Rice is a staple for most of the world. It goes without saying that, given its popularity, there have evolved more than 15 varieties of rice. Short grain, long grain, basmati, jasmine, red, black, sushi! All of them can be reduced to length: short, medium, and long grain, and therefore, more, or less, sticky. Rice, literally, feeds the world. This seed provides a staple for almost half the world's population. Before I started cooking, my favorite rice varietal was Uncle Ben's. That wild rice mix was just the respite I needed from my collegiate diet of ramen noodles and cereal.
I've accumulated an appreciation for the different aspects of rice. I know that wild rice isn't a rice at all, but a grain. I enjoy foraging at the Co-op for weird rices; that black rice really is something to try! My favorite rice remains the Italian standard: arborio.
Arborio rice can't just be thrown into the rice cooker. You can't walk away from this one. Risotto is a labor of love. It is also a great excuse to stir the pot and do absolutely nothing else. Okay--you can shout "I'm thirsty!" and take a well-deserved sip. What you can't do, while making risotto, is "come here for a minute."
You will be forgiven. Someone else will set the table while you sway to your favorite tunes and stir. And stir.
Rice is simple: boil some water. Add some rice. Cover it and lower the heat. Risotto is different. Boil that water. Add an equal amount of stock. A little white wine splashed in there won't hurt either. One for you, one for me...
In a different pot, heat some oil. Add garlic and onion, and then--listen up!--add your arborio rice to that hot oil. Stir. Stir some more. Make sure it gets warm. Grab that ladle --the one you keep next to your stovetop--and add a cup of stock to your rice. Stir. Around and around. Back and forth. Slowly. Gently. When your rice has absorbed all of that stock, add some more. Stir. Around and around. Back and forth. Slowly. Gently. Do it again. And again. Keep watching for that track that follows your spoon. Time to add more stock!
Fall into this rhythm. It is important to have already poured your apperitif so that you don't have to walk away. It will improve that improvisational dance you've got going on. Stir. Around and around. Back and forth. Slowly. Gently.
Just when you think you should be done, add a little bit more. Then add some butter, and (this is my favorite part!) whatever combination of vegetables, protein, cheese that you want. Sometimes, I actually plan my risotto: corn, scallops, chopped parsley. Butter. One of my favorites is simply mushrooms, three or four different kinds, a little parmesan, lots of chives. Butter. A springtime favorite of mine is Three Pea Risotto: peas, sugar snaps, Chinese, some lemon zest, a dusting of parmesan. Butter.
Risotto is the ultimate recycler. Whatever you've got in your fridge, on your shelves, will work just fine. You may find a new favorite simply by throwing in whatever you're not ready to throw out: broccoli, that shredded cheddar, some leftover torn chicken. Some butter....
Whatever you decide to throw in, make sure you've cooked it, roasted it, boiled it first. Raw doesn't work in risotto. You're just warming it up. Some chopped herbs sprinkled at the end turn Whatever You've Got into Exceptionally Pretty.
You've emptied your glass. You've stirred and swayed. You're singing that "Dinner's Ready" song that everyone knows. Someone refills your glass as you weigh your options: You can spoon this onto a plate. Just like that. You could add a pork chop, chicken leg, sauteed chard/spinach/ bok choy, grilled salmon. You could get fancy-schmancy and fill a round cookie cutter with risotto, lift it off, and present your risotto restaurant-style. Voila!
You've just spent 20 minutes doing a "leave -me- alone-I'm cooking" dance. You are relaxed, you've got comfort on your plate, leftovers for lunch, and a family that simply won't complain about this one. Risotto is what you make it. Make yours! Make it great!
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Grace
My six-year old is learning ballet. It's a little ballet and a lot of squiggling, squirming, giggling, and cleaning the dance floor with her leotard.
These silly girlies are our next generation's young women; I watch them gliding across the floor, and then, suddenly, sliding across the floor! They plie at the barre, building muscles, controlling that core, all the while whispering and humming to the classical piano. I supress a grin when they sashay across the room, their bodies learning to express beauty, emotion. Some day, I think, a handful of these women-in-progess will be enviously graceful, pliable, with posture unequaled. They will possess that elusive "je ne sais quoi."
