Remembering the Old and Appreciating the New: Berenjena (Eggplant) en Escabeche

Cooked eggplant

This summer almost killed me.  Yes, more in a figurative way than anything, but it almost killed me nonetheless.  Nearly ten years of life-changing occurrences happening over and over again, almost always in groups of two or more finally culminated this summer in the unholy trifecta of having a baby / selling our house / and moving to a new state in a two-month period.  It sucked.  I won't rant at length on the shock to the system - even for a relatively organized person - that suddenly having three children is, two of them under 2 years of age.  I've finally gotten over leaving our dear Casa Liberace in Denver, the first house we ever owned and the place that our family grew to be what it is today (we closed on Liberace the same day we finalized Alexander's adoption, Roman started kindergarten there, Linus was born into it, our unexpected, miracle baby).  Nothing against Utah, but it may literally be the last place I ever thought I'd live (because things like moving to Alabama or Mississippi are simply too unspeakable to even entertain in the realm of possible "last places you'd ever end up").  And yet, here I am! In a beautiful mountainside town which quite literally lives up to its name of Pleasant View, right smack dab in the (northern) middle of Utah, wrestling with settling into a new house, new town, new society (sometimes it feels like another planet, if I'm being honest) and relearning how to be a mother because this whole three-kid thing is freaking crazy.  So much adjustment. So much newness.

So yeah, this summer almost killed me.

I'll tell you what saved me, though - and it wasn't really any one thing so much as lots of little things: mostly it was remembering the past.  But also appreciating the present.  It helped remembering random things from my childhood - things my parents did for us, things they cooked, and then contextualizing them into the life I have now and the things I do and cook for my own kids.  Those memories and thoughts are infinitely comforting when you're in a new and unfamiliar place and feeling like you pretty desperately need your best friend or mom or sister to come over and listen to you complain, or have a glass of wine, or just hang out and try that new recipe with you.  They somehow shed a new light on the present newness and make it more exciting, because this is, in the end, my family's adventure - the memories my children will one day draw from when they are lonely or homesick too.

In a moment of nostalgia, and to relax in my favorite way (cooking), I decided to make something I knew my family and friends would appreciate if they were around.  Something I'd serve if I could have them over for dinner on a random weeknight, something that was interesting and different enough that it would delight me to immerse myself in it for just a little while, take my mind off all the newness, but familiar enough that it would take me to a place of comfort and company, as all the best food does.

the finished dish

Luckily, just before we left Colorado, Matt's friend and colleague and his wife had us over for dinner. He is French and she is Argentinian and so, needless to say, their food is always delicious.  Apart from the perfectly grilled buffalo meat and watermelon salad and homemade chimichurri, she served a delicious pickled eggplant dish - in Spanish,"Berenjenas en Escabeche." It immediately piqued my interest for two reasons: 1. I remember my family marinating / pickling vegetables in Mexico in a similar way (mostly jalapeños and carrots and cauliflower if I recall correctly) and 2. I don't really love eggplant, but I could not stop eating this one.

It was the most deliciously incredible eggplant I'd ever had. An oily mix of salty and sour and Oregano-y goodness laced with spicy memories of childhood. I had to replicate it as soon as I had a spare minute in my new Utah kitchen.  And so I did.  I'm glad to have a new food I genuinely like.  A metaphor for Utah?  I hope so.

Here's the recipe I settled on. It's a bit of old and a bit of new - just the right kind of comfort food.

*  *  *

Berenjenas en Escabeche

Serves 4-6; two jars worth

"Escabeche" is a marinade of European origin - especially common in Spain and France - that eventually made its way to the new world.  It was and is used to marinate or pickle many things but especially fish and vegetables.  The item is left in the fridge overnight or longer and then served directly from the fridge or at room temperature.  This version obviously uses eggplant but you can substitute other veggies - just make sure that when you cook them, they don't get too mushy.  I'm going to try this treatment on some chicken soon as I found an interesting looking recipe for that recently as well. 

The recipes I drew from were largely Argentinian - much like the friend who introduced me to this dish - so I'm guessing it's common there which is unsurprising given the strong Spanish and Italian influences in Argentina.


