Confessions of a Hot-Flash Foodie

Fakin' Bacon

2012-01-23T11:42:00.000-08:00

I’ll admit it. I felt like a drug addict looking for a fix this weekend. The steady downpour coupled with non-stop football made me crave meat. The Crockpot was my gateway drug to a rich, simmering spaghetti Bolognese. A spicy, fork-tender pork posole. A thick, tomatoey Hungarian goulash with a heavy dusting of paprika.
And then there’s every carnivore’s instant high…bacon. I can’t look at Brussel Sprouts without thinking how much better they would be bathing in a ”Calgon, take me away” pool of bacon fat. Bacon is probably the number one reason I will never give up meat completely. Pair it with a burger and you have culinary perfection. After all, what is winter without a bacon-laced Beef Bourgogne? What is a summer sandwich without lettuce and tomato acting as fashion accessories to a crisp, salty strip of perfectly cooked bacon?

Did you know that December 30th is Bacon Day? Had I known--especially since I was just about to head into Vegetanuary--I would have thrown a huge party and found a way to baconize every dish. Homer Simpson may not have said it but I’m sure he would agree with this quote, "Life expectancy would grow by leaps and bounds if green vegetables smelled as good as bacon."

I decided that I had to hold true to my Vegetanuary values. I broke down and bought facon. That is, fake bacon. Facon is one of the strangest inventions of the 20th century. If you’ve never seen it, it looks like regular bacon that was culled from a pig from the Fukushima disaster. Nuclear pink with white stripes that I’m guessing are supposed to be “fat” are “nuked” for one to one and a half minutes. It becomes potato chip crisp and it has some smoky, salty resemblance to bacon much like Coffeemate powder mixed with water tastes like milk. What frightened me more about facon was not its taste or texture but the ingredients listed on the box.

EGG WHITES, SOYBEAN OIL WITH TBHQ FOR FRESHNESS, TEXTURED SOY PROTEIN CONCENTRATE, MODIFIED CORN STARCH, WHEAT GLUTEN, HYDROLYZED VEGETABLE PROTEIN (CORN GLUTEN, WHEAT GLUTEN, SOY), CONTAINS TWO PERCENT OR LESS OF GLYCERIN, SALT, SOY PROTEIN ISOLATE, SODIUM CITRATE, SODIUM PHOSPHATE, SUGAR, NATURAL AND ARTIFICIAL FLAVORS FROM NON-MEAT SOURCES, TORULA YEAST, CARAMEL COLOR, MONOCALCIUM PHOSPHATE, SODIUM TRIPOLYPHOSPHATE, NATURAL SMOKE FLAVOR, MALIC ACID, GUAR GUM, YEAST EXTRACT, LOCUST BEAN AND GUAR GUM, SODIUM SULFITE, CARRAGEENAN, RED #3, DISODIUM INOSINATE, DISODIUM GUANYLATE, NIACINAMIDE, IRON [FERROUS SULFATE], AUTOLYZED YEAST EXTRACT, NONFAT DRY MILK, YELLOW #6, VITAMIN B1 [THIAMIN MONONITRATE], VITAMIN B6 [PYRIDOXINE HYDROCHLORIDE], VITAMIN B2 [RIBOFLAVIN], CITRIC ACID, CYANOCOBALAMIN.

If bacon is bad for us, surely facon with its unpronounceable ingredients that were most likely conjured in a test tube have got to be worse. I’ve enjoyed my meatless creations. I feel like I’ve tried some real keeper recipes and increased my vegetable taste bud inventory. But I am looking forward to just one more week and I will be celebrating the end of Vegetanuary with the one ingredient that I know will make any dish taste better…bacon.

Half Way Through Vegetanuary

2012-01-15T11:54:00.000-08:00

I’ve made it halfway through Vegetanuary without any serious culinary disasters! We have gotten into a sweet groove at the dinner table. No one has been complaining about any lack of meat since I made a caveat that if we went out to dinner, everyone could order whatever they wanted. The goal is simply for me to bring vegetarian dishes to life and experiment with new ingredients, techniques and recipes.

Speaking of new techniques, today I’m going to roast squash in coffee beans! I received a gift subscription to Food and Wine Magazine. Two creative chefs came up with this technique and I’m willing to give it a whirl. I’m sure in any event the kitchen will drive everyone into an aromatic frenzy! I found a Costa Rican blend on sale so I will be sure to report back on whether or not this technique is worth repeating.

But first cookies. Another Food and Wine recipe that does a twist on conventional sugar cookies by adding Rice Krispies. Just pulled the first batch out of the oven and it exceeded my expectations. Buttery, crunchy with just the right hint of vanilla. It’s too bad that I have PMS because I don’t think the kids are going to have any left this week to take to school. I learned a new tip for softening butter. I rarely have patience to wait an hour for butter to soften to room temperature and microwaving it usually results in a puddle of melted butter or soft in some places and hard in others. Okay, my dirty mind just conjured an image that was not butter. Giving myself a little slap slap. So here’s the trick; take the stick of butter and place between two sheets of wax paper. With a rolling pin, roll it until it’s about an 1/8” thick. Peel it from the wax paper and Voila! Softened room temperature butter in less than 30 seconds. For those of you always wondered what to do with waxed paper besides wrap sandwiches, now you have another option.