Someday. Not yet!
For now, their tongues are sticking out while they attempt a leap, their butts are sticking out as they tendue, their arms are flailing and suddenly all their body parts are flailing and they are on the floor. Cleaning again.
I see my six-year-old. She is already muscular. She stretches and I see the beauty peeking out. It is a hide and seek game. Mostly hiding.
It will take years of practice--rigorous practice--to get it all working together: posture, legs, pointed toes, rounded elbows, straight necks, buns that don't fall out! It will take years of daily stretching, weekly rehearsals, to transform these gangly girls into remarkable women. We may not get there. I don't aspire, in my daughter's stead, to a short career in dance. It is the journey we value, the effort and time it takes to learn this elusive grace; the miles and minutes of pounding feet transformed into fluttering toes, calm and poise in the face of serious musculature, immense pressure enveloped in a perfectly tensed grand jette.
Of all the people thriving and flailing on this planet, little girls are the ones who know how to multi-task: they can have a good time no matter what demands are set in front of them. "Write my name? Okay!" A little girl will add curley-cues, smiley-faces, hearts and flowers. "Go get my sweater? Okay!" Little girls will pirouette along the way, maybe make up a sweater song on the way back. "Do my homework? Okay!" A little girl--do you have one?--may do it with her imaginary friend, chatting away....
I understand why ballet is perfect for little girls. It's not the pink leotard, or the pretty tutus (although they are so appealing!) It's work; it's play. Yes, she may take years to perfect that plie. She may need months to remember fifth position. She knows where she's going, but she will benefit from dilly-dallying. "What's the point," she may state," if you're not having fun?" Indeed!
This ballet lesson is not just for our little girls. This benefits humanity: There is no instant gratification here. Progress is marked in months, not minutes, and --here's the secret--all the while, we are having fun! I look at my busy life, my friends, our scurrying and scheduling. I stare into the mirror and see a blur of activity: schedules, responsibilities, meetings and playdates. I keep looking, deeper, and I see Beauty peeking out at me. Joy. Grace. There they are, those little girls surrounding me! They caress my face as they glide by. I feel sincerity in their affection. I get a glimpse, in that mirror, of life at Six: Life is Beautiful! We may be dancing along, tongues out, butts out, doing our best. We are working hard! I hope, above all, that we are having fun. Laughing! With each other. With ourselves.
These silly girlies are our next generation's young women; I watch them gliding across the floor, and then, suddenly, sliding across the floor! They plie at the barre, building muscles, controlling that core, all the while whispering and humming to the classical piano. I supress a grin when they sashay across the room, their bodies learning to express beauty, emotion. Some day, I think, a handful of these women-in-progess will be enviously graceful, pliable, with posture unequaled. They will possess that elusive "je ne sais quoi."
Someday. Not yet!
For now, their tongues are sticking out while they attempt a leap, their butts are sticking out as they tendue, their arms are flailing and suddenly all their body parts are flailing and they are on the floor. Cleaning again.
I see my six-year-old. She is already muscular. She stretches and I see the beauty peeking out. It is a hide and seek game. Mostly hiding.
It will take years of practice--rigorous practice--to get it all working together: posture, legs, pointed toes, rounded elbows, straight necks, buns that don't fall out! It will take years of daily stretching, weekly rehearsals, to transform these gangly girls into remarkable women. We may not get there. I don't aspire, in my daughter's stead, to a short career in dance. It is the journey we value, the effort and time it takes to learn this elusive grace; the miles and minutes of pounding feet transformed into fluttering toes, calm and poise in the face of serious musculature, immense pressure enveloped in a perfectly tensed grand jette.
Of all the people thriving and flailing on this planet, little girls are the ones who know how to multi-task: they can have a good time no matter what demands are set in front of them. "Write my name? Okay!" A little girl will add curley-cues, smiley-faces, hearts and flowers. "Go get my sweater? Okay!" Little girls will pirouette along the way, maybe make up a sweater song on the way back. "Do my homework? Okay!" A little girl--do you have one?--may do it with her imaginary friend, chatting away....