Ingredients

1 large eggplant, sliced into short strips about 1/2 inch thick
10-15 bay leaves (whole)
3-4 cloves garlic, lightly crushed (not minced)
1 cup extra virgin olive oil
2 cups white vinegar
2 cups water
1 tbsp dried oregano (Italian not Greek)
1 tbsp crushed red pepper (or the Argentine aji molido if you can find it)
1-2 tsp whole pepper corns (or about 20-40)
coarse salt
2 1-liter jars with lids



Method

1. In a bowl, layer the eggplant, putting a generous amount of coarse salt in between each layer.  Allow it to sit for at least one hour, maybe more.  This draws out the bitterness and extra liquid from the eggplant.  Drain any liquid accumulated at the bottom of the bowl and lightly rinse or shake excess salt off the eggplant.

2. In a pot, bring water, bay leaves and vinegar to a boil.  Add the eggplant and cook, simmering, for 10 minutes or so - until the eggplant is soft and somewhat translucent but not falling apart.

3. While the egpplant is cooking, mix the remaining ingredients as well as salt to taste in another bowl, creating the marinade.  A lot of this depends on your taste - adjust the pepper, red pepper, bay and dried herbs to taste.  That said, I like the quantities listed above :)

4. When the eggplant is cooked, drain about half the vinegar and water, add the marinade and mix well.  Separate into jars, making sure you get bay, garlic and peppercorns into each jar equally and then cover with the marinade.  Refrigerate for at least several hours or, better yet, overnight.  Serve by bringing to room temperature an hour or two ahead of time. 

Serve with: grilled meats or sausages; delicious in a hot pasta dish; use the marinade and chop it up into a cold pasta salad with nice tuna fish; the possibilities are endless!


Please note: This recipe keeps well in the fridge for about one to two weeks but not much longer than that, so use it up!  We did not seal these jars or can this to preserve it so don't keep it on a shelf or try to use it for next summer.  Ain't nobody got time for botulism. :)

The Escabeche

Waxing Nostalgic for Mexico: Quesadillas Fritas Con Ensaladita de Col & Agua de Pepino

Quesadillas Fritas con Ensaladita de Col;
Fried Quesadillas with Cabbage Salad

Some meals bring home the sunshine.  They make me smile, they make me lounge, they make me want to run in the clover barefooted like a little girl.  Some meals make me think of home - when home was mom and dad and sister, half-Spanish, half-English (NOT Spanglish), Texas sunshine, and the smell of lime, cilantro and onions.  In some ways, that still is home - in other ways, it isn't because now I'm the mom.  And it's my sons wreaking havoc and smelling the smells of Mexico that will, one day, bring nostalgia to them.

I made a trip back to Mexico in early April to see my ailing grandmother.  I didn't have much time - just a few days - but I took a moment to smell my grandfather's roses, his lime tree, to walk the market of Queretaro and eat some carnitas tacos at a stand on the street.  I am lucky that here in Denver we live very close to one of the major epicenters of Mexican culture in Colorado: Federal Ave.  There are enough panaderias (menudo on the weekends!), paleterias (they also sell esquites and corn on a stick!), and taco stands (as well as any other variation of Mexican street food) to keep my never-ending-nostalgia for Mexico at a reasonable level.  My son is growing up eating Mexican street food far more often than I ever did.  I can get fresh tortillas, queso Oaxaca (my favorite cheese growing up that my mother and aunts used to freeze and smuggle into the US in their suitcases), and all the Mexican cuts of meat that I need for a good taquiza (taco-grill-out).  Not to mention fresh Nopales.

In that spirit, I want to share a meal I made recently that takes me back to Mexico, to my childhood, but also contains a new Mexican food discovery - one that belongs to my kitchen now - not  my mom's - one that has become Roman's go-to Spring drink, and an indispensable part of my own repertoire of Mexican comfort foods.

the meal

 

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There is this one little taco place called Tacos Junior (it's a chain) near us that we go to almost every Tuesday night after Roman's soccer practice.  He always orders the Tacos de Carne Asada, a cheese quesadilla and rice.  Matt gets a Huarache with Carnitas.  And, besides the ever-rotating list of foods, I always get a fresh "Agua" de sabor - a fruit drink made by blending water, sugar and fresh fruit.

