Cut the crap-o! Eat cauliflower!

Cauliflower with anchovies ...

When I was about ten years old, my parents went on a vacation to Florida. I stayed with my Grandma who lived in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, on 85th Street between 11th and 12th Avenues. To be precise, St. Bernadette’s Parish with Monsignor Barilla as head honcho.

Okay, so that’s the very first time I ever remember seeing a huge white tight curly head of cauliflower. It was perched on my Grandma’s pristine white porcelain sink. Water sparkled on it like dew, tiny twinkling stars or what later in my life would be my favorite stones—diamonds.

Of course, curious little minx that I was, I asked my Nonna what that was—cavolfiore—and that night she made it for dinner tossed in fried garlic and seasonings and my favorite pasta, linguini! It just happened to be my grandmother’s favorite as well.

So the point here is that “peasant food,” as she called it, can be a sumptuous feast and feed many cheaply—well it used to be cheap, and it’s still less than steak. Since then, I have “toyed” around with cauliflower and prepared it many ways. So cut out the simpering whimpering and “I don’t like it, even if it’s good for me,” and try it like this …

Assemble these and then pretty much I’ll leave you to your own cooking devices.

1. Two very white and tight, clean heads of cauliflower—why two? Because that equals one the size my grandmother made all those many eons ago and works well for a pound of pasta, especially if you like to pile on the veggie, which I do. I hate to skimp on anything. This be must leftover from my mother, generous to a fault, who we used to tease and call, "Child of the Dpression."
2. Extra Virgin Olive Oil
3. Many cloves of garlic.
4. Hot pepperoncino (one or two!)
5. Oregano
6. Diced red skinned roasted peppers (I use fresh homemade, but you can cheat, if needs be and by it in a jar.)
7. A few capers
8. A tin of anchovies
9. Sliced or whole pitted black olives ( I used both)
10. 3 to 5 tablespoons of fresh tomato sauce (yes, here again, you cheaters, may use some other glop and hope for the best…)
11. Fresh basil leaves, preferably from your garden or window sill plants
12. chopped cilantro or parsley

Okay, for you non-adventurous ones:

Boil the cauliflower whole in salted water (I used sea salt or Kosher salt) until a long fork can piece the heart with ease. Retain water and add more to cook the linguini! Place the big pot of water on the stove and start to heat it, so that your pasta will be done when your sauce is.

In a huge fry pan—put an abundant amount of olive oil, lots of garlic and hot pepper—heat and when the garlic is golden, toss in the anchovies and cover quickly or got to the hospital with third degree burns from the skittering olive oil. Turn off the gas or remove from electric plate.

When this mix has stopped sputtering and doing its dance, raise the flame to high and fling in at least half a glass of whatever great wine you’re drinking to prepare this dish! Mine happened to be Cavit Pinot Grigio—a nice little inexpensive summer wine—never in my house will you find Santa Margherita, which is over-priced, and that vineyard cannot possibly produce enough grape to sell as many bottles of the stuff that it does … sorry, folks, if I’ve disillusioned you. Give it as a gift. You can substitute the wine I used for a Sauvignon Blanc, a Chardonnay, or even a robust red.

When the alcohol burns off, lower the heat and add all of the other ingredients and taste for salt—I never taste this—but I’ve been cooking since—anyway, adjust salt—remember, anchovies and olives and capers are salty …HINT, hint—you won’t need much, and you are going to add the cauliflower, which was cooked in slated water. Cook the sauce for a few minutes and then add the cauliflower—give it a whirl with your wooden spoon, and let simmer or turn off while you drain the pasta—tight—if you have a liquidy sauce, or loose, conversing some of the pasta water, in case you need to add some.

Serve piping hot garnished with chopped cilantro or parsley. Mangia bene! e Dio benedica tutte le nonne! Eat well, and God bless all grandmothers.