I understand why ballet is perfect for little girls. It's not the pink leotard, or the pretty tutus (although they are so appealing!) It's work; it's play. Yes, she may take years to perfect that plie. She may need months to remember fifth position. She knows where she's going, but she will benefit from dilly-dallying. "What's the point," she may state," if you're not having fun?" Indeed!
This ballet lesson is not just for our little girls. This benefits humanity: There is no instant gratification here. Progress is marked in months, not minutes, and --here's the secret--all the while, we are having fun! I look at my busy life, my friends, our scurrying and scheduling. I stare into the mirror and see a blur of activity: schedules, responsibilities, meetings and playdates. I keep looking, deeper, and I see Beauty peeking out at me. Joy. Grace. There they are, those little girls surrounding me! They caress my face as they glide by. I feel sincerity in their affection. I get a glimpse, in that mirror, of life at Six: Life is Beautiful! We may be dancing along, tongues out, butts out, doing our best. We are working hard! I hope, above all, that we are having fun. Laughing! With each other. With ourselves.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
My Signature
They are something from the 50s, when chemistry was the housewife's hero, a 20th century manifestation of everything industrial: the Marshmallow. They are also my Frenchman's weakness. If I bring home a bag, they disappear within 24 hours. Yes he shares--his enthusiasm for marshmallows has rubbed off on my children.
We came across a homemade marshmallow, covered in chocolate, on a stick! It was at a Farmer's Market years ago. My French man didn't share. I saw the glee in his eye. I take my wifely duties seriously, so I resolved. I researched. I have conquered this concoction. My French man's only lament about my marshmallows is that I share!
A marshmallow, at its humblest, is only three ingredients: sugar, gelatin, corn syrup. It must be heated precisely. It must be measured meticulously. It must be beaten until it has quadrupled in size, then spread and "dried." Making marshmallows is serious business. It often takes 2 days! (Hey, I have three kids...)
My marshmallows, the homemade kind, have evolved. Sometimes they are just plain. I started just cutting these confections into cubes. Then we began dipping them in dark chocolate. oh! That's when I realized I had to double my recipe. I began to add spices, essential oils, to make these fluffy cubes sing: star anise, orange oil, cocoa powder, cinnamon. A little food coloring --don't scoff! We're talking about marshmallows, after all!--a little food coloring, and we've got the perfect Valentine's treat: airy pinks and pale reds, lilac and peach wrapped up with L-O-V-E.
I can pipe marshmallow ghosts, perfectly white forms that float off the plate...Homemade becomes the perfect topping for my S'mores cupcakes, right down to the blowtorch that toasts this twirl of fluff. If I'm industrious (let's be honest, this doesn't happen very often anymore...) I can stuff my marshmallow gracefully into chocolate-lined baking cups. Picture mini-muffin tins, chocolate, ganache, marshmallow. You know I love you if you get these for Christmas!
I cook a lot. I bake often. I can keep my family stocked in cookies and cakes for months, yet they only remember the Marshmallows. They are industrial! They should be disdained! They have corn syrup! They are also magical, and, somehow, they have become my signature treat: Mom's Marshmallows. My teenager is suddenly clinging to my side while I cut and roll them in powdered sugar to magically coat the sticky. My French man finds reasons to swing by the kitchen while they dry, and suddenly, I remember why I always make a double batch!
.
We came across a homemade marshmallow, covered in chocolate, on a stick! It was at a Farmer's Market years ago. My French man didn't share. I saw the glee in his eye. I take my wifely duties seriously, so I resolved. I researched. I have conquered this concoction. My French man's only lament about my marshmallows is that I share!
A marshmallow, at its humblest, is only three ingredients: sugar, gelatin, corn syrup. It must be heated precisely. It must be measured meticulously. It must be beaten until it has quadrupled in size, then spread and "dried." Making marshmallows is serious business. It often takes 2 days! (Hey, I have three kids...)
