Please Remind Me Who I Really Am - Latknishes, aka Mashed Potato Cakes

Oh oh oh, there's a place that I know

It's not pretty there and few have ever gone
If I show it to you now
Will it make you run away?

Or will you stay
Even if it hurts
Even if I try to push you out
Will you return?
And remind me who I really am
Please remind me who I really am

Elliot and Cindy Osher

(Warning: If you're not in the mood for existential blah-blah-blah, scroll down to the recipe. If you are in the mood for philosophical whining, keep reading.)

Cindy Morris (And to think those eyeglass frames are "in" again)

I've been trying to find myself for over 60 years. Who am I?  Good question.  I was born Cindy (no middle name) Osher, but in May, 1962, she ceased to exist when she (me) was adopted by my maternal grandparents. Then in May of 2013, she was resurrected.  Back from the dead, although you still can't get her birth certificate, the one that gives her parents' names as Joyce Nathan and Meyer Osher.  But you can get a birth certificate for her doppelgänger, Cindy (still no middle name) Morris, whose parents happen to be Beatrice Albert and Hyman Morris. Then on October 20, 1974, while waiting to walk down the aisle to become Cindy Rothfeld, my father, with tears in his eyes whispered, "Goodbye, Miss Morris."

Cindy and Robert Rothfeld

Pop always was a sentimentalist, and I'm sure he had no idea that less than a year later, I would go back to being Cindy Morris.

Cindy Morris, again

On April 30, 1978,  I remarried Robert, but decided to keep my maiden name at work. Which thoroughly confused a very dear lady who sometimes answered my telephone, and who for years, had told callers that this was "Miss Morris' wire."  She knew that I remarried my first husband, but wasn't going to use my married name at work, which somehow equated to her telling callers that this was "Mrs. Morris' wire."  I did tell her, gently, that Mrs. Morris was my mother, but she never did get it straight, and after a while I gave up and became "Mrs. Rothfeld."  Since she was an old-fashioned dear, this might have been her intention all along.  The marine insurance industry was not tainted by the least bit of feminism back then.  There were only two female average adjusters in the whole world, and no females working at an executive level.  It was even worse in London, at Lloyd's, where all marine insurance was ultimately connected.  Never mind that a year after I remarried, Margaret Thatcher became the Prime Minister of Great Britain; that was fine for the British Empire, but not for the Marine Insurance Division of Lloyd's of London.  Or Alexander & Alexander.  Or the American Hull Insurance Syndicate.

Robert and Cindy Rothfeld, Take Two

How did I get off on this topic? Well, that glass ceiling was part of the reason Mrs. Rothfeld went to law school in 1987.  After 3 1/2 grueling years (I worked full time), I graduated, mirabile visu!   When asked what name I wanted to appear on my diploma,  I realized that I wanted to honor my father, Hyman Morris, who had  passed away in 1983 and who would have been immeasurably proud to know I made it through law school. Enter stage left, Cindy Morris Rothfeld.  She's the one who took the Florida Bar exam and who was admitted to practice in Florida and before the Supreme Court of the United States, and she's the one who has a passport.

Cindy Morris Rothfeld at Children's Legal Services, 2012

Cindy (finally has a middle initial) M. Rothfeld is the one that signs pleadings and has appeared in court before some good and not-so-good and even the occasional godawful judges.  (One day - not today! - I'm going to indulge in a full-fledged, no-holds-barred, names-will-be-named judges rant, covering 23 years and four different counties.  Let me just say that I have personally met two U.S. Supreme Court Justices, and had the thrill of being admitted to practice before that Court during a ceremony in which all nine Justices were on the Bench.  Each and every one of the Justices was incredibly kind, and more importantly, respectful to everyone seated in their Courtroom.  Having experienced that, and also having heard Antonin Scalia tell a small group of us that Supreme Court Justices were just like regular people, and still had to put their pants on one leg at a time, I want to throw this question out there to those Florida judges who have been an embarrassment to the Bench and the legal profession: Who the hell do you think you are?  What part of "Professionalism Demands Courtesy" don't you understand?  Do you really think that a courtroom is the right place to exercise your pitiful little egos?" )

Third Place Winners at Moot Court Competition, 1990. I was still Cindy Rothfeld, and he is  Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia.  We were both thinner then.

Cindy Morris Rothfeld with The Notorious RBG and Cory Rothfeld, 2003

Cindy M. is the one who is winding down after a long career.  She's getting ready to rest on her laurels.  Soon she will become a living memory, not all that different from Cindy Osher.  She's there, she'll always be there, just not necessarily accessible.

The resurrected Cindy Osher with Cousin Steve Schneider, 2013

His mother and my father were siblings.  Osher siblings!  There you go ...

Now, that Cindy Osher chick is the one who is hoping to plan the First Ever Family Road Trip to Brooklyn.  She is honing to meet with a whole bunch of Osher relatives, establish family bonds, break bread together, that sort of thing.  Cindy Morris is going to tag along to hopefully see friends from high school and college and friends from the days of the glass ceiling. Cindy Rothfeld will be there as well, waving her baton and playing Pavel Chekov to Robert's Hikaru Sulu.

