We Are Supposed to Share

I love how kids respond to food. To rephrase the nursery rhyme (about the little girl with the little curl), "When it's good, it's very, very good, and when it's bad, it's horrid." You can see that chocolate ice cream is very, very good. I suppose someday she will learn to stifle her exuberance at the table, but I hope not too much.

Lately, my little one has been refusing to eat alone. "I want to eat chocolate ice cream WITH YOU," she demands. She will not be appeased until I sit down at the table with her, with my own bowl of chocolate ice cream. I don't mind the forced ice cream feeding, but I'm also proud of her. My three-year-old has figured out at least one rule: that eating is something we are supposed to do together. She's so smart. Or I should say, she's so human. She enjoys the ice cream more, seeing that I'm enjoying it too. I don't bury my face in the bowl, though I wish I could. I just scrape the last drops as best I can onto my spoon. (OK, I'm lying. I drink from the bowl too, when it's just me and her. Hopefully she'll figure out there are separate rules for family and for company.)

 

One of the best eating together rituals we have in our family is Saturday morning pancakes. We even make the pancakes together. Sort of. The three-year-old makes "something gooey" in her own bowl, while the five-year-old and I work together. The other day in the grocery store the three-year-old saw some blueberries, and insisted on buying them. Never mind that they are not at all in season and had traveled thousands of miles to get here. The girl loves blueberries, and believe me, I am not going to go all Alice Waters on a three-year-old in a grocery store. (Although I deeply respect Alice Waters. I'm just not made of the same stuff.) Anyway, the blueberries weren't too bad. They were better in our Saturday morning pancakes, with a little butter and honey on top, eaten together as a family in a leisurely Saturday morning fashion.

Saturday Morning Blueberry Pancakes
(heavily adapted from Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone by Deborah Madison)
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
3/4 cup whole wheat flour
1 tablespoon sugar
Salt
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon cinammon
2 eggs
3 tablespoons oil
1 1/2 cups milk
1 teaspoon vanilla
blueberries

Mix the dry ingredients in a large bowl with a fork. In a second bowl, beat together the eggs, oil, milk, and vanilla. Add the wet ingredients to the dry and stir just enough to combine. Don't worry if there are lumps, they'll smooth out during cooking.

For each pancake, pour about 1/4 cup of batter onto a nonstick skillet set over medium high heat. Sprinkle about six blueberries onto the top of the pancake and let it cook. Flip to the other side after bubbles appear all over the surface of the pancake. Cook the other side until browned, about one minute.

Serve with butter and honey or maple syrup. (And don't use the fake high-fructose corn syrup stuff. I know real maple syrup is crazy expensive, so if you can't afford it, just use honey instead, like we do. Trust me, bee barf tastes much better than maple flavored corn syrup from a factory. Not to get all Alice Waters on you or anything.)

It's All in the Sauce

My husband made up a catchy song about beans and rice to entertain the kids. It goes something like this: "Beans and rice, beans and rice, yeah. Beans and rice, beans and rice, whoa." Repeat ad infinitum. The song is amusing the first time around, but by the twentieth repeat, it's...  not so amusing anymore. Kind of like eating beans and rice. Art truly does imitate life!

Sometimes you need a special sauce. Like salsa. But sometimes you don't have any salsa, nor do you have the ingredients necessary for making it. So you have to pull something out of your posterior region, and hope it works. That's what I did a few days ago, and it really did work! This is a creamy sauce with no cream in it, so vegans can enjoy it too. It's a bit tangy, a bit smoky, and it's got a mild kick of chile heat.


Pasilla Almond Sauce
1 cup of raw almonds
1 clove of garlic, chopped
about 5 sprigs of Italian parsley
2 dried pasilla chile peppers* (soaked in about three cups of hot water for 15 minutes, or until soft)
juice of slightly more than half a lemon (or more, to taste)
water (from soaking the pasillas)
salt
pimentón to taste (Spanish smoked paprika)**

Add almonds to a blender, along with garlic, parsley, soaked pasillas, lemon juice, a little salt, and a little pasilla water. Blend. Keep adding the pasilla water and blending until you have a smooth sauce, about the consistency of heavy cream. Remove sauce from blender, add a small amount of pimentón, and more salt and lemon juice if needed. Taste. The pimentón adds smokiness. If you think your sauce needs more smoky flavor, add more pimentón. Just don't add too much, because it's easy to overdo it. Serve on beans and rice, or in a burrito, or on a taco, or in a quesadilla. (See the picture above. I used a picture of my quesadilla because I couldn't make beans and rice look pretty. Use a mild cheddar or jack cheese, and add chopped red onions.) I can also testify that it tastes good on cumin roasted cauliflower. And I am pretty sure it would make a great veggie dip, or even work for vegan nachos.

Now you can keep eating beans and rice, and enjoy their protein-filled, dirt-cheap goodness without feeling bitter about it.