Oh for ya'll foodies who happen to be health conscious as well--

Food: Cauliflower, rawFood Group: Vegetables and Vegetable Products1VitaminsVitamin A(IU)13Vitamin A (microg retinol activity equivalents)1Vitamin B6 (mg)0.222Vitamin B12 (microg)0Folic Acid (microg)0Niacin (mg)0.526Riboflavin (mg)0.063Thiamin (mg)0.057 Vitamin C (mg)46.4 Vitamin E (mg)0.08 Vitamin K (mg)16 MineralsCalcium (mg)22Copper (mg)0.042 Iron (mg)0.44 Manganese (mg)0.156Magnesium (mg)15Phosphorus (mg)44Potassium (mg)303 Selenium (microg)0.6 Sodium (mg)30Zinc (mg)0.28 OtherProtein (g)1.98 Fibre (g)2.5Water (g)91.91 Carbohydrate (g)5.3 Energy (Kcal)25Lipids (fats) (g)0.1 Cholesterol (mg)0

No, ficiton writers, I did not invent this.

P. S. Please overlook any grammatical or syntactical errors, as I'm rushing to prepare, guess what?

How to Murder a Perfect Caprese Salad ...

Blog # 8
I was just preparing Insalata Caprese, when it dawned on me what most restaurants do wrong about serving this delectable platter (and I have to ask them to not do, when and if I order it, which is rare). Insalata Caprese was born on the Island of Capri, hence, Caprese … and it's a delightful summer salad. It is made of mozzarella di buffalo—yes, buffalo mozzarella and lots of fresh basil, salt, if desired, black course ground pepper, and Extra Virgin Olive Oil.

NEVER in Italy will you see this dish served with balsamic vinegar. I mean NEVER! Would you drink a glass of milk laced with vinegar or wine that has turned??? Of course not. Yet in so many restaurants in the States it is served with this wonderful vinegar, which ruins the dish! I say reserve the balsamic for where it should be used: in mixed green salads, in certain reductions with fresh tuna fish, etc.

Please tell me why, these nouveau chic cuisine chefs in US restaurants are trying to murder a sure close to perfect delicacy? Next thing you know, they'll probably pour it in yogurt (and kill the good bacteria in it!)

"Free" (first draft)

Free

Grounds for your garden, please help yourself,
the sign reads in a perky array of green fields and golden sun.

The sun and pastoral scene of the FREE ad
remind me of Otto’s play land, our backyard,

where free to roam, brave hunter dog, won’t dunk his tootsies
in the pool even on the hottest south Floridian day.

His favorite pastime, cavorting in the garden—
he knows is his domain; where he prances with squeak toy

or darts over the waylaid kayak, leaps midair
for a Wilson yellow tennis ball,

quite deflated by his super-duper canines.
He chases sassy squirrels, feisty opossums, gray doves,

transparent geckoes and emerald green iguanas diving off the dock,
but it’s a guarantee if Otto ever got a sniff of Starbucks’

leftover coffee grounds sprinkled in my wooden planters
to aerate the basil’s soil, or newly planted cilantro,

he’d most likely yelp like mad, an invitation to the new neighbor’s dog
for a quick cup of bold java, hoping I’ll lace it with Sambuca.

Flash Forward: he’ll twitch his nose, send fierce telegraphic barks across
the other fence for Mister Riley, the party colored pup next door.

This translates to Riley’s owner popping over for a look see
at the party. The equation now compounded …

I’ll have to serve the French fruit tarts set aside for tonight’s desert—
So as you can plainly see, and surely must agree,

I should insist you take down that sign, for nothing’s free
about those grounds now is there, Starbucks?

The Barron & McCourt Connection

Blog #7

Sandra Rodriguez Barron, author of The Heiress of Water, wrote me an e-mail today that I asked if I could share with the world at large on my blog—and Sandy wrote back one word: Sure. So here’s a fun little story by a lovely writer:

"I 'opened' for Frank McCourt (kind of like a local band opening for The Rolling Stones!) at a small independent bookstore (Burgundy Books in East Haddam Village) this weekend here in Connecticut. I did a reading just before his, and got to siphon some of his early arrivals—call it my “outreach” to the Irish community. Anyway, I had met him ten years ago when I volunteered to drive him from MIA to the host hotel when he was promoting Angela’s Ashes at the Miami Book Fair. It was fun to tell him that we already knew each other, and he teased me by insisting that he remembered me because we had gotten lost (not true).

"As a reminder that anything can happen at book signings (even to Pulitzer Prize winners) someone fainted dead away in the middle of his speech! (She was okay; I guess it was the heat). The commotion broke his rhythm, though, and the whole thing fizzled after that, which was too bad.