They make them fresh for you per-order and $4 will get you a giant Big-Gulp sized cup of whatever fruity-deliciousness you choose.  I've mentioned these before when I posted a recipe for Agua de Limon a few years back (did mention this Lime shorage is killing me?!).  I almost always get Lime or Watermelon.  Matt always gets Horchata.  But recently I went rogue and tried a new flavor I'd never heard of before but which, on hindsight, is painfully obvious.  Roman's favorite vegetable.  Agua de Pepino - Cucumber water. 

What a waste my life has been!  And no, non-hispanic-American-friends, I don't mean that trendy concoction pushed by the likes of Martha Stewart where you infuse plain water in a fancy dispenser by placing daintily cut cucumber slices and ice into it.  I mean taking a whole damn cucumber and blending it up with water and sugar and lime or lemon juice.  I mean DRINKING a cucumber.  It's freaking incredible.  DO IT.  Spring in a glass, I tell you.  It was the only thing I made for Roman's party last weekend that actually ran out.  People were mesmerized.  Hell, so was I . :)

Agua de Pepino

Makes 2 liters

Ingredients

Large pitcher
1 1/2 -2 cucumbers, washed & very roughly chopped (you can peel them if you want, but I don't)
2 limes or lemons (preferably limes)
1 cup sugar (or to taste)
~2 liters water
Optional variation: fresh mint

Method

1. In a blender with 1 liter water and the cucumbers (and mint if you want it), liquefy until completely....well, liquified. :)  The mix will be somewhat pulpy (which I really like), but should not have "chunks" in it.

2. Meanwhile, combine the other liter of water and the sugar in the pitcher and mix until completely dissolved.  Do not be tempted to add the sugar after the cucumbers or the lime juice - my mother assures me the sugar will not dissolve as the water will already be saturated.

3. Add the lime / lemon juice and mix.

4. Add the cucumber mix to the pitcher (you can pass it through a strainer as you go, if you prefer, but I never do) and mix well.

Serve with ice on a sunny day.

NB: I keep a wooden mixing spoon in my pitcher at all times as the pulp will separate from the water after just sitting for 2 minutes.  You need to mix it each time before serving.  Keep refrigerated and it will last 2-3 days.

 *  *  *

The other half of the meal I want to share is a dish my mother used to make for us.  Fried quesadillas with ground beef, served with a simple lime & cabbage slaw.  You can change the filling for these as you wish, but some typical versions are: chorizo and potatoes, sauteed mushrooms or picadillo.  I took some liberties with my spicing for the ground beef  filling (for example, I like cumin - and coriander - a lot, and my mom hates it), though, technically speaking otherwise, this is my mom's recipe.  The only thing I will say is non-negotiable is the insane, almost-excessive amount of lime and black pepper that goes into the slaw.  I promise you it does not disappoint, especially when eaten with such a rich, fried food.  You can add diced, cooked potatoes to the filling as well.

Quesadillas Fritas & Ensaladita de Col

Serves ~4; Makes 20 Quesadillas

Ingredients

Quesadillas
Canola or Corn oil (for frying)
20 Corn tortillas
1/2 lb queso oaxaca or shredded mozzarella

1/2 lb ground beef or pork
splash of red wine vinegar
1 tsp dried Mexican oregano
1/4 tsp cumin
1/2 tsp black pepper
dash or two of garlic powder
dash of cinnamon (optional)
1 tsp coriander, crushed (optional)
1/2 small onion (white or yellow) chopped
1-2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 - 1 serrano pepper, chopped (or to taste)
salt to taste


Lime-Pepper Cabbage Slaw
1/2 - 3/4 head of cabbage, sliced thinly into long, fine strings
3-4 limes, juiced
1-2 tbsp freshly ground black pepper
salt to taste

Method:

1.  Assemble the cabbage salad and set aside at room temp: Slice cabbage finely into long little strings (not squares or it will be very hard to handle) and place into a serving bowl.  Dress with lime juice and lots and lots of pepper.  The quantity given above is an approximation.  Basically: just a lot of pepper.  Add salt to taste and toss.