My marshmallows, the homemade kind, have evolved. Sometimes they are just plain. I started just cutting these confections into cubes. Then we began dipping them in dark chocolate. oh! That's when I realized I had to double my recipe. I began to add spices, essential oils, to make these fluffy cubes sing: star anise, orange oil, cocoa powder, cinnamon. A little food coloring --don't scoff! We're talking about marshmallows, after all!--a little food coloring, and we've got the perfect Valentine's treat: airy pinks and pale reds, lilac and peach wrapped up with L-O-V-E.
I can pipe marshmallow ghosts, perfectly white forms that float off the plate...Homemade becomes the perfect topping for my S'mores cupcakes, right down to the blowtorch that toasts this twirl of fluff. If I'm industrious (let's be honest, this doesn't happen very often anymore...) I can stuff my marshmallow gracefully into chocolate-lined baking cups. Picture mini-muffin tins, chocolate, ganache, marshmallow. You know I love you if you get these for Christmas!
I cook a lot. I bake often. I can keep my family stocked in cookies and cakes for months, yet they only remember the Marshmallows. They are industrial! They should be disdained! They have corn syrup! They are also magical, and, somehow, they have become my signature treat: Mom's Marshmallows. My teenager is suddenly clinging to my side while I cut and roll them in powdered sugar to magically coat the sticky. My French man finds reasons to swing by the kitchen while they dry, and suddenly, I remember why I always make a double batch!
.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Orange
Orange is a peculiar color. It can be so bright and cheerful that it scares people away. Too much emotion. Too much. Orange can be deep and somber, mellow, nostalgic so that people stare off into the distance and long for another time, another place...
I have trouble choosing just one favorite color, but orange is always hovering in my Top Three. These days, it is Number One. It is Orange Season. I look around and it shocks me out of my complacency: orange leaves, orange scarves, orange pumpkins beckoning me...Even my table gets woken up. Orange is so In right now. So hot, so cool. I dare you to put it on!
Peppers are in season! You can julienne some red, orange, and yellow to brighten up that pork loin. Puree two of these bright colors into a magnificent sauce--a coulis, if you will--for a savory strata, a simple pasta, that pan-fried chicken. Dice them large and add them to your roasted root vegetables. Sprinkle them in those black beans to make your chili/taco/quesadilla a true fiesta.
Orange just keeps popping up everywhere. Grab a yam--I know, it's not Thanksgiving!--grab one anyway and wrap it up like a Russet. You can smush some butter in that baked yam, a little cilantro, or oh! chipotle....Stuff that sweet potato with those leftover black beans. Sprinkle some toasted pepitas over the top. Yum!
Cut that mellow butternut squash in half, scrape out the seeds, and add a dollop of butter and brown sugar. Slide that into your oven. Roast it. Steam it. It's all good. You've got a happy hour before dinner's ready. You have time to toss a salad. Even crumble some bacon into that happy lettuce. Roast that squash in giant cubes and toss it with some tortellini, sauteed mushrooms, a little sage. Stuff that cavity with wild rice. Maybe some brussels sprouts. Parsnips, just to make it interesting.
Orange is good for you. It's that Beta-Carotene. Orange is the right thing to do, and there they are: those ubiquitous pumpkins. No, not the jack variety. Those won't do. Grab a Baby Pam, a Sugar Pumpkin, or a Peek-a-Boo. Don't feel like butchering a pumpkin? Grab a can. You don't lose much in the translation. With very little effort, you can transform that can into a myriad of quickbreads. You just need a secret ingredient: chocolate chips, pumpkin seeds, shredded carrot, crystallized ginger, or--my personal favorite--uh, no, sorry, not going to tell you....
Canned pumpkin makes great pie. Yes, we know. Try something different. Transform that can into a great smoothie. Hand it to a teenager and watch their face become five years younger. (So worth it!)Turn that big can into muffins. Add cream cheese frosting. Drizzle caramel. Top them with buttercream, a pinch of Five Spice, a whisper of molasses....Orange pancakes! Pumpkin waffles! Turn that mush into a pureed soup so fast your kids won't have time to set the table first! Add it to your polenta; pumpkin and corn go together like siblings (well, not mine, but you know what I mean...) Turn this stuff into a souffle--sweet or savory. This is the beauty of pumpkin: there's nowhere it doesn't work.