"One of the (many) funny things he did manage to say before the drama was that students often say to him, 'You’re lucky you had a miserable childhood, Mr. McCourt. At least you have something to write about!'

"Hmmm. I guess that’s one way to look at it.”

Thanks, Sandy! For more on Sandy, check the Links page on my website.

And so, of all things what could this little e-mail possibly prompt me to think about? You got it— ashes. What are ashes used for in cooking? Not pots above fires and ashes, but for the actual cooking process. I came up with only the fact that ashes are needed in the process of making lye. Lye is a derived from water running through ashes a few times, and it’s used in the preparation before cooking corn! Place dry ears of corn with the skins in the water for a day or two—keep turning them every once in a while. When the corn is swelled enough to break the skins, the skins come off, and also the tiny tips fall off, then thoroughly wash the corn, and cook it till it’s tender to the bite—shouldn’t take long because of the soaking stage beforehand. Slather corny cobs with butter and salt and pig out.

Today, instead of making a lye wash, people generally cheat and use bicarbonate of soda to “tenderize” the corn.

Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.

More on octopus

When my son Nico was little—about eight years old, we packed him and my two nephews, Marco, the same age, and Stefano, two years older, off to British Virgin Islands for a sailing trip the week after Christmas into the New Year. We hired a burly Captain with a beard and a limp, who smoked cheroots--perfect. We would dock in different places and I usually cooked on board.

One beautiful and bright shiny day we sailed into a cozy port, and I finished whatever story I was telling the boys, because one or the other of the three of them would remind me of where I left off the day before. This was obviously an on-going sea saga that would often take my mind into old west, and the sea-faring Sinbad-type-sailor main character would then saddle up a horse, tie on his six-guns, and ride into a town with a saloon. He would then become embroiled in a fight at the bar and later a duel with pistols alla “high noon.”

However, I digress, so while I started dinner this particular day, the boys made a friend of a young lad, who was fishing in the clear, clean, transparent water on the far side of the dock near some shops. I came out of the galley and took a walk to see what they were up to. The young fisher-fella was dangling something on the end of his bamboo pole. It was a delightful little octopus, weighing about 1/2 kilo (approximately one pound). I asked what the fisherman was going to do with it and he shrugged and said he might throw him back. I bargained with him and for the price of one American greenback, I purchased the live, lively, squiggling mollusca. The fish-monger chose not to join us, but my curious boys watched as I put the creature into several plastic bags and dashed him repeatedly against a huge rock. Then I cleaned and cooked him (as explained in the previous blog!) with an audience of three in attendance—it was their first bounty-of-the-sea-to-table experience—and that evening, we dined on the freshest possible chilled octopus salad. I have never seen boys so ravenous and wanting to taste!

For the faint of heart, you can buy already cooked octopus in the fish department of Whole Foods--at about 17 times what I paid for it, but very worth it. You're welcome for the plug, Whole Foods Market.

And today's dinner is ...

One thing for sure this has to be quick because I'm a dasher today! So here's what I'm making my friends who are visiting from St. Louis and famous or infamous Dupo, Ill. from St. Louis here visiting and they're coming to dinner. I'm making patrones--little sweet Spanish fried peppers (we have them in tapas bars in Barcelona, eggplant croquetas, salad, spinach and broccoli medley with garlic, oil and hot pepper! and an American meatloaf--but Italian style--go figure. I'm considering an offering of potatoes also ...

Oh and something I wanted to mention yesterday in response to my friend Elaine's e-mail, but never got around to-she wrote saying that her granddaughter and the whole gang--of 13 and 4 dogs and a partridge in a pear tree, are hanging out at her summer digs ... Granddaughter Zia tried to make octopus for her Iraqi boyfriend, whom E. refers to as "the terrorist," because he misses food and dishes from his homeland ... Anyway, part of the slippery beast got away from her and landed behind --well, why don't I just quote directly from Elaine? A warning to everyone: Watch out! because from now on what you write me on an e-mail may show up in the Land of Blogoshpere ... mine in particular!

Here's her quote with my response below it--a true baring of the soul.