As for new ingredients, I had intended to make a tomato, semolina and cilantro soup from Plenty. I’ve never cooked with semolina but have noticed that semolina flour is the primary ingredient in most pastas. I was able to find semolina flour at the grocery store but not semolina. After investigating on the Internet, I found that they are not the same. So a trip to New Seasons or Whole Foods is on the agenda. Otherwise I might just throw in quinoa and pretend it’s semolina.

The Golden Globes are on tonight and I hope to have dinner fully prepared by the 4:00 pre-game show. My sister is coming over and we intend to have no mercy on any actress who wears a goofy gown. It’s been a tradition that we gather for all of the pre-award shows and shout at the television. I’m guessing red carpet programming was designed to give women their own opportunity to act like men when they are watching a football game—except we will be drinking a nice Pinot instead of beer.

In addition to the squash, I’m planning on a Curried Cauliflower Soup with Coconut and Chilies. It seems like the perfect soup on a day when snow is in the forecast, but since this is Portland, it most likely won’t happen because it’s in the forecast. It’s only when it is NOT in the forecast that we get the kind of snow we embrace with a frenzied passion. Cookies, soup, squash and award shows. Sounds like a perfect Sunday to me!

Learning Plenty from Yotam Ottolenghi

2012-01-13T14:21:00.000-08:00

“My Best Friend is a person who will give me a book I have not read.”
― Abraham Lincoln

As for me, I’ll up the ante and suggest that an even better friend is a person who will give me a new cookbook! My butler’s pantry is lined with a collection as diverse as the dishes I create. My Italian cookbooks often are pictorials of life in Italy and make me hungry to catch the next plane to Florence. From 365 Slow Cooker Recipes to The American Heart Association Cookbook, there are culinary jewels to discover between the pages. My first Betty Crocker cookbook was given to me from my mother and reflects a bygone era of simple recipes. My “go-to” cookbooks include anything from the editors of Cook’s Illustrated. They are the reference guides in my kitchen that I turn to again and again for understanding both the technique and the science behind the making of delicious meals.

I just inherited my aunt’s cookbooks and I’m looking forward to seeing what treasures lay within the pages of Everyday French Cooking for the American Home to Better Homes and Gardens Recipes from Prizewinning Cooks circa 1989. Cookbooks not only are instruction manuals, but glimpses of the cultural and historical context of cooking at any given time. Ingredients that we now take for granted, like balsamic vinegar, truffle oil, chipotle peppers are absent from my older volumes where I’m more likely to find Jell-O as a primary ingredient. It’s just one of the reasons why my collection continues to grow. Despite the ability to find just about any recipe on the Internet, there is something very meditative about reclining on the couch with a good cookbook.

Often when I read about a new cookbook, I’ll take a “test drive” by checking it out from the library. This has been a frugal activity that allows me to play with recipes without fully “committing.” I do see a cookbook purchase as a long-term investment. The library allows me to find collections that are worth plunking down the big bucks.

This Vegetanuary, I treated myself to the purchase of Plenty: Vibrant Vegetable Recipes from London’s Ottolenghi. My British friend Edwin turned me on to Yotam Ottolenghi a few years ago. Ottolenghi writes a column in the London Guardian’s Weekend Magazine. An Israeli born chef, Ottolenghi is not a vegetarian but his restaurant is celebrated by carnivores and vegetarians alike because of his unique and original vegetarian dishes. I instantly became part of the Ottolenghi fan club after making his Sweet Corn Soup with Chipotle and Lime. I’m including his recipe today so that you can sample a fabulous vegetarian soup. I know I can’t wait to delve into his latest treasure trove of culinary possibilities.

Sweet Corn Soup with Chipotle and Lime
Ingredients
3 tbsp olive oil
4 shallots (1/4 lb), peeled and chopped
5 garlic cloves, chopped
3 celery sticks, cut into 1cm dice
1 tsp ground cumin
¼ tsp grounder coriander
1 lb. peeled pumpkin or butternut squash, cut into ½” dice
2 bay leaves
3 lime leaves, or a few shaved strips of lime zest
4-1/4 cups water
1 chipotle chili, soaked in boiling water for 15 minutes
4 sweet corn cobs, kernels shaved off
¾ cup sour cream
3 limes, halved
1 handful torn cilantro leaves
Salt

Heat the oil in a medium pot, add the shallots, garlic, celery, ground cumin, ground coriander and a little salt, and sauté on low heat for 12 minutes, to soften the vegetables.

Add the pumpkin or squash, bay leaves, lime leaves and water. Squeeze the water out of the chipotle chili, remove and discard the seeds, chop roughly and add to the pot. Bring to a boil and simmer for 15 minutes, or until the pumpkin or squash is soft. Add the corn and cook for five minutes.

Use a slotted spoon to lift out about half of the vegetables, and remove and discard the bay and lime leaves. Blend the remaining soup until smooth, then return the vegetables to the pot and bring to a light simmer. Add a little water if you find it too thick. Stir in half the sour cream and taste for seasoning.

Divide the soup into six bowls; squeeze the juice of half a lime into each portion, drop about a tablespoonful of sour cream in the middle and scatter over the torn cilantro leaves.

Note: Chipotle, which are smoked dried jalapeños, give both the spice and the smokiness to this soup. They vary in heat, so assess how hot yours is before adding it. If you can't get chipotle, use fresh chilies and smoked paprika instead, to taste. To add some crunch, brush a tortilla with oil, garlic, smoky paprika and a little salt, bake until crisp and break over the soup. Serves six.

