Mediterranean Chicken with a Garlic, Spinach and Feta Stuffing

What a perfectly craptastic day.  Two doctor's appointments today, one local, one in SODO.  Hopefully I will get some assistance towards herding ducks, while trying to figure out why I feel as badly now as I did when I was sent off on this journey two months ago.

The good news is:  Cindy 2, Cancer 0.  I feel very fortunate that the biopsy of the intenstinal polyp came back benign.  Benign is probably one of my top five favorite words in the English language, along with love, chocolate, and lobster.

The bad news is that I still have no answer for what is causing my eating difficulties.  All those tests and procedures over the last few months, and the only thing the gastroenterologist can tell me is that I had gastric bypass surgery, and my stomach (or what still passes as a stomach) is very small.  No, really?  He ordered more tests, two of which require me to drink that dreadful barium milkshake.  Since I have trouble swallowing coffee, this should prove very interesting.

One appointment over - well, that confused the hell out of me.  I may not be dead yet.  At any rate, that assembly of ducks, foretelling the start of my twilight years, is not a foregone conclusion.  My gastric bypass may have kicked in again, which is as good an explanation as any. I have more paperwork to fax to Tallahassee - probably get this FMLA cluster f--- approved just in time for me to go back to work.  Back to work.  Who woulda thunk it?

The second appointment took care of a few pharmaceutical matters. which was much appreciated.  Also, the doctor tells me that the new medication may take care of the brain fog which has screwed up the quality of my life even more than the pain.  Maybe better living through chemistry will become more than a catchphrase for an old hippie like me. Hope, like bad luck and taxes, springs eternal.

Ah ha, is that a glimmer of light I am seeing off in the distance?  Only time will tell.  Which is what I have always felt, but now time is being telescoped exponentially as I approach what looks like the Finish Line.  Life is never boring.

With all that going on, I have been spending entirely too much time driving around town, looking for parking spaces and hanging out in waiting rooms.  That's not a routine I particular enjoy, but it has consumed a big chunk of the last 3 months, and is becoming my new normal.  Bugger.  There's a sign of getting older.  Still better than the alternative.

The cooking has been slow going.  Things keep getting added to my list and my refrigerator looks like the poster child for bauxite mining.  Stack after stack of aluminum trays filled with food.  Still have more to go, but at least there is room in my freezers.  I still have a recipe for baby eggplants that I prepared before the cruise and have not gotten around to sharing.  And then there are the Northern Indian Lamb Meatballs which I finished day before yesterday and which are well worth your time to check out.  I'll get those in writing real soon, but first I've got some more cooking to do before any of the ingredients head south in the freshness department.

I did take an unscheduled turn into the realm of chicken soup.  Feeling totally disgusted by my inability to ingest anything with nutritional value, I dragged out the crockpot and made my clear and convincing chicken soup.  The only difference from the original recipe was that I used a whole chicken, stripped of it's skin and fat, which I froze for future schmaltzings.  To this I added the epitome of Jewish cooking, namely the matzo ball, or what I was brought of to call knaidlach.  Once you call it knaidlach you'll never go back to calling them matzo balls.  That will be another post; I'm overloading my cooking circuits here, but I feel good about it.

The following recipe was one that was lurking around in my head for a couple of days.  I had picked up a nice package of chicken breasts at BJs, and I wanted to do something different with them.  Of late, I'd been cooking my chicken with fruit, with curry-based sauces, tomato sauces, cream sauces, etc. Once I decided to stuff the little darlings, it was just a matter of what kind of stuffing, and that was easy.  I was craving spinach with a lot of garlic, and this is what I came up with.  This is totally my own, so I can't blame Martha Stewart or Mario Batali for any failures.

The truth is that I surprised myself with just how good these came out. The only hard part is creating the pocket, and if you have a sharp boning knife, it's no problem at all.  They make a pretty presentation for company, or an office potluck.