2. For the quesadillas: With 1 tbsp oil sautee onions, garlic, pepper.  Add red wine vinegar and deglaze pan.  Add ground beef and all spices and cook-through. Set aside.

3. Heat your oil (about 1-inch high) in a frying pan over medium-high heat (not high eat or the quesadillas will burn).  Meanwhile, microwave the tortillas (wrapped in a paper towel) in batches as you make the quesadillas (about 5 at a time, or however many you think will fit in your frying pan as a batch), for 30-45 seconds, to soften them.  Throw a crumb of cheese or tortilla into the oil and when you see it frying you'll know the oil is ready.

4. You need to work quickly here or your oil will start to burn: Take the first batch of tortillas and, laying them out flat, add some cheese (about 1-2 tbsp worth) plus about 1-2 tbsp of the meat mixture to one half of each tortilla.  When you've assembled them, gently fold the tortilla over and immediately place into the oil.  Be very gentle or the tortilla will break and/or the fillings will fall out of the quesadilla into the oil causing a frenzy of flying hot oil.  Not good.

5.  The oil should be bubbling vigorously around each quesadilla.  (If it isn't, the oil is too cold and you should turn up the heat or your quesadillas will be oil-logged-nastiness.)  Use a spatula to gently press the quesadillas down.  Cook about 1-2 minutes on each side or until golden brown, turning carefully so filling does not spill out.  Remove crispy quesadillas to a paper-towel lined plate and start over by heating the next batch of tortillas in the microwave.


Serve the quesadillas warm or at room temp with a side of cabbage slaw.  I like to also serve with a basic homemade salsa, avocado slices, and extra limes.  I also stuff the quesadillas with the slaw.  Oh, and don't forget the glass of Agua de Pepino.

NB: Do not place quesadillas in an oven to keep warm or they will get tough!  I learned this the hard way! 

¡Buen Provecho!

This post is brought to you by the cheesy throw-back online Spanish-music radio station Matt found and I am addicted to: Rey de Corazones.  And also the hilarious Spanish song from my childhood by Miguel Bose I heard on Rey de Corazones a few weeks back; it's like a hispanic power-ballad about a bandit lover: Amante Bandido.

Homemade Pickles, Rick Moranis, and a Season Called Sprinter.

Successful Pickling Dabblage.

I was caught off-guard by the beginning of Spring this year.  I completely forgot about it, happy to live in my on-again, off-again sun-drenched-quick-melting-snow-filled-Denver-winter for a bit longer, I suppose.  Suddenly, Roman's class was taping paper flowers all over the school hallways and I was being asked questions about possibly acquiring a "blood-drinking plant that eats flies." Roman has an obsession with Venus Fly Traps ever since he caught me recounting to Matt the plot of Little Shop of Horrors a couple of weeks ago as I waxed nostalgic about my own love of Rick Moranis.  I suppose that's as cool as Spring gets for a 4 year-old boy.

Pretty dapper, I'd say.

It doesn't mean I'm not ecstatic to be out of winter, though, as I have been, admittedly, reading gardening books and websites for weeks.

Maybe it's because this is the first year ever when I have a piece of land to call my own, to mold and prune and plant and sow however I want (Matt is strangely happy to follow my lead on the garden, actually).

Maybe it's because I'd like to delay decisions on things like the color of the Wisteria I'll choose, whether or not I'll plant hydrangeas this year (our wedding flower), or what type of grapevines to purchase for our gazebo (learning toward Sauvignon Blanc and possible Merlot or Cab).

It all seems so exciting and overwhelming at the same time.  I should be glad, then, that in Denver one does not actually plant things until after Mother's Day.  Last year it snowed on Roman's birthday (May Day) and apparently that falls within the absolute norm for the high desert country we live in. 

Roman's favorite vegetable.