"We discovered (I think) that it wasn't a mouse (stinking up the house)--it was part of a whole octopus that Zia prepared for her boyfriend, Karim, the terrorist from Iraq. She cooked for him all day and prepared the dishes he misses from home. Part of a whole octopus evidently got away from her and landed behind the small freezer."

Does Zia know how to prepare octopus? If it's freshly caught you must beat it against a rock. Over the years, I feel like I've done this before--sent you a recipe for something in the summertime .... Tell Zia not to overcook it or it toughens. Clean the head and take eyes out of it. After washing--boil water with a splash of red vinegar in it. Then holding it by the head let the tentacles into the boiling water--they will curl. Do this three or four times (you want them to curl), then let the whole octopus fall into the water. Reduce heat immediately to a simmer. Cook without a top for only 20 minutes--unless you want it tough for some crazy reason. Then when the time has expired, leave the octopus in the water until it is cool. Then cut up the tentacles into bite sized pieces and slice the head thin. Add to an already cooked tomato sauce for pasta, rice or couscous. Or make into a salad, using lots of lemons or limes, parsley, good olive oil, salt, lots of sliced garlic cloves, black olives ( I pit them), carrots and celery--hot pepper if desired--and refrigerate.

More on octopus to follow ...

A wonderful writer friend's new blog ... remembrances of China

In Guo Liang's new blog: The People's Commune of Art, Writers of the World Unite for a Narrative Way of Life, there are pictures and remembrances of one writer's humble beginnings. I met Liang at FIU in Grad School when we were both seeking an MFA in Creative Writing. He is a poet with a deep soul and a very passionate writer. I hope whoever reads this can get into his blog,which is: http://cogonsand.blogspot.com/ , but I think it's opened to invited readers only--I wrote to Liang, hoping he'll open it up to everyone.

Here's a peek at his writing though:"Cogonsand is my translation of a southern Chinese village where I used to teach dozens of kids at a local school over two decades ago. The name itself, a mixture of cogon (a perennial grass used for thatching)and sand (river beach), often recalls to mind years of my bewilderment as I tried to flee the village for a larger world. It is at the end of the road from the nearby town, and the beginning of an unknown fate that expressed itself in innocence and loss. I ate in a communal dining hall and stood behind the school kitchen wall, taking my winter bath from the water heated by a giant wrought iron wok.

"Summer evenings, I strolled the riverbank, reciting Shakespeare's sonnets, and as night deepened, I sat in my tiny room by a kerosene lamp and studied French and English. The air was always muggy, redolent of a medieval sentiment. When I went back years ago for a visit, Cogonsand remains the same except for a few new buildings whose chrome glass decor contrasts with the old shabby houses. Today, I still turn to my Cogonsand years for my small-town Chinese tales."

Thanks, Liang!

Of course when I have time, I'll have to study some of the pictures he posted and try to describe them and stick them in the revision of my novel set in China! I read a 60 page memoir piece he wrote when he came back form a recent trip to china, and it was as if my eyes got to see some of the sights as well.

So now while my head and heart are still in China, here's a recipe poem from my poetry collection, Cooking Lessons:

CHRYSANTHEMUM FIRE POT

In a red room with nine golden dragons,
we sit at a low green table.
At its center a copper bowl,
flame beneath its belly.
In shark broth,
floats one white chrysanthemum.
One-thousand year-old eggs
wobble on a plate near serving dishes
of prawns, carp, duck, spinach,
pig, squid, dried bean vermicelli.

Our Chinese cook shreds the flower—
its petals filament,
falling feathers from angels’ wings,
into bubbling consommé,
One by one, he selects a morsel
to immerse and poach in the broth,
then dips it into frothy eggs and sauce.

Lastly we sup bean threads,
flavored by the rich soup,
this dense dollop on a spoon
lifted to our mouths,
mouths savoring the essence
of the predator of the sea,
graced and spangled chrysanthemum.
We gnaw the ocean’s chiliad gifts,
never again to thirst or hunger,
tasting a thousand years—
love and loss.

Peppers and Eggs

Blog #3
My Grandma’s PEPPERS AND EGGS … a meatless Friday night dinner when I was growing up, or a Friday night get you out of the doldrums kinda recipe. Now all you mystery writers can take that titillating hint why we didn't eat meat on Friday and use it as a clue for a short story.