Mediterranean Chicken with a Garlic, Spinach and Feta Stuffing

4 tablespoons butter
4 very large or 6 medium cloves of fresh garlic (about half a head), chopped
a pinch of table salt
4 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 cup heavy cream
1-10 oz box frozen chopped spinach, defrosted,  all excess liquid squeezed out
"Slap Ya Mama" White Pepper Blend
Nutmeg
1/2 cup crumbled feta cheese, garlic and herb flavor
1 tablespoon grated Pecorino Romano cheese
dried oregano

8-9 boneless and skinless chicken breasts, pocket cut into each (see photos)

Melt the butter over medium heat in a skillet.  Add the garlic, sprinkle on a tiny amount of salt, lower the heat to medium low, and cook slowly until the garlic becomes soft and  light golden.  Add the flour and cook together, stirring constantly, until the raw smell from the flour is gone.  Add the cream and stir, bringing to a boil, then lower the heat to simmer.  This is going to be very thick and the sauce may "break" - separate - but keep stirring.  Add the spinach. and stir well to distribute evenly in the sauce.  Season with the white pepper blend, a pinch of nutmeg, and the oregano, then stir in the feta and Romano cheeses.   Set aside to cool while you prepare the chichen breasts for stuffing.

How I prepare a pocket for stuffing: with a very sharp boning:  with a sharp boning knike, I make a cut down the center, not all the way through, and not all the way from end to end.  I then turn the knife so that it is flat against the chicken, and carefully cut into both sides of the cut to create a pocket.

I like to use the meatball-sized scooper to portion out evenly.  Each chicken pocket took two scoops of the spinach mixture.  Pat the chicken up and around the filling, leaving some of the filling showing, as in the picture.

Now season the stuffed chicken using the ingredients listed below, in the order given.  The last thing you will do is spoon a little melted butter over everything.

Slap Ya Mama white pepper blend
Kosher Salt
Ground Black Pepper
Granulated Garlic
Fresh Lemon Juice
Seasoned Bread Crumbs
Paprika
Melted Butter

Bake the chicken at 375 degrees for 45 minutes.  Then take a picture and post it on Pinterest; this is a pretty, pretty dish.  Tasty, too.

Baked Baby Eggplants

So here I am with nothing to complain about.  We have been working on a DIY Dog Project - just one dog per day - shaving and trimming and bathing and de-flea-ing.  Two down, two to go.  The cat is just getting a flea collar, because the last time I tried to bathe a cat was in 1978, and I still have the scars.

By the way, just in case you didn't watch the season finale of "Marvel:Agents of Shield" last night, you might want to toss any bottles of fish oil.  In fact, you might want to stop eating all fish now and forever.  I love that show, and especially how at the end of each season they kill off everyone who won't be coming back.  Out with the old, in with the new.  Goodbye Edward James Olmos, I wish you could have hung around.  And I really liked Kyle MacLachlen's psychotic character.  Oh, they didn't kill him off; they just sent him to T.A.H.I.T.I. for a little while.  Good as new.

I'm a geek.  I know it, you know it, and now the blogiverse knows it.  I am a Trekkie and a Whovian and a Babylon Fiver and a Farscaper and a Stargate-SG1 and Battlestar Galactica fan.  Just the remake; the original was beyond awful.  I don't watch American Idol or Dancing with the Stars; for me it is all about science fiction and police procedurals.  And basketball games.  And Fox News.  Yeah, Fox.  And I'm still ready for Hillary.

Baked Baby Eggplants

4 baby eggplants
kosher salt
2 tablespoons olive oil for sauteeing plus more for coating the eggplant shellls
1/2 medium yellow onion, chopped
1/2 small green pepper, chopped
1 stalk celery, chopped
1 very large clove garlic, chopped
1 small carrot, chopped
more kosher salt and ground black pepper
2-3 sprigs thyme
1/4 teaspoon capers, chopped
1 envelope Goya Sazon, with culantro and achiote
1-8 oz.can tomato sauce
1-8 oz. bag shredded mozzarella cheese and/or sharp cheddar
grated Pecorino Romano
fresh ground pepper

Cut each eggplant in half. Peel off the purple skin, except for a strip around the edge.  Place the eggplant in a baking dish, cut side up, and sprinkle with salt.  Let sit for 15 minutes, then rinse off the salt under cold water.  With a tomato shark or small spoon, carefully scoop out the eggplant pulp.  Discard the very seedy part; keep the rest of the pulp, set aside.  Sprinkle the eggplant shells with some olive oil, and use hands to coat them all over.  Place cut side down in the baking pan and bake at 400 degrees for 15 minutes.