So maybe this half-way reluctance to usher in Spring is the reason why I've been cooking half-Spring, half-Wintery things the past few weeks. I can't quite commit to grilling yet, and still, I can't quite let go of the barely dormant excitement at fresh squash coming into the supermarkets.  I want to turn away from the winter crops, but I still find myself loading up on grapefruits and the last of the Brussels sprouts.  And maybe all of this is why I was suddenly inspired to make a batch of quick-fridge-pickles yesterday with a bag of mini cucumbers I purchased at Costco.  A warm-weather crop being preserved for winter, just before the summer.  Makes no sense and I don't care. It's not really Spring. And it's not really Winter.

It's Sprinter.

*  *  *

It's Fish Friday - and I'm hoping I can make it through the whole day without eating meat
(a sad, probably heretical ongoing joke between me and Matt).  Last week I accidentally ate a chicken nugget, the week before that I inhaled a breakfast taco with sausage at McDonald's before realizing my heathen ways.  And I still haven't given anything up for Lent, except maybe thinking about Lent.  But today I'm committed!  I went and got some lovely Cod fish yesterday and my plan is to make homemade fish and chips and serve them with homemade tartar sauce and homemade dill pickles.  And since Matt lives in perpetual fear of botulism from my home-made-preserves I decided to make those pickles in the fridge rather than jarring them for the winter to come.  They don't keep as long (they have to be refrigerated) but I don't think we'll have a problem finishing off a 1-quart jar in the next couple of weeks.

Here is the recipe I found and slightly modified from a blog called "Mountain Mama Cooks." Matt thinks they are a bit too sweet (which is odd because they contain no sugar) so my next attempt will be at making SOUR dill pickles.  And here also are the pretty pictures of the pickles that resulted from my 30-minute dabblage in pickle-making.

Happy Sprinter - for those of you who, like me, still haven't fully transitioned. :)

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Quick Homemade Refrigerator Pickles 

Makes a 1 quart jar, tightly packed

 

Ingredients

1/2 head of garlic, unpeeled
5 cups water
2 1/2 cups vinegar
1/8 cup + 1 tbsp pickling salt
1 lb of mini cucumbers sliced in half lengthwise (look for the really thin-skinned ones as they absorb the pickling juice better)
1/2 serrano pepper (or to taste)
1 tbsp dried dill (or 1-2 large fresh sprigs)
1-2 tsp whole peppercorns
1-2 tsp whole coriander seeds
1-2 tsp yellow mustard seed

 
Method

1. Bring water and garlic to a boil.  Allow to boil and cook for five minutes.

2. Add the vinegar and salt and stir until dissolve.  Take off the heat.

3. Sterilize your jar and fill with all the other ingredients, tightly packed and artistically if you so desire.

4. Bring the pickling juice back to a boil and pour into the jar, completely covering the veg and filling to the brim (ideally without burning your hand, as I did).

5. Seal the jar, allow to cool completely, and refrigerate.

These pickles are ready to eat as soon as you like and depending how the intensity of the picklage you crave.  I liked trying them a few hours in when they are still really crunch and taste like a cucumber salad. Today I'll enjoy the more intense pickling flavor and softness that reminds me of Saturdays at the movies in Texas. :)

Culinary Synesthesia: Lobster Tails & Radicchio

Pan fried Lobster tails and Radicchio with oyster mushrooms, grape tomatoes and white rice.

I have to share something I ate last night that kind of blew me away.  It encapsulates the great affinity I have for certain foods because it includes some of the foods I have come to intensely love, but once intensely hated (or, worse, was completely ignorant of).  It is also unique in that all the foods on the plate hold strong emotional ties for me, harkening me back to my days of studying Romance languages and the random but fateful encounter I had with Proust's A Remembrance of Things Past.

I was a sophomore in college set on a Romance Language degree track.  My French teacher, whose name I don't and could never recall, brought up the concept of Proust's Madeleine.  With it, she introduced the idea of Synesthesia - the thought that a smell, sensation or taste can emotionally transport you to a specific time or memory in the past.  The whole notion thoroughly intrigued me and stayed with me, leaving lingering and permanent curiosities about what my own "Madeleines" might be.  Surely for some they are experiences - like riding with the top down in a convertible, smelling someone's perfume, or sleeping with an old blanket.  But surely also, mine must be culinary as I make so much of my emotional attachment to food.