Grab hold of a big fry pan and pour in some Extra Virgin Olive Oil.
Fry a bunch of potatoes, set aside. Fry a bunch of onions, set aside.
Fry at least 7 humongous yellow peppers and add the potatoes and onions break in 7-9 eggs salt, pepper, and swoosh it all around—you should see some egg whites, some yolks, and a whole lot of mixed up peppers, potatoes, and onions. There you have it.
But my Grandma made it with green peppers and no onions. Try it either way. And if you’re a pepper-lover, you can also go for a tri-colored dish, using red, yellow and green peppers.

For Jane

A picture of the mother of the vinegar!

Making Vinegar and Associated Memories

Blog # 2

Making Vinegar and Associated Memories

My husband is a wine collector. Therefore we have the remains of many a good red in the bottle ... whether they be super Tuscans or California cabernets or merlots, you can be sure they will make good vinegar. Here are a few, so that you see can see that I am a discerning wine-drinker and an old hand at making vinegar! Mostly Felipe collects, while I on the other hand suggest we should drink the scrumptious Italian wines that shimmer in the bottle like liquid fire, the juices of rubies and garnets, and tasting of raspberries and cherries. Sassicaia, Ornellaia, Lupicaia, Solaia, and some others: Tignanello, but that doesn’t stop him from reading what Zachy’s and Wine Spectator have to say about interesting wines, and we therefore get to taste many Spanish, Washingtonian, Australian, Californian, Oregonian, and French wines as well.

I add leftover wines to my vinegar—mine, not bought in a store, and then leave it for about ten days. I’ve always made vinegar since the time when I lived in Rome, Italy, for twenty years. We moved there in 1970 and didn’t move back to the States till 1990, and I’m still making it. In those days, we didn’t always use super Tuscans, but we always had good table wines—even the cheap-o variety were excellent—wines delivered by truck in demijohns that I’d pour out into two liter or liter bottles and top myself.

To make vinegar one must leave the dregs to make the “mother”—sometimes from a “store bought” vinegar the mother will appear in the bottle. Save it! What is this mother? A slimy, viscous glob leftover that vinegar manufactures naturally—it looks like a miniature placenta.

White wines can make delightful vinegars also. In San Felice Circeo, about an hour or so south of Rome where we summered, I always had handy a lovely white Trebbiano—especially nice and crisp in hot weather—that we used to buy by the demijohn from a local vinaio—it was so inexpensive, unsophisticated and unadulterated! I think we used to pay something like the equivalent of fifty cents a liter! We used to put our straw-covered demijohn beneath an oak barriche—barrel—at the local cantina and watch the wine spill in and fill! It was homemade and excellent—no sulfites, never a headache after sloshing down a great quantity of it! Anyway, once upon a summer day I took wine from the previous year that had “soured,” not being a vino nobile! but a local lovely variety, but the past year’s wine had not produced the mother. I thought that was perhaps because the percentage of alcohol was not high enough, but for whatever reason—I decided to make the mother. You can too.

Here’s how: I took one fat uncooked perciatello—a long fat spaghetto, many call buccatino—literally, a little hole—for that’s what this pasta has—a hole as its center. I placed it in an uncovered (or lightly covered with cheesecloth—something that “breathes”) two-liter bottle with some dregs of real vinegar—and my wonderful Trebbiano filled to about to the half mark. The pasta then disintegrates but not totally and forms the afterbirth-looking gobbet. Sometimes I’d forget to check it after ten days, and two weeks or longer would go by. Then after swimming at Torre Paola on a stifling hot day, I’d remove the bottle from the little mahogany cabinet I’d restored when my son Nico was two years old, the one with the mottled gray marble top we gave away, sorry to say, when we moved back to the States.

From the darkness emerged the beginning of a good vinegar, the mother, floating like a sailor’s safeguard from drowning—a caul purchased from a strega (witch) with magical powers, in this case, to produce more vinegar. To this I’d add the remains of whatever wine we drank. We sound like a bunch of alcoholics, but remember, this was Italy in the 70’s, and wine was and is served at every meal, except breakfast—except of course in ancient Roman times, when it was diluted with a little water from the aqueducts. There was always plenty of the nectar of the gods, namely Bacchus, left in every bottle on the table! What happens when you get too much? You give some away to friends and family members—always making sure some of the mother goes in the gifted bottle.