In a skillet over medium heat, cook the onion, green pepper, celery, garlic, carrot, and reserved eggplant pulp until tender.  While cooking the vegetables, add the salt, pepper, and Sazon.  Stir in
the thyme, capers, and tomato sauce.  Simmer together until sauce thickens and reduces slightly.

Turn the eggplants over. Add some shredded cheddar cheese in each eggplant half, then bake about 10 minutes.  Now stuff each baby eggplant with the vegetable-tomato sauce mixture. Sprinkle with some Romano cheese, then cover with the mozzarella.  Return to the oven and bake until the cheese is melted and the eggplants are neated through.  You can serve these as a side or a vegetarian entree.

That's Why They Call Me The Cheat (Boogity Boogity)

Today I had to faux my pas, so to speak.  I learned that shopping in Publix can be fraught with embarrassment, when being rude is the only defense. Oy, sometimes I can be such a dope ... this was one of those days.

I had a shopping list.  Not too long, pretty straightforward.  I have a short list of recipes for the next few days, and I needed some of the ingredients.  Rob asked me which Publix I wanted to stop at, since there are five I use at different times for different reasons.  Example: earlier this week I made a special trip to my old home Publix in Hunters Creek, because I wanted a Freirich smoked pork butt to include in the choucroute garnie.  None of the other Publix I shop at stocks this.  I've looked.  But I knew I would find it at Hunters Creek because I asked them to stock it - 22 years ago.  They ordered it, and have continued to order it religiously since then.  See why I love Publix?  But for today, all I needed was to stop at out new home Publix to pick up the missing ingredients for chicken breasts stuffed with spinach and feta and a mushroom sauce, Northern Indian Lamb Meatballs, and strawberry Key lime waffle cakes.   (Yes, I do make these things up as I go along.)

I plead pain, fatigue, and brain fog for what I did next:  I left the house without my cane (and I really needed it) and without my teeth. Trust me, there are no selfies to show you.  But I was tired and everything hurt, including my mouth.  Those dentures are wicked cruel, and I'm beginning to think my nervous system was designed by Torquemada.

I've done this before; generally I shop fast and nod my head as needed, with or without a smile. (God save me from chatty cashiers and baggers!  Did I find everything I was looking for?  No, I did not find the Colavita roasted garlic extra virgin olive oil nor the Frierich smoked pork butt, but I can't tell you that because I left my teeth in a jar by the door. Just call me Eleanor Rigby.) Primitive communication, it's sufficient. But today I found myself having to play hide-and-seek as I spotted not one but two people I know and know well.  For once, I was glad I looked like crap as it increased the chances that they didn't recognize me.  I felt like an idiot having to skulk around the canned goods and the frozen vegetables.  Good thing I have a tolerant husband who did not freak out when I switched directions, while prison-whispering to him, "I'm trying to avoid that man."

All this subterfuge wore me out, and I was glad to get home, but in no way prepared to take on the complicated recipes I had planned.  So I cheated to create an alternative to choucroute for dinner, while at the same time engaging in some pantry-busting.  Pantry-busting is like stash-busting (knitters know what I mean) and I successfully cleared out space from my freezer, fridge, and pantry.

The cheating aspect come from the fact that I was using prepared foods.  Forget Sandra Lee and Semi-Homemade - nothing was from scratch! 