"Oh!" People will say. Orange on the plate creates a palette of comfort combined with the promise of surprise. It is beauty: the suggestion of a magnificent sunset. It is whimsy: the murmur of mischief on the horizon. Put it on! It looks great on you!
I have trouble choosing just one favorite color, but orange is always hovering in my Top Three. These days, it is Number One. It is Orange Season. I look around and it shocks me out of my complacency: orange leaves, orange scarves, orange pumpkins beckoning me...Even my table gets woken up. Orange is so In right now. So hot, so cool. I dare you to put it on!
Peppers are in season! You can julienne some red, orange, and yellow to brighten up that pork loin. Puree two of these bright colors into a magnificent sauce--a coulis, if you will--for a savory strata, a simple pasta, that pan-fried chicken. Dice them large and add them to your roasted root vegetables. Sprinkle them in those black beans to make your chili/taco/quesadilla a true fiesta.
Orange just keeps popping up everywhere. Grab a yam--I know, it's not Thanksgiving!--grab one anyway and wrap it up like a Russet. You can smush some butter in that baked yam, a little cilantro, or oh! chipotle....Stuff that sweet potato with those leftover black beans. Sprinkle some toasted pepitas over the top. Yum!
Cut that mellow butternut squash in half, scrape out the seeds, and add a dollop of butter and brown sugar. Slide that into your oven. Roast it. Steam it. It's all good. You've got a happy hour before dinner's ready. You have time to toss a salad. Even crumble some bacon into that happy lettuce. Roast that squash in giant cubes and toss it with some tortellini, sauteed mushrooms, a little sage. Stuff that cavity with wild rice. Maybe some brussels sprouts. Parsnips, just to make it interesting.
Orange is good for you. It's that Beta-Carotene. Orange is the right thing to do, and there they are: those ubiquitous pumpkins. No, not the jack variety. Those won't do. Grab a Baby Pam, a Sugar Pumpkin, or a Peek-a-Boo. Don't feel like butchering a pumpkin? Grab a can. You don't lose much in the translation. With very little effort, you can transform that can into a myriad of quickbreads. You just need a secret ingredient: chocolate chips, pumpkin seeds, shredded carrot, crystallized ginger, or--my personal favorite--uh, no, sorry, not going to tell you....
Canned pumpkin makes great pie. Yes, we know. Try something different. Transform that can into a great smoothie. Hand it to a teenager and watch their face become five years younger. (So worth it!)Turn that big can into muffins. Add cream cheese frosting. Drizzle caramel. Top them with buttercream, a pinch of Five Spice, a whisper of molasses....Orange pancakes! Pumpkin waffles! Turn that mush into a pureed soup so fast your kids won't have time to set the table first! Add it to your polenta; pumpkin and corn go together like siblings (well, not mine, but you know what I mean...) Turn this stuff into a souffle--sweet or savory. This is the beauty of pumpkin: there's nowhere it doesn't work.
"Oh!" People will say. Orange on the plate creates a palette of comfort combined with the promise of surprise. It is beauty: the suggestion of a magnificent sunset. It is whimsy: the murmur of mischief on the horizon. Put it on! It looks great on you!
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Something Wicked
It's sweater time! I dig out my dusty slippers from under the bed, put away those tank tops, try on last year's corduroys just to make sure...October: Falling leaves. Chilly breezes. Foggy mornings. Darker nights. I turn on my oven. I pull out my crockpot. We bake. We braise.
October may be my favorite month. Change is never more evident than this month that celebrates the macabre, Death, even. The season changes our shade trees to candy corn yellows, oranges, reds, dark purples. Even the produce turns dark. I begin my autumnal feast: a cornucopia of roasted root vegetables baked in a pumpkin, stuffed sweet potatoes, butternut squash filled with wild rice and brussels sprouts, a trilogy of potatoes layered like plaid in my casserole. It could be a mellow celebration: golds, browns, ambers, except that this transition is turned upside-down by impending glee: October 31st.