The fact that the vinegar—if well "mothered" goes on for years and years, continuing for generations, reminds us that being a mother, while bitter at times also ensures the continuity of life. Making vinegar has varied and symbolic levels, emerging into a poetic mix. Some recipes, it seems to me, are just crying out to be made into poems. Making vinegar’s a prime example—hope to write the poem one day—the recipe’s a rough draft.

Where do recipes come from & recipe for Eggs & Salmon

Blog 1
Where do recipes come from, and a recipe for Eggs and Salmon

If I don’t mess this up I’ll use these blogs to write some recipes, kitchen aids, stuff about cooking and meal preparation and the like. There will be slices of life, stories, vignettes, tableaux of my household and ideas and things saved from my collection of poems *Cooking Lessons.* They will also contain some commentary about love, life, writing, travel, the pursuit of happiness, and in general anything that comes into my noggin, that is, in my mind, worth noting.

Where do recipes come from? Grandmothers, mothers, aunts, sisters, friends, restaurants, boating captains, sons, brothers who used to be chefs, daughters in college, nephews, who watch TV cooking shows, newspapers and magazines, and even war movies. In other words, they abound all around us for the mere act of filching them! And as any fiction-writer worth his/her words will tell you, the art of stealing is the best tool a writer can have. And it therefore applies to the art of cooking.


Recipe for Eggs and Salmon

1 onion sliced
1 lb of Lox or any smoked salmon grossly cut in fat slices
1 large (actually overflowing like a fat belly over a tight belt) tablespoon of butter
7 to 9 eggs (calculate 2 a head, and 1 for the pot)
a slash of milk
No salt. The salmon takes care of it …
Fresh ground black pepper to taste


In a large fry pan—may use Teflon—flip in the butter (with a little wrist action for those of you who have an audience and like drama) and then the onion. Once they’re wilted, fling in the cut up salmon. Stir around a bit on a high flame till it warms and gets chummy with the onions. When this tu per tu is accomplished. Beat the eggs in a bowl and add the milk, and then pour this mixture in as a cold shower to dose the illicit fish and onion lovers. Smoosh around to the desired consistency. Sort of how you do scrambled eggs but with an addition—now this could be tricky: for instance my husband likes his eggs runny, hence, his portion comes out first. Keep cooking the rest, and keep serving—and the last person will get a very dry dish. Or do the intelligent thing, and turn off the gas, or remove from the electric plate! thus insuring, everyone gets less to moderately cooked eggs.

Serve with two slices of tomato garnished with small capers on each plate and a fresh loaf of Italian or French bread.

My Review of Skandia Fur (Black)

Originally submitted at Onlineshoes.com

There arent too many boots out there that let the world know you mean business. Tecnicas Skandia Fur is one of those boots. With a goat and bovine fur upper for years of comfort and durability, this stylish footwear puts you in the drivers seat. Make a scene with every step. Product features inc...

Skandia Fur (Black)Skandia Fur (Black)

A WOW of a boot--beautiful, practical

By Ninsthewriter from Pompano Beach , FL on 8/2/2007

 

5out of 5

Sizing: Feels true to size

Width: Feels true to width

Pros: Comfortable, Warm, Durable, Easy To Clean, Elegant with mink jeans, Cute, Stable

Cons: NONE whatsoever

Best Uses: Travel, Office, In out of snow, Going Out, Casual Wear, Formal Events

Describe Yourself: Comfort-oriented, Stylish, Smart savvy shopper

I've worn Tecnica boots for over 30 years. I lived in Italy for 20 years and only wore only these boots as après ski in the mountains--Val Gardena and Cortina d'Ampezzo (both ritzy and elegant ski resort surroundings), and I was smashing in these boots. I moved to the States 17 years ago and have worn Tecnica boots in Utah, Wyoming and Colorado winters--they are luxurious, warm, water-proof and drop-dead gorgeous! Need anything more than that? They look fantastic with a mink coat or with jeans.

(legalese)