Cindy Osher Morris Rothfeld Morris Rothfeld née Osher

Are you following this?  I know that there are times my writing is a bit esoteric, and my mental meanderings are being understood by maybe five other people.  But I do not think it is unusual for People of a Certain Age to ask these questions: Who was I - Who am I - and, Who will I be?  That's the tough one, for me at least.  I know that I came out of the crucible of law school a completely different person.  I had a plan, a purpose, and the confidence to move forward on it.  But that was almost 25 years ago.  That law school graduate, along with the overachieving workaholic she became, is gone forever.  Thanks to fibromyalgia, I couldn't get her back if I wanted to. And I don't want to, because after Bethe died in 2013, I came to realize that overachieving workaholics do not necessarily live long and happy lives. (Perhaps it was also no coincidence that the same day Bethe died, the supervisor announced that she was reassigning paralegals to different attorneys, and that a partnership that had worked with the utmost success since 1996 was being destroyed for no good reason at all.  Having your heart ripped out twice in the same day is too much for even the strongest among us.)

I do go by one other name: "Mom"

Many years ago, a friend and colleague of mine found his practice had been negatively (and perhaps unfairly) impacted by a case in which he represented someone who had committed an unspeakable crime.  But this is a small community; emotions ran high, and memories are long.  After the dust settled a bit, he surveyed the damage, and said, "Well, I guess I'll just have to reinvent myself."  And he did, quite successfully, going on to hold an important position doing important work.  But I've had to reinvent myself too many times over the years, and I'm running out of ideas.  Then again, I'm the Navigator, so I suppose I'll eventually find where I'm supposed to be heading.

Is this what Frank Sinatra meant when he sang "I'm in the autumn of my years?"  Food for thought, and speaking of food, my big cooking plan is to make an enormous choucroute garnie, and serve these potato cakes on the side.

So I came across a recipe for something called a mashed potato latke, which caught my interest because such a thing cannot exist.  A mashed potato cake is not a potato latke anymore than Chicago deep dish is a pizza.  I reworked the recipe from scratch, and came up with something delicious.  It tastes like the inside of a good knish, and it's fried in oil like a latke.  But it's NOT a latke.  Make no mistake about that.

Latknishes

4 large potatoes, peeled, cut into cubes
6 tablespoons chicken schmaltz, butter, or a combination
1/2 cup sliced green onions, green parts only
kosher salt and ground black pepper
1 egg
6 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/4 cup griebenes (optional)
canola oil for frying
additional flour for coating the potato cakes

Boil the potatoes in salted water until done, about 20 minutes.  Drain well. Mash together with the schmaltz and/or butter.  Don't fret if there are some lumps.  Lumpy mashed potatoes, like bow ties, are cool.  Stir in the green onions, salt, and pepper.  Let the potatoes cool down, and then add the egg, stirring  constantly until it is fully combined.  Stir in the 6 tablespoons of flour, then cover and refrigerate for several hours or overnight.

When ready to fry, heat the canola oil in a skillet over medium-high.  Form the potato cakes by using a medium sized ice cream scoop; gently drop the scooped potatoes onto some flour; flatten with a fork dipped in flour, then carefully turn and repeat. Immediately slip the potato cakes into the oil; lower the heat to medium. Depending on the size of the skillet, you can fry 4 to 5 at a time.  Drain on paper towels.  These are delicious with the usual latke accompaniments - applesauce and sour cream - but they are not latkes.  I can't emphasize that enough.

Six Degrees of Onions, No Bacon, Part II - Creamy Six Onion Soup

Still having sleepless nights, except when I pass out on the couch.  I'm taking hydroxyzine and Benadryl, which are barely affording me any relief. I am spraying myself with anti-itch sprays as lavishly as from a bottle of Cachet from Prince Matchabelli (I know, I am dating myself here.)  The itching is so brutal, I haven't really noticed that my back also hurts.  Last time the itching was this bad, I was dealing with chicken pox.  Yeah, I'm a mess.

\

Yesterday was a rough day.  Panic attacks -1, Cindy - 0.  For me, anxiety is worse than depression.  Oh yeah, I had that too.  Anxiety destroys my ability to function.  I'm not sure I can even describe how it feels.  During one of my earliest, and most severe, episodes with anxiety, I sat in a chair in the corner of my dorm room, for most of the semester.  Sat and wrote and suffered.  I was simultaneously frozen and hysterical, a condition that caused my organic chemistry professor to have his teaching assistant walk me over to the on-campus psych services, while he called over there and told them to see me NOW. (I wonder sometimes where I would be had it not been for the kindness of teachers. Let me thank them here and now - Ron Friedman, Marvin Waks, and Steve Erlich from Lawrence High School, and Professor Larry Altman from SUNY Stony Brook.  And maybe a shout-out to Professor P.D.G. Brown from the German Department at New Paltz, who took me to his office and gave me a sudafed to help with a really rotten cold I could not get rid of.  This was 1972 and nobody had ever heard of meth and other misuses.)

All of this has led me to make the decision I had to make.  Which is official, at least in my mind, since I told Rob and my therapist.  Now I just have to do my research, get my ducks in a row (no Muscovy ducks, those guys don't play well with others) and make it happen.  Not easy when the very symptoms underlying the decision are preventing me from doing research and organizing ducks.  I can do this, just very slowly.

By the way, today is May 7th - Happy Birthday to my sister Nora, and my friend Chris A.

Yesterday was not without its high spots.  I had a productive therapy session (they usually are). I went to Toojay's and picked up tongue, pastrami, chopped liver, whitefish salad, fresh rye bread and a dozen miniature black and white cookies.  I went home and ate some of the tongue.  Yes, tongue.  It was heavenly.  I also made a completely impulsive stop at the new site of Chabad of South Orlando, and spoke for a good while with the Rebbetzin (Rabbi's wife).  I have been looking for someplace to go to services, and for some reason, trying this out seems a good idea. If nothing else, it will be an interesting experience.  Although being Jewish in Central Florida has always been an interesting experience.