Yotam Ottolenghi is chef/patron of Ottolenghi in London.

An Ass-Kicking Meal for My Good Friend

2012-01-03T16:12:00.000-08:00

We all deal with grief in our own way. Today I received word that my dear friend Ann lost her fight to metastatic breast cancer. Ann was first diagnosed in 1993 with breast cancer and then metastatic cancer in 2001. The prognosis was grim; she was expected to live another year or so. I’ve learned that when it comes to cancer statistics lie; every patient is unique and every tumor responds differently to treatment. Ann was quick to point out that she had already lived far beyond her “expiration date.” At the age of 56, after fighting cancer for almost twenty years, Ann left our world for what I’m betting is a better place.

Beyond her irascible spirit and humble courage, Ann brought people together over good food and drink. She shared the Seder with us one Passover, a unique experience for my family. For the last several years, my daughter and I joined “Annie’s Ass Kickers” at the Susan B. Komen Race for the Cure. I always cried when Ann crossed the finish line; it was indeed another year of unexpected victory. We returned from the race to Ann’s home where we would share a lovely brunch with her dedicated friends and family. It is a tradition I hope to continue in her honor with my own friends.

Starting a new year with the death of a loved one presents its own challenges. Frankly, I just couldn’t put on a happy face and head into the office. I’m fortunate that my business allows me the flexibility to stay at home, answer emails and phone calls. I usually like to push the “reset” button with my business every January and actually look forward to starting a new calendar year in real estate. But losing Ann…I just couldn’t get my act together. After a good cry in the car and a supportive walk with friends in the neighborhood, I returned home to my own way of dealing with grief. Cooking.

Food is comfort. Not just eating it, but the act of preparing it. I am calmed by the aisles of fresh produce at the grocery store. I have found that there is something soothing about chopping vegetables, whirling sauce in the blender and tasting the layers of flavor that develop with each step. Grief can become manageable in the kitchen.

As Vegetanuary continues, my task at hand was preparing something for dinner with Mexican flavors. Growing up in Southern California, I love Mexican food. My kids have told me that they much prefer “mommy Mexican” food to most of the food we can find here in Portland restaurants. I just know that combination of chilies, cilantro and tomatoes is good for a fragile soul.

Today I am serving a Chile relleno casserole. I was unable to find a recipe that truly combined all the flavors I was looking for so I’ve combined a couple of recipes. I’ve torched the peppers and will fill them with a mixture of quinoa, red peppers, onion, garlic, cilantro, pumpkin seeds and green onions. They will bake in an eggy soufflé, floating in oh-so-comforting cheese and topped with a tangy tomato sauce. A dollop of sour cream and I’m betting this will be a meal that Ann would have approved of.

Ass-Kicking Chile Relleno Casserole for Annie
Ingredients
For the peppers
4 (5”) poblano chilies, broiled and skin removed
1-1/2 cup water
¾ cup uncooked quinoa
¼ tsp. chipotle chili powder
1 cup chopped red bell pepper
1 onion chopped
2 tsp. minced seeded jalapeno pepper
2 minced garlic cloves
2 T. pumpkin seeds
1/3 cup minced green onions
2 T. minced cilantro
2 T. lime juice
Salt
Combine quinoa and water in a medium saucepan. Bring to a boil. Cover, reduce heat, and simmer 13 minutes until liquid is absorbed. Set aside. (You can also just make it in a rice cooker.)
Heat a T. olive oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Add red bell pepper, onion, jalapeno, garlic and chile powder. Cook 3-5 minutes until vegetables are soft. Stir in pumpkin seeds and sauté for another 2-3 minutes. Stir in cooked quinoa, green onions, cilantro and lime juice. Add salt to taste.

For the casserole
4 eggs, beaten
1 5 oz. can evaporated milk
2 T. flour
1 cup of shredded Pepper Jack or Cheddar cheese.
Combine all of the ingredients except for the cheese.

For the sauce
1 14 oz. can Muir Glen fire roasted diced tomatoes with green chilies
1 tsp. onion powder
1 tsp. ground coriander
1 tsp. ground cumin
1 tsp. New Mexico Chile powder
1 tsp. sugar
1 tsp. salt
Blend all of the ingredients in the blender.

To assemble
Split peppers, remove seeds and fill with 1/3 cup of the quinoa mixture. “Close” peppers and place seam side up in an 8”x8” Pyrex pan. Layer with ½ cup shredded cheese over the peppers. Pour egg mixture over chilies. Bake at 350 degrees for 25 minutes. Remove from oven and pour tomato sauce evenly over the top and continue baking another 15 minutes. Sprinkle remaining ½ cup cheese on top and serve.

A Yellow T-Shirt and a Cup of Tea

2012-01-02T11:24:00.000-08:00

This week I have been wearing the yellow t-shirt to bed. It’s your typical Target t-shirt. Short sleeves, v-neck, 100% cotton that shrinks so much that it typically doesn’t take too long before it’s moved to the rag pile. I acquired the shirt three years ago and it’s one of those things that I often grab for comfort. It is a funny little reminder of a good friend who left this Earth far too soon.