So many foods we eat and love or hate are a question of attachment and relation.  They invoke either distaste and bitterness (literally near-gagging), negative memories (being forced to eat your Brussels sprouts as a child), or a sudden transport back to happy times.  Without expecting it, last night, this plate temporarily became my Proustian Madeleine.  Not that I could eat it every day, nor that it's my favorite dish in the world, but that all its components have meaning, are linked to vivid memories that hold keys to who I am.

It all started with a plate of white rice.  Matt was going to be at a company dinner (no doubt dining on the many-splendid delicacies offered at The Oxford, here in Denver).  I was sick of eating leftovers at home and decided to splurge and buy myself two petite Lobster tails.  From there, I let this recipe and my refrigerator and its shockingly inspired contents guide the way...

*  *  *

Culinary Synesthesia: Lobster & Radicchio

Some of the things I love, and some I loved to hate - until I loved them, of course :)

Ingredient 1: Half a head of Radicchio
The first time I ever tried radicchio was in 1998 in a picturesque Friulian village, at a small bar called - of all the unromantic things in the world! - "Mickey Mouse."  I didn't have much spending money but on occasion I did treat myself to what was one of the few good, edible things at Mickey Mouse (besides their patatine con salsa rossa, of course): An Italian Insalatona.

While I erroneously labored, for quite some time, under the impression that the word was spelled "insalatonna," with the "tonn[o]" at the end referring to the prerequisite tuna fish that the salad at Mickey Mouse was comprised of, I eventually realized that the "tona" part actually denotes an augmentative suffix at the end of certain Italian words.  And in this case, it differentiated this salad as something one would have as a "main course" rather than just a side salad due to its larger size.

The salad was, of course, amazing.  In and of itself it reminded me of a million things: 

- tuna fish in salad recalled my mother's love of tuna salad and my thankfulness that, unlike hers, this one did not contain raw celery (one of my few nemeses) 

- a hard-boiled egg recalled early years spent at my grandmother's house boiling eggs and eating them together

- loose corn kernels brought to mind a simple farmhouse salad I once ate at a dairy in the country in Denmark after a beautiful bike ride

-the simple red-wine-vinegar-and-olive-oil dressing inspired me, as this was one of the first times I'd ever mixed my own vinaigrette, and a lifelong affair officially commenced 

- the "mesclun" that comprised the "meat" of the salad reminded me of my father, who, as a chef, often used to bring mesclun home for us to eat, inspiring unmeasured amounts of awe in me to the tune of - how can we literally be eating leaves?!  The idea of it - of foraging, of food as a part of nature, not just something at a supermarket, seemed too amazing to be true, and never left my mind thereafter.

But also in that amazing salad was a strange reddish purple lettuce, something I'd never tried before, something that went beyond the often euphemized (and often by the British, actually) "pepperiness" of Arugula, or the soft bitterness of Frisee.  It was Radicchio.  And when I took that first bite of it, I absolutely, positively, vehemently hated it.  
I felt wronged.  How could this beautiful salad be sullied by that nasty, unnecessary purple thing?  I diligently went through and picked it all out every time I ever had an insalatona after that.

It wasn't until very recently - about a year ago - that I suddenly intellectually decided that my hatred of radicchio was nonsensical.  How could someone who delights in so many bitter things (Campari, Gin, many wines, and some olives, wasabi, among them), truly hate radicchio?  So I bravely purchased some and decided it wasn't actually bad.

About a week ago I suddenly had a craving for radicchio again after watching an episode of Chopped where it was served up to the judges grilled.  I did some research and found an utterly simple and sensational recipe for Roasted Radicchio and my life was changed forever.