Don't knock it till you try it, you sushi-scarfing sissies!

This is the onion soup recipe I made using Martha Stewart's recipe as the starting point.  It is delicious, incredibly rich, and does remind me of the soup we had at the Brown Derby at Disney-MGM Studios many years ago. I tried it with one of the cheese toasts, from yesterday's post, and it was complete overkill.  I wouldn't even use the extra caramelized onions that Martha recommends, although tossing in some griebenes couldn't hurt. Save the cheese toasts for a traditional onion soup that doesn't included a stick of butter and a cup of heavy cream. (Unless, like my son Cory, you think the cheese toasts are perfect with the soup.)

Math isn't my strong point, but even I can count and yes, I know there are actually seven types of onions in this recipe.  Let me say this about that:

Creamy Six Onion Soup

3 large green onions, sliced  (if the onions are skinny, use the whole bunch, which is usually 5-6 onions)

3 oz. shallots (about 3 shallots), halved and sliced

1 large leek, halved, rinsed to remove all of the grit, then sliced, white and pale green parts only

1 large red onion, halved and sliced
1 large white onion, halved and sliced
2 medium yellow onions, halved and sliced
1 medium Vidalia, or other sweet onion, halved and sliced
1 head of garlic, cloves separated, peeled, and sliced
1 stick butter
2 tablespoons roasted garlic extra-virgin olive oil
salt and ground white pepper
sugar (optional)
6 cups chicken stock
1 cup vermouth (I only had red, so that's what I used and it was good)
1 cup heavy cream

Heat the butter and olive oil together in a large pot, over medium-high heat.  Add all of the onions and the garlic.  Cook, stirring constantly, for about 10 minutes, then reduce the heat to medium-low, add the salt, pepper, and a tiny pinch of sugar, and continue cooking for 25 to 35 minutes more, until the onions are golden brown. Add the chicken stock and the vermouth and simmer for 15 to 20 minutes.  Take the pot off the heat, and with an immersion blender, puree the onions.  Put the pot back on low heat, and add the heavy cream.  Stir well and bring up to temperature so that the soup is hot.  Do not boil it - if you boil it, you spoil it.  Serve it as is, or topped with griebenes.

My favorite photo from our tour of Carambola Gardens

Oh, Go Stuff It - Beef Stuffed Baby Bell Peppers with Jubilee Rice and Zante Currents

I have been thinking too much, and it depresses me.  The world is a strange and scary place.  So many young people have become disaffected.  There is no such thing as patriotism among members of certain generations.  The United States have become increasingly Balkanized; people no longer identify as Americans, but as members of some other religious or racial or ethnic group just happening to live here.

All those misfits, which in another generation might have retreated to the family basement, or ended up in jail or a mental health facility or as a talking head on some cable news show, are heading to Syria to join ISIS. Imagine factoring "terrorist" into your list of career choices.

I don't think it is jingoism to consider this the very best country in the world.  There is no place else on earth I would rather be from, or return to. Unfortunately, the old "love or leave it" attitude is causing unforeseen problems as all those misfits leave it, only to join some radical terrorist group bent on our destruction.  I still tear up at the singing of the Star-Spangled Banner; I hope the day never comes that my patriotism will label me the misfit.

I wasn't planning on making stuffed peppers, but I saw these baby bell peppers when we were in BJs this past weekend, and had a sudden inspiration.  These make a particularly nice presentation for dinner guests. There are around 16 baby bells in a 2 pound bag.  They were so adorable I wanted to pinch their little cheeks, but instead I attacked them with a tomato shark.  Now, don't report me to Animal Services, just keep reading.

Beef Stuffed Baby Bell Peppers with Jubilee Rice and Zante Currants

2 pound bag baby bell peppers (not mini peppers)
1 pound ground beef
3 tablespoons bacon fat
1 small onion chopped small
1 carrot, grated
1 tablespoon minced garlic or Gourmet Garden chunky garlic paste
kosher salt, ground black pepper
granulated garlic
1 tablespoon dried tarragon
1 teaspoon dried thyme
1 teaspoon dried marjoram
4 - 8 shots of Worcestershire sauce
2 tablespoons zante currants
1/4 cup Lundberg Jubilee Rice
1 - 12 oz. bottle Heinz chili sauce
1/3 cup wildflower honey
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

Cook the rice in almost-boiling water for 30 to 40 minutes, then drain well. Remove the stem and core from each pepper, then shake out seeds,  Use your fingers to pull out the white veins (what the seeds are attached to), and set aside.

Use Heinz Chili Sauce for this, please

Prepare the filling:  cook the onion, carrot, and garlic in hot bacon fat until softened.  Add the beef, and cook while breaking up with a spoon.  Add the seasonings, then simmer together for 10-15 minutes.  Taste and adjust seasoning.  Don't leave out the Worcestershire.

I used pieces of carrot, parsnip, and even celery to keep the stuffed peppers upright

Stir in the rice and the currants.  Refrigerate the filling overnight, or at least for several hours before stuffing the peppers.  I like to use a demitasse spoon, or a baby spoon, to fill the peppers.  When they are filled, arrange them upright in an ovenproof baking dish or pan.  Combine the chili sauce, honey, and lemon juice and whisk together to combine. Pour the sauce around and over the stuffed peppers.  Cover and bake in a 350 degree oven for 30 to 45 minutes until peppers are tender and done to your liking.  Baste occasionally with the sauce while cooking.