I made chicken patties parm from four frozen chicken patties that were taking up space in my freezer - first seared them on the griddler, then put them in a baking pan into which I poured bottled marinara and loaded the patties with more sauce, lots of cheese, and a couple of leftover slices of capocollo  Shoved it in the oven until all the cheese melted.  Served it with mac and cheese - not quite Kraft's, but close - cooked about 12 oz. of ziti, drained, returned to the pot along with half a stick of butter and some heavy cream.  Added a bottle of Ragu double cheddar, then a couple of handfuls of grated cheese - sharp cheddar, five cheese Italian, mozzarella - added a little bit more cream, then poured it into a baking dish.  Threw more grated cheese on top and then topped the whole beautiful mess with French's French fried onions.  Baked it until cheese melted and the sauce is bubbly.

Holy crap, that was good!  And not one purchased-in-Whole-Foods organic ingredient in either recipe.  Now that's American cuisine!

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

Happy Mother's Day

To the mothers in heaven, and the mothers in hell (I have one of each)

The mothers who gave birth after carrying their child under their heart
The mothers who couldn't give birth but carried their child in their heart
The mothers-in-law who extended their love to include their children's spouses (mine!)
Adoptive mothers
Foster mothers
Grandmothers raising grandchildren
Aunties raising nieces and nephews
Jewish mothers and all their ethnic counterparts
Mentors
Social workers
Child welfare attorneys
Gay men raising children
Straight men raising children
Anyone raising puppies or kittens

Happy Mother's Day!

Mechitza and The Shoe Crew - Choucroute Garnie

Saturday - Back walking with a cane today.  Damn!  Oops, sorry about the cussing.  I shouldn't be cussing - I went to services this morning, and it was good.  They were good. It's all good.

All good, all the time

If you know me, and I realize you might not, you know that everything you really need to know about me can be summed up in the name of the hospital in which I was born: Brooklyn Jewish.  Never mind that I haven't lived in Brooklyn since I was nine years old.  Never mind that I've never been bat mitzvah'ed, that my knowledge of Hebrew is disgraceful, that I don't fast on Yom Kippur, and I eat all things "pig" enthusiastically, except on Jewish holidays.  The container of bacon fat and the container of chicken schmaltz share shelf space in my screamingly non-kosher fridge.  Makes no difference.  "My father was Jewish, my mother was Jewish, I am Jewish."  And I do not say that flippantly, first of all appreciating these words were among the very last spoken by Daniel Pearl, and that the late Mayor Ed Koch, one of my heroes, had those words inscribed on his headstone. 

Our friends Vicki and Dan have been living in the same house since 1977, and have belonged to the same Conservative synagogue almost as long.  During the same period of time, Rob and I have lived in seven different homes in two different states and four different counties, and have belonged to four different congregations, and three different denominations - Reform, Reconstructionist, Not-So-Egaliterean Conservative.  We are the quintessential Wandering Jews.  Formally, we identify as Reform, and for me, that was after a lot of reading, research, and soul-searching.  Reform is the most liberal denomination - the first women cantors and rabbis, counting women as part of a minyan, calling women up to the bimah to read the Torah blessings, the acceptance of Jewish members of the LGBT community into the Reform mainstream, outreach to mixed-religion families, redefining "Jewish" to include children whose father is Jewish and who have been raised as Jewish - all of that comes out of the Reform movement.  We have a very different approach to observance of the commandments, which is why I don't keep kosher but do have mezuzot hung on the doorposts of our home, as well as my office over at City Centre.

So what was I doing attending services at the South Orlando Chabad this morning?  Sitting with other women on the distaff side of the mechitza?  Me, the social liberal, the seventies feminist?  Railing against the glass ceiling, declaring that women were the last disenfranchised group in American society?  I've been ready for Hillary since 2008!  Hell, I was ready for Geraldine Ferraro in 1984! And the last time I sat separate from the men, I was at my friend Mark's brother's bar mitzvah.  It was 1972 or -73.  I was confused, but not offended.  When in Rome, or the Avenue O Jewish Center.  Besides, I had experienced separate seating, sans mechitza, at the Sephardic Temple, during the months I had attended services there at the invitation of a high school friend.  Didn't bother me then at all, but that was in my prefeminist days. 