I met Stacey in my senior year in high school. She was part of a group that hung on “The Wall” at recess and lunch. It was a diverse group of girls; athletes, stoners and the academically gifted. Stacey was editor of the school paper but rarely talked about her accomplishments. With a petite frame, a glorious head of hair and an easy smile, she was a hard worker, a snazzy dresser and quick to stop folks in their tracks with her dry sense of humor. With our other partners in crime, Marie and Joanne, we quickly formed a Fearsome Foursome of sorts, traversing across the San Fernando Valley to “open parties” on Friday and Saturday nights. Starting at about seven o’clock, the phone would ring from a variety of sources, providing a road map to our slate of parties. No invitation required; just a couple of cross-streets were provided. We would doll ourselves up, load up into my 1969 VW beetle, Stacey’s VW station wagon or Marie’s mom’s yellow Pontiac with white leather upholstery in search of boys and bands. Unlike today’s high school kids, we were pretty carefree. There was no talk of SAT prep classes or even plans past the current weekend. It was a glorious time to be alive.

Stacey was the first to get her driver’s license, the first to marry, the first to have children and the first to die. Diagnosed just shortly after our ten year class reunion with ovarian cancer, Stacey was coping with chemo and radiation while I was still living that rather carefree life. I didn’t have the maturity to recognize how serious her prospects were for recovery. But the statistics were bleak: Only 15% of patients with Stage 4 ovarian cancer live for five years. How do you wrap your head around these types of odds when you have three young girls at home under the age of ten? Yet Stacey defied the odds and lived nine years with the disease.

Using her professional background in journalism, Stacey became a tireless advocate and spokesperson for the disease. While ovarian cancer remains one of the toughest cancers to fight, Stacey lobbied for more research and encouraged every woman to become familiar with the symptoms. While cancer did not define her; it defined her legacy. Recognizing the important role of laughter in her own life and how it could be used to raise awareness, she organized a successful annual benefit, "Comedy Night," for the National Ovarian Cancer Coalition. In 2003, Stacey met with top cancer researchers in Washington, D.C., to provide a survivor's perspective on research proposals competing for federal funding as part of the Dept. of Defense Ovarian Cancer Research Program. For more information on the symptoms of ovarian cancer, go to http://www.ovarian.org/docs/Ovarian_Cancer_Web_sheet_v3_10.pdf

Just after Thanksgiving 2008, Marie, Joanne and I reunited in Danville to say our final goodbye to Stacey. She was wheel-chair bound but her spirits were high. We reminisced about old times over stacks of photographs. I took over the kitchen, preparing a meal for her family they could freeze and a pot of “Miracle Mineral Broth” for Stacey. For cancer patients, foods often taste funny during chemo but it becomes imperative that they keep up their strength. The recipe that follows is one that I have cooked many times as one too many friends have faced their own personal battle with this horrible disease.
There was something strangely surreal about that final goodbye. It just doesn’t seem possible that the last hug, the last wave goodbye truly is forever. Stacey was not comfortable talking about death with us; but her final gesture was very clear. Marie, Joanne and I each received a teacup and saucer from the Wedgewood china she began collecting on her wedding day.

Tomorrow marks the three year anniversary of Stacey’s death. I know she is watching us all from a peaceful place, free of pain and suffering. Tomorrow I will climb into my shrunken yellow t-shirt and pour myself a comforting cup of Earl Grey tea in my lovely Wedgewood teacup and remember her life and her legacy.

Miracle Mineral Broth (recipe by Rebecca Katz)
Ingredients
6 unpeeled carrots, cut into thirds
2 unpeeled medium yellow onions, cut into chunks
1 leek, both white and green parts, cut into thirds
1 bunch celery, including the heart, cut into thirds
5 unpeeled cloves garlic, halved
½ bunch fresh flat-leaf parsley
4 medium red potatoes with skins on, quartered
2 Japanese or regular sweet potatoes with skins on, quartered
1 Garnet yam with skin on, quartered
1 (8-inch) strip of kombu (seaweed found in health food stores)
2 bay leaves
12 black peppercorns
4 whole allspice or juniper berries
1 tablespoon sea salt
Preparation
1. Rinse all the vegetables well, including the kombu.
2. In a 12-quart or larger stockpot, combine all the ingredients, except the salt.
3. Fill the pot to 2 inches below the rim with water, cover, and bring to a boil.
4. Remove the lid, decrease the heat to low, and simmer for a minimum of 2 hours.
5. As the stock simmers, some of the water will evaporate; add more if the vegetables begin to peek out.
6. Simmer until the full richness of the vegetables can be tasted. Add the salt and stir.
7. Strain the stock using a large coarse-mesh strainer (remember to use a heat-resistant container underneath).
8. Bring to room temperature before refrigerating or freezing
Makes 6–7 quarts

Prepaing to Thai One On Before Midnight Strikes

2011-12-31T16:39:00.000-08:00

Tonight’s New Year’s Eve celebration will be among good friends I’ve shared countless holidays with over the years. We’re united by a love of good food, good drink, lively political debates, unusually snarky comments and quite often, inappropriate behavior. Even with a looming presidential election, our most pressing issues are not whether or not Obama can retain his White House seat or whether our economy can rise from the ashes like Dumbledore’s phoenix, but whether or not we can be sufficiently good role models for our children given our extreme predilection for all things naughty.

But back to food and drink. Last year we chose to ring in 2011 with Spanish tapas. We had a delightful mix of meat, chicken, seafood and vegetarian dishes. It was a prelude for things to come for my family. We spent a week in Spain this summer on the delightful Costa Brava in the quaint town of El Campello, just north of bustling Alicante. The Mediterranean is a sea not an ocean, I was reminded many times. And a beautiful sea it is! It is the under-current that gives life to amazing culinary masterpieces from exquisite Boquerón’s (white anchovies) to chewy squid to steaming plates of saffron-infused paella. My husband’s uncle married a woman from Madrid some thirty years ago and she is a fantastic cook. My favorite meal Tante Raquel prepared was delectable combination of white fish, fried potatoes and a tangy yogurt sauce that kept the fish incredibly moist. See the recipe at the end of the blog.