Six Degrees of Onions, No Bacon, Part I - Reddish Onion Soup and Float 'Em If You Got 'Em Cheese Toasts

Rob and Mayan Ruins on Isla Roatan

Sunday, 3:21 AM - There is no pain, only itching. There is no sleep ...

This is so freaking maddening!  It has gone on for hours, despite the hydroxyzine.  I am about to give in and take two Benadryl, but that is sure to knock me out cold and leave me feeling stupid.

Sunday, 10:38 AM - As predicted.  Got some sleep even though I woke up at least once.  Feeling stupid.  Still having brutal itching, but I can't take Benadryl all day.  Not if I want onion soup and freshly baked bread.  I have been over-thinking the whole onion soup idea for three days, resulting in something  called analysis paralysis.  In the end, the winning recipe will be decided by the contents of my kitchen.  I am too tired to food-shop today, and besides, there are two NBA play-offs today, starting at 1:00 this afternoon.  I'm happy to see I can still set priorities.

I've been crying at commercials lately, a sure sign that I am no longer on Cymbalta.  Yesterday, Equality Florida's #Love Must Win ad had me leaking tears.

Agave Plants in Cozumel, used to make tequila

I don't feel good, folks.  This itching has been so bad, I cannot stand to have a light blanket on my legs.  This is new for me, as the itching has always been an arms and hand thing, sometimes scalp and  trunk.  I guess that goes along with my sensitivity to any kind of touch or even the lightest pressure on my skin.  I keep chasing the dogs away; Romeo is not longer smiling, while Indiana is in his own bed, glaring at me with one eye.  The only good news is that scratching my legs has not caused welts to rise.whereas my forearms still look like they spent some time passing through a meat grinder.

Anakin keeps trying to stand on my chest and stomach while I am sitting in bed,   Ouch, damn it.

Okay, about the onion soup - I was in the mood for a soup that would go down easy and stay down.  A straightforward broth, like chicken or French onion, or an uncomplicated cream soup like carrot or potato.  I kept leaning towards French onion soup, for which I have a classic recipe everybody loves, and then I remembered a four- or five-cheese onion soup we had a few times at (I think) the Brown Derby Restaurant at Disney-MGM Studios.  We're talking way back when that park first opened.  Unfortunately, I could not find the recipe, either online or in one of the four (yes, four) Disney cookbooks I have in my collection.  With all of my cookbooks, I probably have more soup recipes than Campbell's, but I was having no luck until Martha Stewart came through for me.   Her recipe for Creamy Caramelized-Onion Soup looked like it would produce a soup that would taste like the one from the Brown Derby, even though she only used three onions.

Croaking in Carambola Gardens

Monday - I'm getting tired of reading myself kvetching all the time.  So let's move right on to the recipes.  This is my variation on the French Onion Soup recipe I've preparing for 40 years.  Both are very easy; this is the one I made last night, along with a bread that I think works well as the cheese covered crouton.  First, the soup:

Reddish Onion Soup

2 tablespoons butter
1 red onion, halved, sliced thin (about 2 1/2 cups)
1/2 tablespoon finely minced garlic or chunky garlic paste
1/4 teaspoon dried thyme
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
freshly ground mixed peppercorns (about 10 grinds)
1/2 teaspoon Cento Double Concentrated Tomato Paste (from 4.56 oz. tube)
1/4 cup white wine (I used Pinot Grigio)
2  cans Campbell's beef broth
1 tablespoon sherry

In a medium saucepan, melt the butter, then add the onion and garlic. On low heat, cook together slowly, stirring occasionally, for 15 minutes.  Add the thyme, salt, and pepper and continue to cook on low for another 15 minutes. Now add the tomato paste, stir thoroughly, and cook over medium heat for 5 minutes.

Add the white wine and stir so that the tomato paste is completely dissolved.  Add the beef broth and cook for 30 minutes. Stir in the sherry, and adjust the seasoning.  If you can, refrigerate the soup overnight.  Reheat in the microwave, and serve with the cheese toasts.

Float 'Em If You Got 'Em Cheese Toasts

1 loaf Cheese Wine Bread, sliced into 1/2 inch slices (8 or 9 slices, save the remaining bread for breakfast), recipe below
2-3 tablespoons butter, melted
grated Pecorino Romano cheese
6-8 ounces shredded cheese (Italian blend, cheddar or jack cheese blends, Swiss, Gruyere)

With a cookie cutter, cut rounds (or hearts, or stars) out of each slice of bread.  Toast lightly under the broiler on one side, first brushing the tops with some of the melted butter.  Turn the bread, brush with the remaining butter first.  Top each toast with the Pecorino Romano cheese first, and then whatever shredded cheese you choose.  Place back under the broiler just until the cheese melts.  Set aside until ready to serve the soup.  Float one cheese toast in each bowl of this soup, or on the side.

Cheese Wine Bread (Bread Machine) - from The Bread Machine Cookbook V by Donna Rathmell German

I prepared the 1 1/2 lb. loaf:

1/2 cup white wine (Pinot Grigio)
4 tablespoons butter
3 eggs
1 cup shredded cheese (I used half each Italian blend and Mexican four cheese blend)
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons sugar
3 cups bread flour
2 teaspoons bread machine yeast

Place the ingredients in the bread machine in the order recommended by the manufacturer.  Bake on the Sweet or Basic setting.  I also recommend using the Light crust setting.