*Note about dried pasilla chiles: They are sometimes called chile negro. They have purplish-black, wrinkled skin, and are about an inch wide and six inches long. I can get them at my local Dekalb Farmer's Market, but a Latin grocery would also be a good source if you can't find them elsewhere. Buy a bunch and stock up.

**Note about pimentón: I bought my pimentón at Dekalb Farmer's Market (yes, they have everything), and I'm not sure where else one might find it, but Whole Foods or a well-stocked grocery store might have it. Or you could always order online. I think it's worth it for the mildly spicy, smoky flavor. For vegetarians, it works really well in things like split pea soup, where you want the smoky background flavor of ham or bacon, without actually using ham or bacon. And don't even mention Liquid Smoke (because I like my smoke to be smoky).

Update: My husband informs me he remembered the "beans and rice" song from Schoolhouse Rock. The name of the song was, of course, "Beans N Rice," and unfortunately those were also the only words he could remember. The Schoolhouse Rock version is much better. Go check it out, so you can teach the real deal to your kids. (As an aside, they should have stuff like this on TV nowadays.)

Summer Tomatoes in Winter

In the summer, we had all the tomatoes we wanted. We had big ones, little ones, medium ones, in shades ranging from purple to scarlet to soft peach to green. We even had tomato cousins—meaning tomatillos, the tart, green, hard little papery-husked tomatoey things used to make green salsa. It's safe to say that by the end of summer we were pretty much tomatoed out. But now it's cold and grey outside and I really miss my fresh tomatoes. (Like the grasshopper in the fable, I didn't put any up for the winter, so now I pay the price. I always want to be more like the industrious ant, but maybe should just face the fact that I'm not.)

But then again, there's always Florida. One of the good things about living in Georgia is we aren't too far from that balmy state. And in Florida, they can grow things like tomatoes in winter.  I received some organic Florida tomatoes in my weekly farm share delivery, and while they weren't as good as homegrown summer tomatoes, they weren't too shabby. They weren't exactly good enough to slice and eat raw with a little salt, so I decided to roast them to concentrate the flavor. I had a mixture of Roma tomatoes and grape tomatoes. I sliced the Romas, and threw the grape tomatoes in the oven whole on the same sheet pan. The grape tomatoes took less time to roast, so I simply removed them from the pan and put the Romas back in for awhile. When they were done, I pulsed them a few times in my blender with a chopped clove of garlic, a drizzle of olive oil and a little more salt, and voila! Easy summer-essence-of-tomato sauce in winter from slightly better than mediocre tomatoes. I put it on pizza, but it would work on pasta as well. Or, I was thinking of adding a touch of garam masala, for a simple Indian-inspired tomato sauce to have with rice, topped with cilantro. (If you do this, try roasting the tomatoes with ghee instead of olive oil.) You might as well do this with a huge amount of tomatoes, and freeze the extra sauce for another cold, rainy (or snowy) winter day. It would really be good added to any number of things (like lentil soup, or a grilled cheese sandwich). Or you could add a little chipotle in adobo sauce (you can often find it in the “ethnic” portion of the supermarket), and have a smoky, spicy tomato sauce to serve with rice and beans, or a burrito or something of that ilk. What I am trying to say is this sauce is versatile.

(My five-year-old loves the roasted grape tomatoes on their own. They are tender little morsels of tomato butter. She won't eat them raw because she doesn't like the texture, unless she picks them herself and they are the tiny, intensely sweet bright orange ones. But those are more like tomato-flavored candy than tomatoes. The three-year-old will only eat tomatoes in sauce form, on either pasta or pizza.)

Basic Roasted Tomato Sauce
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Lightly oil a large sheet pan with olive oil. Slice tomatoes into half-inch thick slices and arrange on sheet. Throw cherry or grape tomatoes onto the sheet whole. Lightly salt everything. After around 30 minutes, the grape tomatoes should be done (look wrinkled, a bit caramelized and slightly sunken in). Remove them, and put the sheet pan back in the oven. The sliced tomatoes should take about another 10 to 15 minutes.

When the tomatoes are done, add them to a food processor or blender, along with a glug of olive oil, and chopped garlic to taste. (I don’t like to add too much, because I want the tomatoes to be dominant. Just a hint of garlic is good.) Pulse a few times to puree the sauce. Remove sauce from the blender and add salt if needed. Use for any number of things, and freeze the extra.

The Next Day's Breakfast

The recovering-from-illness three-year-old wanted cheesy noodles for breakfast this morning. Please note she wanted noodles with real cheese, not the powdery stuff that comes in a packet. She was quite adamant about that. I’ve got nothing against the powdery cheese (it serves its purpose), but it’s nice when my girl wants me to use my skills. So I made her this:

Whole Wheat Penne with Asiago Cheese Butter Sauce
This is just pasta with cheese and butter. The cheese, butter, and a bit of pasta water emulsify to make a light, creamy coating on the noodles.
Make sure your pasta water is well salted, and boil and drain penne (or pasta of your choice) according to the package directions. Save some of the pasta water. Return the penne to the pot, and add a little of the cooking water and a very generous amount of shredded asiago cheese, along with a similarly generous amount of butter. Try to really smother the noodles in cheese. Add salt to taste. Stir everything together until the noodles are well coated with a smooth cheesy sauce. Serve with more shredded asiago on top and lots of fresh ground black pepper (if you are not three years old). This would be nice with a salad of fresh greens and vinaigrette dressing. Probably not for breakfast, though. I'd do it for lunch.