This year our food theme is Thai cuisine. Our revelers are tasked with bringing a Thai dish to share. At my house, a Tom Kha Gai soup is simmering on the stove—I’ve bruised bunches of lemongrass and the aroma is tantalizing. In the hopes of Thai-ing one on (I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist!), we will say good bye to 2011 and ring in the new year with a spicy sense of adventure and anticipation. And if my Powerball ticket surprises me, perhaps a trip to Thailand!

Tante Raquel’s White fish over Fried Potatoes
Ingredients:
2 lbs. fresh cod fillets (approximately 4-6)
1 lemon
½ cup of both plain yogurt and mayonnaise
For the Potatoes:
2 T. butter
2 lbs. sliced potatoes (Russets or Yukon Golds
1 onion, thinly sliced
1-1/2 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. black pepper

Melt butter in heavy skillet. Layer sliced potatoes in skillet, sprinkle with salt, pepper and onions. Cover and steam for 15 minutes. Uncover and brown until deeply golden.

Flip the potatoes onto a baking sheet that has been covered with foil and sprayed with non-stick cooking spray. Take 4-6 cod fillets and place them on top of the potatoes. Season with salt and pepper. Squeeze the juice of one lemon over the fish. In a small mixing bowl, combine ½ cup of plain yogurt with ½ cup of mayonnaise. Spread the yogurt/mayo mixture over the fish and place the entire pan in a 400 degree oven for approximately 25 minutes until the fish is fork tender.

Are you ready for Vegetanuary?

2011-12-31T10:14:00.000-08:00

It’s been three years since the inaugural launch of my blog Hot Flash Foodie. Somehow my sincere intention of musing about the contradictions of an authentic middle life was waylaid by the distractions of actually living an authentic middle life. Work, kids, marriage, school advocacy projects took me on new adventures, cultivating rich friendships and often aggravating outcomes along the way. However, good food and drink never parted company and at least ten pounds easily found its way around the visceral middle of an engaging middle life.

2012 beckons me to return to my electronic quill…I have forgotten that writing actually feels good. A friend suggested I blog about Vegetanuary- One Woman’s Attempt to Pack on the Veggies and Lose the Pounds. The idea came to me after a truly decadent holiday season of wonderful parties, fabulous dinners and glorious cocktails. For the month of January, I challenged myself to cook only vegetarian meals and give up the “sauce.” It didn’t help that the Oregon Ducks were in the BCS championship with the Auburn Tigers. The nail-biting game begged for another Portland craft microbrew. While my teetotaling attempt didn’t transpire quite the way I wanted it to, I was quite successful in the kitchen, diving into new cuisines with an emphasis on fresh, seasonal vegetables. My husband and daughter are not huge meat eaters but my son, eleven at the time, was not happy about the prospect of giving up the beef. I was faced with the omnivore’s dilemma and settled on a deal that when we went out to dinner, the family could order whatever they wanted, but I would embrace a vegetarian lifestyle for one month.

This year I’m taking it seriously. I learned that switching to a vegetarian diet for the home cook requires one very important ingredient: Planning. This year I am approaching Vegetanuary like any good business plan; I’m writing down my goals and my activities that will result in a successful outcome. Cooking solely with vegetables requires a European sensibility toward shopping. You want to go daily to choose the freshest produce. You have to be flexible because often the ingredients you’re looking for aren’t available. This requires creativity and a leap of faith that if you go with your instinct, you can still produce a flavorful meal. It also means that you can pull out the Boca Burgers in a pinch, but don’t make it a habit. And then there’s cheese. Yes, I love it. But while macaroni and cheese seven nights a week technically fulfills the “meatless” requirement of Vegetanuary, it doesn’t contribute to the goal of fresh veggies and the “carrot” of potential weight loss. (That said, I will definite be making a wonderful macaroni and cheese with roasted cauliflower!)

To aid me in my quest, I’ve broken my plan into daily cuisines that I know my family will love with the intention that it will also help me discover new recipes while imparting familiar flavors.

Sunday: Soup – I chose Sunday for soups because it can often be time consuming. I love hanging out in the kitchen on the weekends, watching cooking shows while I putter. Soups are usually very forgiving and I can choose from any ethnic cuisine.

Monday: Italian – Who doesn’t like pasta? My family loves their carbs and whether it’s a rich tomato sauce or a creamy risotto, going Italian feels incredibly natural.

Tuesday – Mexican – From burritos to enchiladas to nachos, Mexican food is easy to translate into vegetarian options.

Wednesday – Asian – Thai, Chinese, Japanese…the options are endless and I’m fortunate to have many great Asian markets close by for inspiration.

Thursday – Cook’s Choice – Here’s where my plan allows for some flexibility, imagination and discretion. Let’s face it. Planning is often boring. Maybe I will pull out the Boca Burgers and make it easy on myself. Maybe I’ll serve leftovers. Maybe I’ll decide to make Italian twice in one week. I’ve gotta be me.

Friday – Family Night at a Restaurant – a hard week of planning and cooking deserves someone else to stir the pot.

