portobello Mushroom Lasagna, which I adapted for my recipe.

my darling oyster mushrooms!

It may have been a Freudian slip or just an accident, but I also somehow ended up with a box of Green (Spinach) Lasagna in my pantry this week. I meant to get normal stuff, but no, I got Egg Lasagne Verdi instead, made from durum wheat and egg "for a richer taste" apparently. At first I was a little upset about this mishap, but I soon got over it when I realized this would allow me to create the perfect Springtime meal: GREEN Lasagna!

Green lasagna? Who knew.

But suddenly, my mind was flooded with would-be problems: It would be highly unorthodox on my part - a risk. What if the pasta was nasty? What if green lasagna just didn't look aesthetically pleasing? What about good old regular meaty lasagna? Would I be able to go back to ground beef after tasting the nectar of the gods - aka, the oyster mushroom filling mixture? Like Brutus and Cicero before me, I threw caution to the wind. It was time for a regime change and by God, I too would be stabbing the proverbial heart of the traditional (but nevertheless culinarily dictatorial) lasagna if that's what it would take.

I judged correctly, unlike the senators. Green Lasagna was a hit:
It was revolutionary enough to fit consumption on the Ides of March. Green enough to satisfy my kermit-esque obsession. Yummy enough to satiate Matt's belly. And a priceless opportunity to say the word "BESCIAMELLA!" (BESH-A-MELLA!) in an exaggerated Italian accent for the rest of the day, as this recipe requires you make your own. What else can a girl ask for?

* * *

Brenda's Green (Mushroom) Lasagna

Serves 6-8

Ingredients
3/4 lbs (350-400g) Dried Egg Lasagna Verdi (Spinach)
1 cup Parmesan cheese, freshly grated
1 1/2 cups shredded mozzarella cheese (optional)

For the bechamel:
3 cups whole milk
1 stick butter
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1 tsp black pepper, freshly ground
1 tsp nutmeg, freshly ground

For the mushroom mixture:
good olive oil
1/2 stick butter
1 tsp or so dried thyme
1 shallot, minced
2 cloves garlic, minced

1/2 to 1 tsp crushed red pepper, or to taste

salt, to taste
1 1/2 lbs mushrooms, a mix of oyster, chestnut and white



Procedure
1. Preheat oven to 275 F or 160C.

2. For the Bechamel Sauce (BESCIAMELLA!) Add 1 stick of butter to a medium pot; once melted add the flour and mix vigorously over medium heat, not allowing the mixture to burn, until well-combined. Then add the milk, salt, pepper and nutmeg and mix continuously with a whiskuntil the sauce is very thick and tastes right. Set aside.

3. Bring a large pot of salted water to boil with a good splash of olive oil in it. Once boiling, add pasta and cook as directed. Drain and set aside.
NB: I'm not kidding when I say LARGE pot and I'm not kidding when I insist you add olive oil. A small pot with no oil will result in lasagna which sticks together, cooks unevenly and is therefore unusable. Don't go there.

4. Meanwhile, chop the mushrooms. For the chestnut and white varieties, chop them into pieces about 1/4 inch thick. For the oysters, chop roughly LENGTHWISE. Leave the small ones in tact.

5. Add remaining butter and another good splash of olive oil to a pan. Once melted over medium-high heat, add the shallots, garlic and crushed red pepper to taste. Sautee for a minute or two and then add the chopped mushrooms and thyme. Salt and pepper to taste. Allow mushrooms to cook through and sautee until golden (5 minutes or so).

6. Assemble the lasagna. In an oven-proof, rectangular dish make layers as follows:
- Some besciamella!
**- Some pasta
- Some more besciamella!
- Some mushrooms (roughly 1/3)
- Some mozzarella
- Some Parmiggiano!

Repeat 3 times from ** and end with a layer of BESCIAMELLA! and then cheeses.

7. Bake for 45 minutes; if the top is not golden enough, put it under the broiler for an extra 3-5 minutes. Allow it to rest for 10-15 before serving hot with a delicious and simple salad made by your obliging husband. :)

Buon Appetito!