Mocked by Bananas - Soused Banana Bread

Saturday April 25 - By now, all the advance food preparation has been done, because today, this very morning, Rob and I are outta here, headed to Port Canaveral where the best Carnival ships live and sail.  Let me tell you, it was a damn close call on the food.   To put it simply but succinctly, I was mocked by bananas. So I got them drunk and had my way with them.

The original recipe is pretty darn good.  I have to assume that the author's bananas were quite a bit better behaved than my three, as she was able to hold the line with vanilla extract.

Tuesday May 5 - Now that I've returned to this post, I realize that I have inadvertently discarded my notes of the changes I made to the recipe.  I hate when I do that, but I did do it and there is nothing I can do about it.  If memory serves me correctly, and I would not want to bet  on it, the only change I made was to add two tablespoons of banana liquor.  I believe I used the full cup of sugar, as the bananas were resistant to ripening, no matter how long I gave them to do so.  I like this recipe because it is incredibly easy and virtually impossible to screw up.  It's also delicious.

3 very ripe bananas, peeled

1/3 cup melted butter

1 cup of sugar (can use 3/4 cup)

1 egg, beaten

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

2 tablespoons banana liquor (optional)

1 teaspoon baking soda

Pinch of salt

1 1/2 cups of all-purpose flour

Preheat the oven to 350°F, and coat the inside of a 4x8-inch loaf pan with no-stick spray.  In a mixing bowl, mash the ripe bananas with a fork until smooth. Stir the melted butter into the mashed bananas.

Mix in the baking soda and salt. Stir in the sugar, beaten egg, vanilla extract, and banana liquor. Mix in the flour.

Pour the batter into your prepared loaf pan. Bake for 1 hour to 1 hour 10 minutes (check at 50 minutes) at 350°F, or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean.

Sign at one of our stops in Belize.  

I know you are going to be shocked, but I used an aluminum loaf pan.  It worked just fine.  

Depression is a funny thing, but nobody's laughing.  I know it takes time for a new medication to build up in one's system, and that it can take weeks to become fully effective.  Knowing all that does not make me feel better.  In the here and now the depression is wearing down my resistance and so I am overwhelmed by sadness and ennui.  Getting out of bed has been difficult.  Sleep continues to be elusive.  Paresthesia, that terrible, intense burning and itching of the skin,  is driving me past-the-point-of-no-return crazy. Brain fog is dulling my senses and preventing me from doing even simple tasks.  Preparing the onions for today's test of an onion soup recipe is going slow; I feel clumsy using the knife.  God willing, I won't cut off anything more serious than an acrylic fingernail.

Tropical fruit in Belize, at Carambola Gardens Tour

Getting A Little On the Side - Coconut Jasmine Rice and Schmaltzy English Peas

The AAA truck was there in no time and we were back on our way home, so forget all that boding stuff from the end of the last post.  I walked into a clean home, empty kitchen sink, and four crazed Yorkies.  The cat was a bit more reserved, but clearly also glad to see us, as was our son.  The weather is nice, and I don't miss the oppressive Caribbean humidity.  My hibiscus are gorgeous and I received two new bread machine cookbooks I'd ordered just before the cruise.  There were unopened bags of Cheesy Puffs, Cheez Waffies, and Barbecue Popchips.  It's good to be home.

The cruise was nice.  The staff was wonderful as always, the shore excursions are a mixed review. The food on the Carnival Sunshine keeps getting better, for the most part. The kitchen still needs to work on its treatment of sauces, and for God's sake, if you are going to put super-spicy items on the menu, mark them as such!  Seafood Newburg and Bouillabaise are not interchangeable recipes and Grand Marnier Souffle does not have the same texture as Grand Marnier Bread Pudding. I'll be directing my comments to Carnival as usual.  Someone must be reading them, because Oysters Rockefeller is no longer on the menu.  

Arriving at Cozumel

I'm glad it worked out that one of the recipes I had ready for today's post is for English peas.  Happy Birth Day to the newborn Princess of Cambridge. Even if you are not a Royal Watcher, you must like William and Kate. They are so darn normal.  And with everything bad going on in the world, we all really need some good news.  Welcome to the world, Princess Name-To-Be-Announced-In-Due-Course, and God Save the Queen.

This is what Amarillo looks like in Mexico

Before we left on the cruise, I had been cooking like a lunatic, and so there were recipes that did not get published contemporaneously with their preparation.  These are two of them from my coconut milk and chicken schmaltz phase.

I get some of my recipe inspiration from other food bloggers.  Sometimes it's just a general idea, other times I use the recipe as a solid starting point, making a few changes.  Other times, the recipes come to me out of nowhere, and I develop a lot of my recipes out of my own experience with foods and flavors.

When it came to the rice I wanted to serve with the coconut curry chicken, I came across a particular recipe that was so perfect, I did not change a blessed thing, except to increase the amount of toasted coconut.  I had never tasted jasmine rice before, and I can't imagine why not because it is amazing, especially when cooked in rich coconut milk.  This recipe is from Jaden at the "Steamy Kitchen" blog.

Coconut Jasmine Rice

1 tablespoon butter

1 tablespoon brown sugar

1 teaspoon kosher salt 

2 cups jasmine rice, washed and drained well

1 - 13.5 oz. can Badia coconut milk (shake can to mix well before opening), poured into a 4-cup glass measuring cup

1  1/2 cups water plus a small amount of additional water added to the coconut milk to make a total of 3 cups of liquid

3/4 cup sweetened coconut flakes

Heat butter in a medium sized, heavy saucepan over medium heat. When butter is melted, add brown sugar and salt, stir until dissolved. Turn heat to high, add rice and stir until all grains coated evenly. Add coconut milk and water. Stir. When boiling, immediately cover with tight fitting lid, turn heat to medium-low and simmer undisturbed for 20 minutes. Remove pot from heat but do not open lid. Really, no peeking! Let sit for 10 minutes. 