Roasted Radicchio (1 head)
Serves 2

Preheat oven to 450F.
Quarter the radicchio, rinse in cold water, shake off most of the water.
Place on a roasting pan.   
Sprinkle with olive oil, salt, pepper and some dried thyme (very little).
Roast for 15 minutes (or until wilted).  
Serve warm or at room temperature, drizzled with good balsamic vinegar or simply lemon juice.
*For a variation, halve and include a few grape tomatoes.


Ingredient 2: 1 Lb of Oyster Mushrooms 
I have sung the praises of mushrooms before (here and here).  They have always been one of my favorite things to eat.  I admit to often sneaking a raw white mushroom at the grocery store as a child.  But I'd never had Oyster mushrooms until I met Matt's grandmother.  She makes them every time we go to her house for breakfast (yes, sauteed mushrooms at breakfast - my kind of meal).  I don't know what it is about the texture, the combination of flavors, but to me they recall a kind of meat - but better.  I had no idea that in the south of Italy, in the mountains of Campania, for generations Matt's ancestors foraged for mushrooms of a similar quality and texture, and that those mushrooms made up a large and delicious part of their everyday food.   
The other night I decided that some sauteed Oyster Mushrooms - in the perfect state of readiness from Whole Foods to me - would pair beautifully with the roasted radicchio I mentioned above. 

Sauteed Oyster Mushrooms
Serves 2

Separate the Oyster mushrooms (half a pound).
Heat olive oil in a pan (3tbsp or so) and perhaps some butter too.
Add the mushrooms once hot.  Add garlic (3 cloves, minced) and pepperoncino (crushed red pepper, to taste).
Sprinkle liberally with salt and black pepper.
Allow to brown on both sides, tossing occasionally.
Once all wilted and browned, serve warm or at room temperature.
Garnish with a juicy lemon.


Ingredient 3: Steamed White Rice (1 cup)
 As a mother I aspire to pass down my love for rice to my son.  I don't buy brown rice (unless it's a wild rice medley, but that's a story for another day) and I don't like it.  If I'm going to have rice I want it white and I want it steamed (unless I want it Mexican style, in which case I go all out with the Saffron or tomato sauce).
 Every week I make a pot of rice with extra to keep in the fridge.  I eat it at breakfast, lunch and dinner some days.  It is warm, soft and filling, and a wonderful receptacle for so many flavors.
 As a child I loved to eat it with soy sauce.  I had it with Sopa de Frijol (bean soup).  It was presented to me at almost every main meal (and often breakfast too).  Last night, my leftover rice was the perfect thing to soak up all the delicious olive oil and sauces that would come with the radicchio, mushrooms, and lobster tails.  I think my full-proof method of making good white rice is worth sharing.

Steamed White Rice 
Heat a pot on high heat and add the uncooked long grain white rice (2 cups).  
Add 4 cups of water.
Cover and allow to boil.
When boiling, reduce heat to simmer and cover.
Cook for 21 minutes. 
Allow to rest for 5-20 minutes on hot stove.
Serve.


Ingredient 4: Two Petite Lobster Tails
I've written about Lobster at-length before.  It's funny to me that a food I had never really had before the age of 21 has become so closely linked with fond memories for me.  I become nostalgic every time I see lobsters featured in any show or sitting in tanks at restaurants or grocery stores (a rare sight here in Denver).
Yesterday while on a rare visit to the exorbitantly-priced but so appealing Whole Foods in Cherry Creek, I noticed that the petite lobster tails were on sale: two for $12.  Not a bad deal at all.  I snagged two and took them home with visions of succulent crustacean meat dancing inside my head.

After determining that all the previously mentioned iningredients would be part of this ad hoc gourmet dinner, I decided it was too cold to grill the lobster tails like I wanted.  So for the surf part to my already-made turf, I pan-fried the lobster tails (shell-on) in a garlic, crushed red pepper, butter, olive oil and white wine sauce.  I think that's actually enough of a recipe to go on :)  And, as always, I was sadly disappointed with how Lobster tastes when I cook it myself, which only increased the nostalgia for the $4.99/lb days back in the land of Ports.

*  *  *

Voilà : Home, Italy, Mexico and Maine on a plate.

Take that Proust. :)