Our Little Secret

My husband doesn't eat meat. He was brought up from birth that way, in a family of strict Hindu vegetarians. I do eat meat. Not a lot, though I grew up eating meat every day in a family that was as strict about eating meat as my husband's family was strict about not. I eat meat probably once a month now.  We're fairly open about what our kids can eat, and let them try whatever is being served wherever we happen to be. That's how my kids happened upon salami. They had their first taste at a wedding reception and fell in love. And the reason they wanted to taste it in the first place? Well, they remembered The Very Hungry Caterpillar ate through a salami (among other things) on one very gluttonous Saturday, so they were curious and familiarized just enough with the concept. Otherwise, they never would have come near it, because to small children anything unfamiliar could quite possibly be poison.

Anyway,  fast forward to a couple months later. The salami was long forgotten, or so I thought. I certainly had forgotten about it. We stepped into the local deli/bakery/butcher shop/grocery. I was looking for some cheese, and my older daughter was staring intently into the meat case. "Mom. They have SALAMI." My younger daughter's ears instantly pricked up as she whipped her head around, gazed for a moment at the long, phallic shape, and started to shout, "SALAMI! I want SALAMI! I. WANT. SALAMI. NOW!!"

I got the salami. The woman who owns the place sliced it thin and wrapped it in a neatly folded white paper package sealed with a piece of masking tape. My daughters wouldn't even let me leave the store. I had to tear open the package right then and there and give them each about three slices before we could exit.

Now, whenever we go there, my older daughter prefers to get a shortbread cookie with raspberry jam. But my younger daughter says, "Just salami." So I have to get it, because I can't turn down a kid who'd rather eat salami than a chocolate chip cookie, or a brownie or a cupcake. It just doesn't seem right.  My husband's cool with it—it's just our deal, me and my carnivorous, charcuterie-lovin' girls.

Dinner for a Three-Year-Old Recovering from Chest Cold and Double Ear Infection
My younger daughter hasn't wanted to eat anything the past few days. Today she finally came back to herself, and this is what she insisted on having for dinner. (Who am I to argue? The body knows what it needs.)

Take two strawberries. Leaves must be cut off. Arrange nicely on a small plate. Add two slices of salami, peppercorns not removed (unless directed otherwise). Cut one slice of bread off a baguette. Cut three sides of the crust off, and place next to strawberries. Smear a small piece of butter off to the side. Serve.

Consolation in Collards

This week has not been good to me. The kids have been sick, we've been hit with a $300 car repair (and have had no car since Tuesday, resulting in rain-sodden walks to drop off and pick up my daughter from school), and my husband did this to my treasured Le Creuset pot:

Oh yes, and the lovely, heartwarming story I had written about collard greens that took me two weeks to craft and was all but finished has vanished into the ether because I accidentally deleted it, and of course I didn't back it up because I NEVER do things like that, even though I should have learned my lesson at least a half dozen times by now.

I can't reproduce it. I haven't the heart for it. It makes me feel ill. I think I feel worse about my post than my pot. Maybe that's because my pot can still make vegetables look pretty.

So here. Just make these collard green bhajis. If your husband is one of those men who likes football, make them for the Super Bowl, if you've forgiven him for ruining your pot. If you haven't forgiven him, just make them for yourself and don't share. (For the record, he felt horrible about it, and I have forgiven him.)

Collard Green Bhajis (Southern/South Indian fusion food for a Super Bowl party)
My mother-in-law came up with the brilliant idea for these, as I had some leftover cooked, chopped collard greens we wanted to use up. A bhaji is a fried Indian vegetable fritter. They are salty, crispy and fried so they are pretty much guaranteed to cheer you up if you've had a bad week. You can make them with any number of veggies. Thinly sliced potatoes and onions work really well (think spicy Indian onion rings).

1. Braise a decent amount of collard greens in a small amount of water until just tender and still bright green. Chop into fairly small pieces, and squeeze out excess water.

2. Mix chana dal flour (besan, or gram flour, which you can find at any Indian grocery) with salt, water, about a quarter teaspoon of asafoetida, and the desired amount of red chili powder. Add enough water to make the batter the consistency of pancake batter (it should cling to your vegetables without dripping very much).

3. Heat about an inch of canola oil in a small saucepan.

3. Take a small amount of collard greens (about a 2-inch wide mound in the palm of your hand), and dip in the chana dal batter. Drop the mound into the oil, and fry until crisp and browned. Turn the bhajis to brown the other side if necessary. Drain the bhajis on paper towels, and serve fresh.