Saturday – Pizza and a Movie– Last year I received a pizza stone for Christmas. This January I’ll experiment with new toppings followed by a good flick.

My hope is to blog frequently on which dishes are keepers for the New Year and what dishes fell flat. In the meantime, if you have any suggestions, feel free to let me know.

The beginning of a new year always holds so much promise. Whether we choose to reinvent ourselves or only our dinner table routine, there is something very refreshing about beginning anew. Happy New Year!

November Musing

2009-11-17T16:42:00.000-08:00

November is my least favorite month of the year. The Technicolor display of October has quickly become mushy fodder under my feet. What is left of the fall pageantry is now hanging on to arthritic branches for dear life. It seems like the most desperate month of the year.

I’ll admit I do find myself hiding under a cloak of melancholy during these not-quite-winter months. Perhaps it’s the persistent gray canvas, the schizophrenic wardrobe choices (someone needs to come up with waterproof/windproof fleece) and the calm eyes-forward march to burying yet another year.

As a real estate professional, it’s showing houses in the dark if you’re not out and about by five o’clock. Sellers understandably want you to remove your shoes but their agent inevitably will place a lockbox on a gas meter located deep in a wet rhododendron bush amidst bark dust. Oh, and of course, the porch light will be out. Houses just don’t show as well in November even if you have jacked up the wattage on every bulb in the house.

Then there is Thanksgiving. I’ve always fought with this holiday. I appreciate the Hallmark sentimentality of being thankful and try to live with a sense of gratitude. I like a four day weekend. But my family has never had a peaceful Thanksgiving holiday. When I was growing up, my mother worked herself into a tizzy making sure that it came off “perfectly.” Women were stuck in the kitchen doing all the heavy lifting while the men reclined with their signature cocktail, a spritzer made of Manischewitz kosher concord grape wine and 7-up. The men in the family were served first and fawned upon. Memories of it today still make me sick. I don’t have to watch Mad Men to have very vivid memories of the sexist 60’s. I’m very fortunate to be married to a man who has no problem helping out in the kitchen and does more than his fair share of work around the house. My kids, a boy and a girl, both help out in the kitchen and there is no gender favoritism as to who gets served first.

Perhaps the most anticlimactic part of Thanksgiving is that my dear Dutch husband doesn’t really care for the Thanksgiving menu at all. He would much prefer a good lasagna or chicken mole for a feast that requires so much preparation than a slab of turkey and gravy. He has an aversion to stuffing (bread pudding, too) and I make sweet and regular potato dishes often enough that it’s not really a big deal. What’s worse, my kids feel the same way. So there you have it. A menu that does very little to make the folks I’m most thankful for happy.

I’ve always tried to include my “orphan" friends – folks who don’t have family in town and are always welcome at my table. Funny, but they always seem to be the most thankful.

It’s a week until Thanksgiving and I’m not certain how it’s going to play out this year. I may just throw caution to the wind and come up with a completely unexpected menu. It may be time to start an entirely new tradition.

Playing Password

2009-10-22T13:20:00.000-07:00

Perhaps it's the afterglow of my weekend in California with my college girlfriends or the anticipation of my upcoming annual weekend getaway with the wonderful ladies of my book group, but I've been thinking a lot about how female friendships sustain me. Clearly I love my husband and my kids, but there is something about my time with my girlfriends that brings the essence of who I am to the forefront. In the company of these extraordinary women, I feel like I become my better me.

There are some friends who scare me with their almost Ghost Whisperer knowledge of the real me. They know how to bring up something that induces side-splitting belly laughs with a good tablespoon or so of Cabernet shooting through my nose. They know how how to comfort me in times of trouble. They know just the right thing to say during labor. It's not that my man can't make me laugh or comfort me; it's just that it seems to come so easily from my women friends. Of course, my husband is the first to admit that he really couldn't say anything right during the delivery of our two children. Why is that? Is it some evolutionary form of birth control that has developed through the ages?

This weekend I heard a story that required steel-toed kegels to keep me from peeing in my pants. My friend Mari had asked her dear friend Karen to water some plants while she was away for the weekend. When Karen unlocked the front door, the burglar alarm went off. She immediately called the alarm company who asked for the "password." Now Karen was not expecting to have to call the alarm company in the first place and had not been informed of any password. However, she was confident that she knew Mari pretty well. She also knew that Mari's kids had a password for whenever they were picked up at school by someone other than a parent. So when the alarm company operator asked for the password, she immediately responded with what she believed was the correct answer.

"Wipe my butt."

"Excuse me?" the operator replied.

"Wipe my butt." Karen repeated, this time forcefully. Obviously she was feeling pretty confident.

At this point, it had all the earmarks of a really bad crank call. And while Karen's guess was surprisingly wrong (in so many ways), there is something so beautiful about a friendship so resolute and confident.

And she was close.

"Kiss my ass."

Finding Room in the Container for A Bigger Life

2009-10-21T09:54:00.000-07:00

I’ve just returned from a weekend getaway with My UCLA College sorority girlfriends. Now I have a confession. I didn’t attend UCLA nor was I member of Tri-Delta. I attended the local commuter college and lived at home while I got my degree. My best friend joined Tri-Delt after we graduated from high school and regularly invited me to join her at fraternity parties and Girls’ Nights Out. When we both graduated our respective schools, she and I and another Tri-Delt became roommates. While I never lived in “The House,” I was privy to the stories that made their time in the sorority so magical.