I have to admit to having some weird Jewish throwback hangups, like my Aunt Ceil's unwillingness to eat shellfish even though she did not keep a kosher home.  First one: I could not bring myself to put on a tallit (tallis, prayer shawl) even though I wanted to in the worst way.  I have admired women's talliot wherever I saw them - in the Judaica store, in Jewish catalogs, and being worn by women at services - but it just did not feel right to actually put one on.  Second: holding a Torah during Simchat Torah festivities, although that may have to do something with my fear of dropping it, which act of desecration would require that I fast for 40 days.  However, I even found it difficult to "touch" the Torah scroll with the corner of Robert's tallit when we were called up together for an aliyah, an honor, during services or a bar mitzvah. We were the most famous husband-and-wife team since Burns and Allen; we even took it on the road a couple of times. I would chant the blessing in Hebrew, and Rob would wear the tallit, since Rob can't read Hebrew and I won't wear a tallit.

What happened is that I really wanted to go to services at the Chabad, and I knew that meant dealing with the realities of separation of the sexes. It may have helped that neither Rob nor Cory accompanied me, so none of us would feel like our family was going to be torn apart and sent to different foster homes, albeit for just three hours.  When I walked into the shul, I saw that the mechitza was made up of a long row of carefully positioned silk trees.  I liked it, very much.  Very graceful, restful on the eyes, and it did what a good mechitza should do - allowed me to hear and see the Rabbi while helping me focus away from distractions.  Everything distracts me - children's voices, chickens crossing the road, a minyan of men who cannot stand still.  I went to pray, to contemplate, to focus on the words and the rituals, and the mechitza made it possible.  Very good Shabbos, indeed.

"Shoe Crew"

The day before that, I indulged in a cooking frenzy of trief (non-kosher foods) - choucroute (pronounced "shoe crew") garnie, an Alsatian dish of specially prepared sauerkraut served with a vast variety of pork products.  If you are planning on feeding an army, this is one of those dishes that does it best.

Choucroute Garnie - Reprinted from "It's All About the Food"- Recipes from Inspiration Nation - 6/12/11

I first tried the recipe for choucroute garnie from a big paperback cookbook called Great Dinners from Life, by Eleanor Graves.  I remember the first time I tried it, in my kitchen in Ronkonkoma, to serve at dinner where Kathy and Alan were our expected guests.  It was fussy but delicious.  One thing I remembered was wondering why the choucroute was cooked as long as it was, and why the bacon had to be blanched first, and over the years, I made some changes which I think better represent today's tastes in food, both in terms of technique and choice of ingredients.

I have to speak about brands here as well.  You know I am obsessed on the topic of Hellman's mayonnaise and to a lesser extent, Heinz ketchup.  At the same time, I have no problem using store brands for certain items when I feel quality has not been compromised.  When it comes to the individual sausages for this dish, I have previously chosen the Usual Suspects - brands like Hillshire Farms, Johnsonville, or Hebrew National.   I think, though, that this is one of those dishes where the meats should shine, and after many years of using those familiar brands that are, for this dish, "just okay", I would like to recommend you try the brands I am recommending today, and see if you don't enjoy this dish even more.  Some of them are pricier, I admit.  But worth it.

The choucroute:
4-14.4 oz cans Bavarian style sauerkraut, drained (Silver Floss brand)
4 tablespoons butter
1-12 oz package of bacon, cut into one inch pieces
4 carrots, thinly sliced
2 large onions, halved and thinly sliced
Bouquet garnie: thyme sprigs, bay leaf, 6 peppercorns, 2 large cloves peeled garlic, lightly cracked; place in a small piece of cheesecloth and tie closed with kitchen string
1/2 cup gin
1 cup chicken or beef stock
1 cup white wine or 1/2 cup each white and red wine
1/2 cup water

The garnie:
1- 2 to 3 pound smoked pork shoulder butt (Freirich brand)
1- 1 pound ring Polska kielbasa (Hillshire Farms)
4 beef knockwurst (Boar's Head)
4 cooked bratwurst (Boar's Head)