While the rice is cooking, toast coconut flakes on a dry skillet over medium high heat. Stir frequently to avoid burning, remove from pan as soon as coconut is golden brown, about 2 minutes.  When the rice is completely done, remove the lid and fluff the rice with a fork.  Stir the toasted coconut into the rice, saving some to scatter on top.

I love the combination of green peas and rice, but I did not want to detract from the whole coconut experience, so I created this little vegetable dish.  Instead of bacon, I used schmaltz and griebenes and I think it worked.  If you forego the coconut rice for regular long grain white rice, you might want to combine it with these peas.

Schmaltzy English Peas

1 - 6 oz. microwave bag English peas

1 generous tablespoon chicken schmaltz

2 generous tablespoons griebenes 

a splash of chicken stock or broth

kosher salt

freshly ground mixed peppercorns

a pinch of sugar

Cook the peas in the bag, according to package directions, for 2 to 3 minutes.  Melt the schmaltz in a skillet, add the peas and cook until tender.  Add the remaining ingredients and simmer together another minute.

From the Wide, Wide World of Sports:  I'm hoping Pacquaio wins tonight.  And yes that was me you heard screaming when the L.A. Clippers won the seventh game against the San Antonio Spurs.  With J.J. Reddick, Big Baby Davis, Hedo Turkoglou, and even head coach Doc Rivers all veterans from Orlando, it's the closest us Magic fans are going to get to a win.

Monday the Clippers start the next series, against the Houston Rockets.  You know, where Dwight Howard lives and plays.  Should be fun.

Tomorrow I have to do some serious thinking about the rest of my life and onion soup.  Oh crap, I just saw that Mayweather won by unanimous decision.  

(I apologize for any problems you might have reading this post.  Occasionally the Blogger format takes an unscheduled trip around the Milky Way and lands on the wrong planet. This happens to be one of those days.)

Reality Bites

Saturday - This completes a baker's dozen of cruises for us on Carnival (the 14th cruise was on Norwegian in 2002 - meh) and as always, I could have used a few more Fun Days at Sea.

Things I learned on this trip:

1. Never ever ever order any sort of Thai dish from the menu.
2. I can make my traditional toast to Bethe and Maurice with a Mai Tai as easily as with a Cosmopolitan.  Either way, I'm still going to cry.
3. I can and will feel motion sick on the 4 mile tender trip from ship to shore.  Best to leave the wristbands on.
4. Never try to make major adjustments to happy pills or neuropathy medication while on a vacation.
5. There is no longer a good reason to get off the ship in Belize or Isla Roatan.
6. My taste in music was canalized in the seventies.  Disco will never die.
7. I can wear a baseball cap now.  Baseball caps are cool.
8. Never add mussels to your seafood newburg (and as a side note to Carnival, doing so does not then transform it into bouillabaisse.)
9. I am always going to run out of Cheesy Puffs, no matter how carefully I pack.

I already have three posts with recipes in the hopper, including the magnificent coconut rice I should have given you before I left.  Better late than never, and you can think of it as a good excuse to make the coconut curry chicken again.

I am coming home to more doctor appointments and a mini-procedure this week, so expect the usual degree of kvetching and complaining. Complaint Numero Uno:  We just ran out of gas despite the gauges indicating we had enough to drive another 16 miles.  This does not bode well for the rest of the week.

Fifty Shades of Schmaltz - Coconut Curry Chicken

This arrived in my email yesterday:

"Come join us for a unique walking tour through beautiful Downtown Kissimmee featuring the Sculpture Experience and 12 local restaurants, shops and galleries all while sippin' on ice cold beers or glasses of wine! Experience and 12 local restaurants, shops and galleries all while sippin' on ice cold beers or glasses of wine!"

So it seems I am going to miss the 2015 Kissimmee Main Street's Sculpture Pub Crawl, because it takes place the same day as the start of my cruise.  You know that I love those street sculptures, and have always wanted to do the walking tour.  I'm not so sure about me and walking and sippin' wine at the same time, being a natural born klutz, and therefore somewhat unsteady on my feet under the best of circumstances.  But I am a trifle disappointed, just not so much as to cancel my cruise.

Like most words in Yiddish, "schmaltz" has different shades of meaning. This thought occurred to me while consulting this book, which was written by a shaygetz, no less, for the best way to prepare a decent amount of chicken schmaltz. (Like a good barbecue, low and slow). Besides referring to the Fowl Fat from Heaven, schmaltz can mean "excessive sentimentality", exaggerated, maudlin, corny, overblown ... feh.  What nonsense, and what a disservice to a great and descriptive word.  To me, schmaltz means rich and unctuous.  Schmaltz means whatever you are cooking in it is gonna taste like a million clucks - I mean, bucks. Schmaltz is gorgeous stuff, my friends.  Use it well.

Michael Ruhlman is one of those celebrity chef types who used to show up as a judge on Iron Chef America, and who pals around with one of my least favorite people, the pathetically self-important superannuated frat boy, Anthony Bourdain.  Despite his questionable choice of friends, Mr. Ruhlman has written a very fine book, in large part because of his collaboration with Lois Baron, Joan Nathan, and Arthur Schwartz, and in other part because he states, unequivocally: "Schmaltz is Good, and Schmaltz is Great."  He may be a goy, but when it comes to cooking, he's got a Yiddische kopf.