For the last thirty years, I’ve developed deep and rich friendships with so many girls from the Pledge Class of 1979. They have embraced me as one of their own and made sure that I have been invited to beach getaways, football games (Go Bruins!) and weddings. Many of the women have said to me that they even remember having me in a class at UCLA! Sometimes, if I close my eyes, I can imagine it, too. I feel as if I am an “Honorary Tri-Delt” and am so fortunate to be entrenched in their sisterhood.

This weekend twenty eight of us convened at Bruin Woods, a UCLA conference center and retreat in beautiful Lake Arrowhead. The weather was perfect; the accommodations were exquisite and the conversations riveting. Some had flown across country to make the reunion and several of the women had not seen each other since they left UCLA. Each had traveled a unique journey. Two of the women were cancer survivors. One woman had lost a child. Other women were nurturing children with chronic illnesses. Two women had recently been laid off from their jobs. Another woman was raising her ex’s son from a previous marriage. There were women facing an empty nest with college-aged children and several women were raising children under the age of five. All of us were dealing with aging parents, some who had recently lost a mother or father and some bearing the burden of watching a parent slip into dementia. Thirty years ago, getting to class on time, finding a date for a formal and not getting brought up to Standards for naughty behavior were cause for stress. Funny how times change.

An incredibly accomplished group of women, there were lawyers, healers, artists, mistresses of industry, teachers and mothers. It would be easy to be intimidated if it were not for the fact that after thirty years, what it says on your business card becomes far less important than the answer to the question, “Are you happy?”

One of the women shared at breakfast that after rising the corporate ladder in a demanding and lucrative career in consulting, she left the business. As she put it, she traded the Big Container Small Life for the Small Container Big Life. She emptied the Big Container of everything that kept her from being true to herself. No more working on the weekends. No more guilt about saying no. No more compromise and regret. As her container began to shrink, her life suddenly became larger. Her heart began to grow. Her arms left her side, her fists unclenched and her hands became open to so many unimagined possibilities. And as the clutter of a conventional life cleared away, there was finally room to dance.

Since returning from this oh, so meaningful weekend, I am looking closely at my own container. What can I empty to make room for a Bigger Life? Where can I free myself of unnecessary responsibility, material excess and disingenuous relationships? Because if there is no room to nurture the Spirit, to be true to oneself, to love big and unrepentantly and to dance, there is no chance to live the Big Life.

Life After Malibu Barbie

2009-10-16T10:31:00.000-07:00

Having grown up in Southern California, it's no surprise that my best friend in junior high was Malibu Barbie. Actually her name is Pam and her long shiny blond hair, perfect bikini figure and Bain de Soleil tan attracted every Ken in school.

On the other side of the dollhouse was me. I was tall and thin with long bird-like legs, a short Sponge Bob torso and Uber-Caucasian skin. My physical attributes didn't stop me from putting on a Danskin leotard as a bathing suit and heading to Zuma beach weekly with Pam's mom in their station wagon.

It was Pam's hair that I coveted. Although I'm also a blond, my hair never seemed to be able to grow past my shoulders and had a Beach Boys bushy-bushy blond hairdo feel to it. I naively experimented with perms and bad Dorothy Hamill hairstyles in search of a signature look. Meanwhile, Pam could tie her hair in a perfect knot on the back of her head or simply let is cascade on her bronzed shoulders. The worst moments were always when she emerged from the surf, her hair perfectly straight and gorgeous, sparkling in the summer light.

For years I've tried to grow my hair long. I go back and forth with different hairdressers without the will or discipline to be consistent. I've come to realize that long hair just isn't going to work for me. My own straight hair was assaulted by pregnancy hormones and can actually be classified as wavy. I've stopped clinging to the Malibu Barbie image I so revered and have made peace with my short hair. I lather myself daily with sunscreen and am grateful that the sunburns of my past haven't resulted in skin cancer.

Malibu Barbie lives in Arkansas now and is prone to one-piece swimsuits like me. I am fortunate enough to still call her friend. I revel in the memories of Life Guard Tower 7, warm sandy beaches, the rubbery feeling of seaweed under foot after emerging from a wave and a tuna fish sandwich with nacho cheese Doritos waiting in the cooler. Someday I hope to take my own children to Zuma Beach so that they can experience the leisurely California summer days of my youth.

Where's the Beef?

2009-10-14T11:14:00.000-07:00

At the risk of sounding like a fat alcoholic, I’m going to share that I’ve become more and more obsessed with food and drink as I’ve gotten older. I belong to a couple of dinner groups and lead a pretty active weekend social life that revolves around food and drink. I don’t think I’m alone in that admission. How many times have you brought out your recycling bin at the last minute so your neighbors couldn’t count how many bottles you went through in a week?

I read my last blog and thought, holy crap! It sounds like an Oprah moment. I’m going to try to avoid the words authentic, reinvent and midlife for now and stick to the words I love best: Alcohol and Food. And to be more specific, good food and good alcohol.

I’ve long believed that God invented alcohol for people who have young children. That’s when it all starts. In between the late night feedings and crying jags, your internal clock gets really screwed up. The next thing you know you’re pouring a good Cabernet for breakfast instead of coffee with a side of cheese off the highchair tray. Happy Hour starts as soon as baby is napping. Play Groups become a good excuse for experimenting new cocktail recipes on your friends. As for those folks who don’t believe in God or have never had children but still like to nip the bottle before sundown, take comfort that evolution and survival of the fittest is stone cold fact. We evolve to become good drinkers so that we can survive.