There is candy coming! My family feels this like the first rumblings of an earthquake: a little fear, a little excitement, eyes wide. "We are going to be zombies! No....vampires. Um...zombies, maybe." This becomes our dinnertime chant.
We've spent the last month readjusting to 'get-up-on-time,' 'do-your-homework-first' lectures, and 'not-on-a-school-night' sighs. We look up from our work and find, delighted, that our home has become a party. Here we are! I have framed my doorway with flying bats, replaced the family photos with pumpkins and skulls, exchanged those white plates for black with crows. My house is full of cobwebs--purposefully!--and Scary is lurking around every corner. Ghosts moan. Spiders greet you unexpectedly. Skeletons freak out my dog, my children, my guests. We giggle. We scream. We are orange and black! We are afraid!
We measure our Haunted Trail Mix, assemble Candy-Corn Jello, bake bleeding cupcakes, spin cobweb cookies in the mixer, ice the tombstone cakes, lay out the skeleton meringues. "We are going to be mummies. No! Vampires! Maybe pirates...Hmmm." We flip pumpkin pancakes, bake pumpkin bread, decorated pumpkin muffins, and toast those pumpkin seeds. Finally, we stab that pumpkin--killing to create. So October!
Skeleton hands pop up in the yard. Mice scurry across the table. We eat brain: cakes, jello, popsicles! "We are zombies!" Our delight brightens the darkness that creeps into our house. Halloween is S-C-A-R-Y! Dark. Creepy. It makes you shudder. It gives you goosebumps. It may make you scream! It is the ultimate month-long rollercoaster. We cuddle, creating a campfire in our racing hearts, as we read scary stories, do the Monster Mash, and finally decide: "We are going to be goblins. No...maybe vampires...."
Halloween is S-C-A-R-Y. Just don't let my kids know....
October may be my favorite month. Change is never more evident than this month that celebrates the macabre, Death, even. The season changes our shade trees to candy corn yellows, oranges, reds, dark purples. Even the produce turns dark. I begin my autumnal feast: a cornucopia of roasted root vegetables baked in a pumpkin, stuffed sweet potatoes, butternut squash filled with wild rice and brussels sprouts, a trilogy of potatoes layered like plaid in my casserole. It could be a mellow celebration: golds, browns, ambers, except that this transition is turned upside-down by impending glee: October 31st.
There is candy coming! My family feels this like the first rumblings of an earthquake: a little fear, a little excitement, eyes wide. "We are going to be zombies! No....vampires. Um...zombies, maybe." This becomes our dinnertime chant.
We've spent the last month readjusting to 'get-up-on-time,' 'do-your-homework-first' lectures, and 'not-on-a-school-night' sighs. We look up from our work and find, delighted, that our home has become a party. Here we are! I have framed my doorway with flying bats, replaced the family photos with pumpkins and skulls, exchanged those white plates for black with crows. My house is full of cobwebs--purposefully!--and Scary is lurking around every corner. Ghosts moan. Spiders greet you unexpectedly. Skeletons freak out my dog, my children, my guests. We giggle. We scream. We are orange and black! We are afraid!
We measure our Haunted Trail Mix, assemble Candy-Corn Jello, bake bleeding cupcakes, spin cobweb cookies in the mixer, ice the tombstone cakes, lay out the skeleton meringues. "We are going to be mummies. No! Vampires! Maybe pirates...Hmmm." We flip pumpkin pancakes, bake pumpkin bread, decorated pumpkin muffins, and toast those pumpkin seeds. Finally, we stab that pumpkin--killing to create. So October!
Skeleton hands pop up in the yard. Mice scurry across the table. We eat brain: cakes, jello, popsicles! "We are zombies!" Our delight brightens the darkness that creeps into our house. Halloween is S-C-A-R-Y! Dark. Creepy. It makes you shudder. It gives you goosebumps. It may make you scream! It is the ultimate month-long rollercoaster. We cuddle, creating a campfire in our racing hearts, as we read scary stories, do the Monster Mash, and finally decide: "We are going to be goblins. No...maybe vampires...."
Halloween is S-C-A-R-Y. Just don't let my kids know....
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