Unfortunately, while he gives excellent direction and photos, he cannot help me resolve my obsession with determining the exact, perfect moment at which to add the chopped onions to the rendered chicken fat.  He says to add the onion "when the chicken skin is golden brown", but in my cooking experience golden brown is a slippery term indeed.  I think I've got it this time, after the skin cooked for an hour and forty minutes, and I've added the onion and said a heartfelt silent prayer to the Great Schmaltz God In The Sky.  I'm sure that neither my maternal Grandma Gussie nor my paternal Grandma Yetta ever agonized over her schmaltz. When you're cooking for seven or eight children, you don't have time to run over to Home Depot to pick up color samples for comparison with your griebenes. I have discovered, incidentally, that for the purposes of achieving the perfect golden brown-ness for this dish, all you need to do is compare your griebenes to the contents of a can of French's French Fried Onions. I bet even Michael Ruhlman doesn't know that.

Oh hell, did I add too many onions??

In order to have enough chicken skin and fat to go through this cooking ritual, I purchased a package of nine chicken thighs.  Now that they've been thoroughly skinned and trimmed, I want to use them to create a dish for my son, the Vacuum Cleaner With Teeth, to eat while Rob and I are eating sushi on Sunshine.  I know I said I didn't need to prepare a chicken dish, but like everything else, I misjudged - this time, the current state of Cory's appetite, which is extraordinarily healthy.  But it all works out - the schmaltz, the chicken, the cruise - everything in its place and a place for everything.  The final result, which was generously inspired by the recipe from this blog, "Can You Stay For Dinner", exceeded my expectations, the coconut milk is my new favorite ingredient, and there will be rice to accompany this poultry marvel.  But that's another blog post ...

 Coconut Curry Chicken

8-9 chicken thighs, on the bone, all skin removed and fat trimmed (the skin and fat will be used to make schmaltz and griebenes)
Kosher salt
Garlic pepper
3-4 tablespoons roasted garlic extra virgin olive oil
1 large sweet onion, or 2 medium onions, halved and sliced thin
6 garlic cloves, smashed and chopped fine
2 tablespoons grated fresh ginger root
2 serrano peppers, seeds and veins removed, chopped fine
2 tablespoons yellow curry powder
1 teaspoon ground turmeric

2 cups chicken stock
1 - 13.5 oz. can Badia coconut milk
3 tablespoons mild chutney
1/2 cup roughly chopped cilantro leaves

Season the chicken generously on both sides with the salt and garlic pepper.  In a large deep skillet heat 3 tablespoons of the olive oil over medium high heat.  Add the chicken, top side down, and cook without moving the chicken for at least five minutes, until the chicken takes on some color.  Using tongs, carefully turn the chicken and repeat on the other side.  When you are done, the chicken should be almost completely cooked, so don't rush this step.  Remove the chicken from the skillet and set aside.  

Add the remaining olive oil to the skillet, and then add the sliced onions. Cook the onion for five minutes until it begins to soften, then add the garlic, the ginger, and the serrano pepper.  Cook and stir until the fragrance makes you swoon.  Add the curry powder and the turmeric, and stir to distribute well.  Cook for about 30 seconds, then add the chicken stock.  Bring to a boil and let simmer a few minutes, then lower the heat.  Add the coconut milk, the chutney, and about 2/3 of the cilantro.  Do not boil the sauce.  Taste and adjust the seasoning.  Return the chicken to the skillet and simmer together for 10 to 15 minutes, spooning sauce over the chicken.  Serve from the skillet or move the chicken and sauce to a serving dish.  Sprinkle the remaining cilantro over the dish.  Serve with Coconut Jasmine Rice and Schmaltzy English Peas.

We're on the road to ... somewhere.

Damn, forgot the itinerary again.  At least I know what ship we're sailing on.

I've got that sitzfleisch thing going on again.  I can't sit still more than a moment or two.  My mind is all over the place.  I thought I would calm down once I got the good news about the fibroadenoma, but it's just gotten worse.  I can't stop cooking.  I can't start knitting.  I can't read new books - only books I've read over and over again.  My head hurts. I'm depressed.  I was just told I do not have breast cancer, and I'm leaving on a cruise tomorrow, and I'm depressed?  Oh of course, I'm in the middle of switching medication. Timing is everything.  Have a good week.

First, You Cry

Friday - I normally would not start another post with Coconut Curry Chicken and Beef Stuffed Baby Bell Peppers hanging out there like laundry on the line, but I cannot help but make a side trip at this point in my week.  I am scared, so scared that my legs are weak.  Fortunately I am the passenger, as Rob is driving us to Winter Park to discuss the results of all those tests and procedures that were done to the girls. In discussing my long list of fears with professionals who are trained to do so, I have assured them that I am not afraid of breast cancer, that whatever has to be done will be done, and more of that sort of crap.  There's no percentage in lying to your therapist or your psychiatrist, folks.  I am certain I didn't fool either one of them, and I surely did not fool myself.

I have been through this scenario with the same surgeon, back in 2006, and I can still see myself, with Rob, sitting in one of her examination rooms, hearing the good news that everything was benign. What a marvelous word, benign. But this is 2015, and in order to deal with the mind-numbing anxiety from weeks and months of invasive procedures, I have forced myself to believe that this time it would be déjà vu all over again and everything would be benign.  Who am I fooling? I know no such thing.

Only now I do.  First, you cry - even when it is good news.  Then you hug your husband and go to Tibby's for lunch.  Thank you, God.