I also have a theory that like fine lines and our taste in music, our taste buds also mature. Evolution at work again, my friends. We can distinguish the difference between Two Buck Chuck and a nice Dundee Pinot. We realize that there is more to a good burger than secret sauce. Hopefully we have fatter wallets to reflect this newly gained maturity. Grass-fed beef doesn’t come cheap.

For me, my highly-developed taste buds mean my family eats better. I will linger on the couch, perusing cookbooks and magazines for the next Happy Meal. I’ll surf the Internet from one food website to another, typing in random ingredients to see what surprise is in store for dinner that night. My weekends are full; Farmer’s Markets and dinner parties and lazy Sundays just being alone with my thoughts in the kitchen.

I’m including a recipe I made last weekend that combines two of my favorite things (besides whiskers on kittens…) wine and sorbet!

Mulled Cider Sorbet
1 cup of port
¾ cup sugar
3 strips orange peel
2 cinnamon sticks
5 whole cloves
4 cups apple cider

1. Combine port, sugar, orange peel cinnamon and cloves in a small saucepan. Bring to boil over high heat, stirring, 3 minutes. Cool to room temperature.
2. Strain port mixture though fine sieve into bowl. Stir in cider. Transfer to ice cream maker and freeze according to manufacturer’s directions. Freeze for at least two hours before serving.
Note: I have a Cuisinart ice cream maker that makes this in 20 minutes. Recipe from Ladies’ Home Journal, November 1994.

Just How Old Am I Anyway?

2009-10-13T11:27:00.000-07:00

It was my husband Peter who had to correct me last year that I was turning forty-seven, not forty-eight. Clearly math has never been my strong suit. I decided that since I wasn't good at keeping my age straight, I might just tack on ten years and see how people would react. My daughter Sophie was twelve at the time so her friends were easy targets. It worked. "Wow! Your mom looks great for being fifty-seven!" I glibly attributed my youthful glow to good diet and exercise. Of course, there were those folks who had to look me over twice. With a wink and a nod, I would mock them, "Just kidding!" And then I would run into the bathroom and touch up my makeup.

Don't get me wrong. I'm really not obsessed with age or aging for that matter. I'm more obsessed with how this particular season in life transforms us. We have opportunities to be braver, more loving and more spiritual. The tests and hurdles that challenge us can lead us toward more authentic lives. And on a less serious note, you have to have a keen sense of humor to navigate midlife. In true form, two of my friends showed their funny sides when they proposed that I had messed up my blog title. I'm not sure which is more appropriate Confessions of a Food Flash Hottie or Confessions of a Hot Food Flasher.

Case in Point. Yesterday I learned that a friend of mine who is fifty got laid off from her job. My first reaction was that it must have been age discrimination. She works in advertising, pierced the glass ceiling many years ago and was bringing in a sizable pay check complete with a Vice President title. While she didn't think that she was paid what she was worth (don't we all?), she's the type of woman you can't help but admire. Funny, articulate and smart, she crafted an enviable career for herself. I couldn't help but "go there" and suggest that her dismissal from her job was to make way for some younger, less-experienced employee who most likely made half of her salary. She reminded me that in these very uncertain economic times, everyone is fair game with the pink slip shuffle. She didn't envy her woman boss who had to trim not only the fat but cut deeply to the bone within the company's organization.

What inspired me is that my friend didn't freak out. She didn't see this setback as a determination of her own self-worth. She didn't crawl under the covers and wallow in self pity. Instead, she decided to redefine midlife for herself. She's going to write a cookbook!

Now that's one idea this Hot-Flash Foodie can totally support!

Tight-Ropes and Turning Forty-Eight

2009-10-13T10:05:00.000-07:00

Monday is my birthday. I'll turn forty-eight. If forty is the new thirty, than am I thirty-eight? I'm thigh-deep in my forties, creeping closer and closer to that hoo-haw moment of becoming fifty. Five decades. Half a century. At this point in time, I have probably lived half my life. I can do the math. Ninety-six doesn't seem impossible but it does seem really old.

Arriving at midlife, conventional wisdom would say that I'm due for a crisis. At the very least, a visit with a plastic surgeon. The real crisis is all around me. Friends battling cancer. Losing their retirement. Struggling to send their kids to college. I've been pretty lucky so far.

When I picture the word "midlife," I can see a tightrope walker in a bad leotard and a handlebar moustache confidently making his way across a thin wire. Just as he reaches the half-way point, he pauses. Ahead he sees a cheering crowd, urging him jubilantly to keep on going. He's almost there. Yet he can hear the nervous onlookers behind him, quietly telling him there's no shame in turning back. Better to be safe than sorry.

Psychotherapy aside, it's clear to me that I'm the tightrope walker. I look like hell in a leotard. My facial hair hasn't reached handlebar status but I do keep a Tweezerman with me at all times. My life has been a series of measured steps. As a Libra, I take balance seriously. Even when I've fallen, I've realized that with great risk there is potential for great reward. That oh, so glorious moment when the crowd cheers.

So for now, I'm looking straight ahead. I'll eat apple pie a la mode for breakfast at the risk of looking even flabbier in that leotard. I'll ignore the quiet voices that urge me to turn back. Even though they may mean well, they don't really know me at all. I'll relax my toes, take a deep breath and cautiously but confidently inch my way to the other side.