Additional seasonings and cooking fats are indicated by underlining within the body of the recipe

Allez cuisine, y'all:

Over medium heat melt the butter in a large heavy deep pan. Add the bacon and raise the heat to medium high. As the bacon cooks, use a wooden spoon to separate the pieces. When the bacon has rendered a good deal of fat and is about half cooked, add the onion and carrots. Season the vegetables with kosher salt (not too much, as the ingredients are all salty), coarse black pepper, a touch of sugar, smoked paprika, and a small amount of cayenne pepper. Cook over medium heat for about ten minutes until the onions have softened, bit are neither browned nor mushy.

Squeeze out most of the remaining liquid in the sauerkraut, and then stir it into the bacon-vegetable mixture in the pan so that each strand of sauerkraut is coated with some of the fat. Sprinkle some caraway seeds over the sauerkraut and stir them in.

Pour in the gin, stock, and wine, and water and bring to a boil. Transfer the sauerkraut to a very large casserole dish, bury the bouquet garnie in the sauerkraut, cover tightly and bake in a 325 degree oven for 2 hours.

In a large deep pot, place the smoked pork shoulder butt (leave the netting on) and cover with water up to one inch above the pork. You can just cook the pork in water, but I like to add bay leaves, some garlic cloves, peppercorns, smoked or regular Tabasco to taste, and a heaping tablespoon of beef bouillon granules. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and cover. Simmer about 1 1/2 to 2 hours. Remove from the water and let cool slightly so that you can handle to remove the netting. Also, about 1/2 hour before the pork will be done, add the kielbasa to the pot and simmer with the pork. At the same time, in a large pan, melt a couple of tablespoons of butter, with a drop of olive oil added, and slowly brown the knockwurst and bratwurst on all sides, and when done take off the heat and set aside. This will bring everything to completion at about the same time.

To assemble the dish:

Remove the casserole from the oven, remove the bouquet garnie and discard. Stir the choucroute. Arrange slices of the pork shoulder, the kielbasa ring, and the knockwurst and bratwurst on top of the choucroute. If you like you can cut the kielbasa and sausages into large chunks or let your guests do so as they serve themselves.

This dish screams out for some sort of rustic potato side dish.  Baked, boiled, oven-roasted - you can't go wrong with any of them.  Mashed - utterly sublime as an accompaniment.  I really want to be able to make potato dumplings, but in their absence, I plan on serving potato gnocchi that I did NOT make from scratch, boiled, drained, and served with shallots sauteed in butter.

I love bread with dishes like this, and I sort of imagine thick slices of chewy, crusty rye bread with caraway seeds, or a Jewish corn bread, or pumpernickel.  Lots of sweet butter.  For drinking, offer iced tea (this is the south, after all), beer, and some more of the wines used in the cooking.  My white wine was a pinot grigio and my red was a cabernet sauvignon.  Just happened to be what I had open in the house, but you can always plan ahead.

Now then - preparing this on Friday, May 8, 2015, I made some additional changes, mostly due to my  wanting to prepare a larger amount.  I used three 2 pound bags of Boar's Head sauerkraut, and increased the other ingredients proportionately.  I used 12 ounces of salt pork instead of the bacon. Instead of making a bouquet garnie, I cut up a lot of garlic and added it to the cooking onions and carrots.  I threw the thyme and bay leaves directing into the sauerkraut, and removed them when the cooking is done (the thyme leaves will have fallen off the stem).  I made up for the peppercorns by adding a lot of black pepper. I also cooked the sauerkraut for six hours on low in the large crockpot, letting it continue on warm for a couple of hours after that.  Finally, I added a couple of thick smoked pork chops in with the simmering kraut, for the last hour or two of cooking.

This time, I made the fried potato cakes to accompany the choucroute, making for a very happy combo platter.  I could also see myself making spaetzle to go with this, and one day, I'm going to figure out how to make a potato dumpling like the ones they used to serve at the German pavilion in EPCOT.

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.

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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