Real Men Do Eat Quiche - The Promised Quiche of Springtime

Thursday, Day 37 - I am so close to that cruise ship I can taste my first bagel with lox and cream cheese.  But until that happy moment, I promise you quiche, and Ella Fitzgerald singing "All the Things You Are."

You are the promised kiss of springtime

That makes the lonely winter seem long
You are the breathless hush of evening
That trembles on the brink of a lovely song ...

I hate when I oversleep, but that's exactly what I did this morning, necessitating what can best be described as Mr. Toad's Wild Ride to SODO.  I realize I am dating myself with the reference to Mr. Toad, but you must remember this - we spent our honeymoon in Disneyworld, which back in 1974 was the Magic Kingdom and nothing else.  I had a 9:45 appointment with (yet another) doctor in Orlando, an area I've always thought of as "The Hospital Zone" because of the jowl-to-cheek juxtaposition of Orlando Regional Medical Center, Arnold Palmer Hospital for Women and Children, Winnie Palmer Hospital, and M.D. Anderson Cancer Center. Really an overwhelming collection of  edifices containing really sick people and enough medical personnel to cure a third world nation of whatever ails it.  

Earlier this year, I noticed that this general area on and around South Orange Avenue had been dubbed "SODO".  It took me a few minutes to realize this meant "South of Downtown Orlando", and another 2 seconds to realize how off base the developer had been.  SODO doesn't sound trendy like Tribeca or sophisticated like SOHO, or even charmingly silly like DUMBO.

Not wanting to be slow to SODO, I ran like Jesse Owens and drove like Richard Petty and prayed like Pope Francis that the Great God of Traffic Lights would favor me with fortune.  I made it in just under 41 minutes from sitting up in bed to sitting down in my doctor's waiting room.  And I waited, for her, and while I waited, I thought about food.  Specifically I thought about chicken schmaltz, and that led me to coconut milk and .... well, you'll just have to tune in tomorrow.

When asked if there was something he would like me to prepare for the week his father and I would be gone, Cory suggested "something with asparagus." Huh. Mention asparagus to me and I start dreaming about rivers of hollandaise, but that's a sauce that doesn't hold well.  Cory likes his asparagus wrapped in prosciutto, but we've done that lately.  Risotto?  Meh.  Soup?  Nah.  Quiche?  Well, real men don't eat quiche, do they?

Hell yes they do!  First of all, the book from whence that expression sprang was a satire!  Second, quiche is substantial food, rich and filling.  Why wouldn't a "real" man want to scarf down a couple of slices for lunch, or as a side dish for a more traditional entree like chicken or sliced pork loin?

Anyway, asparagus is one of those foods that has always been associated with springtime, so I wanted to reflect that in the quiche, without sacrificing the flavors that will attract men and women alike.  This is a hearty quiche.

The Promised Quiche of Springtime

4 tablespoons schmaltz and/or butter
4 spring onions, sliced thin
12 oz. sliced button mushrooms
1 pound asparagus, trimmed and sliced diagonally
kosher salt
white pepper

2 deep dish frozen pie crusts (Mrs. Smith's)
2 cups shredded cheese (1 cup mozzarella, 1 cup sharp cheddar)
6 thin slices capacollo,  cut or pulled into bite-sized pieces
1/2 cup flame-roasted red peppers (sweet pimento), patted dry, sliced
4 teaspoons grated Pecorino Romano

6 eggs
2 cups heavy cream
1 teaspoon Italian seasoning
pinch of nutmeg
dash of granulated garlic

Unwrap the frozen pie shells and let sit on the counter, while you prepare the filling.  Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

In a large skillet over medium high hear, cook the onions, mushrooms and asparagus until the liquid in the pan just evaporates.  Season with the salt and pepper and set aside to cool.  Divide the mozzarella and cheddar cheese between the pie shells, spreading across the bottoms.  Place the capacollo on top of the cheese.  Carefully spoon the cooled asparagus mixture on top of thecapacollo.  Arrange the slices of pimento over the asparagus.  Sprinkle 2 tablespoons of the Pecorino Romano over each pie.  Place the filled pie shells on rimmed cookie sheets (I placed each shell in an aluminum lasagna pan, and it fit perfectly).

In a 4 cup (or larger) glass measuring cup, whisk together the eggs and heavy cream.  Add some kosher salt and pepper, Italian seasoning, the nutmeg and the granulated garlic, and whisk to combine.  Carefully pour half of the liquid over each pie, and the carefully moved them to the preheated oven.  Bake for 50 to 60 minutes, until the custard is set and the crust is golden brown.  Do not overbake.  Allow the quiche to cool for at least 15 minutes before cutting.  I left the second quiche in the aluminum lasagna pan, double wrapped the pie and then the aluminum pan, and placed it into the freezer.

Both of the real men in my life tasted, scarfed, and heartily approved.

I do have a confession to make. When the asparagus begat the springtime theme, the first song that came to mind was "Springtime for Hitler" from "The Producers."  Try as I might - and when it comes to anything by Mel Brooks, I try really hard - I could not find a nice way to work it in.  I mean, imagine calling this my "Springtime for Hitler" quiche?  Pretty awful.  What is not awful is one of my favorite actors singing what can only be described as the most politically incorrect song in the history of modern cinema.  That is indeed John Barrowman, with his normal good looks marred by the swastika on his armband and the Guy Fieri bleach job.  Never mind all that, he's gorgeous, he's sexy, and he can sing like an angel.  I'd make this quiche for him anytime.