This morning on my walk I had my iPod cranked as usual when a medley of songs came on.  Puerto Rican salsa.  I love it! It makes me so happy I want to dance in the street and I sometimes do if no one’s around!  It made me think of the time I spent in Puerto Rico when I was working with Delta and one of my dearest friends, Rita.  Rita was born and raised in Puerto Rico, also started with Delta and, from the moment we met, we clicked!!  She was the person who kept me roaring with laughter and almost always in trouble.   She was part of the Delta group who would go out dancing at all the fancy clubs in Old San Juan.  We had a blast!  We were all in our early twenties, gorgeous, happy, and looks for days!!  When we’d tumble out of the last club, hot from dancing and slightly tipsy from one too many rum drinks, we’d all make a beeline for the churro cart.  It was parked in front of the cathedral, always, always, always, and the little churro man would start serving up the sweet, steaming pastry.  There would predictably be seven or eight of us, all chattering away a mile a minute.  “Oh, my gosh! Did you all see who I danced with?? He is so cute!” or “I can’t believe he didn’t come here tonight!  What if I don’t ever see him again?” and then ALWAYS “Yeah, you know that guy I danced with all night?  Well, guess what?  He’s married.  Yep.  PENDEJO!!”  We’d laugh and tease each other, “Oye, nena.  Yo te vi!  Aha.  Yo te vi con ese Papito!!”  We’d each finish our churros and made-by-hand hot chocolate and, one by one, slowly make our goodnights.  Monday would be here soon enough and we would all be back at work.  And it was one of those workdays that Rita and I came tearing back from lunch and cut through the front of the ticket office.  It must have been a Friday because she and I were flying out for the weekend, she to visit friends and I was headed home.  Anyway, we tore through the ticket office to get to the reservations office, where we worked.  And there, sitting all slouched and bad boy, was the Prince of Cute.  I would say our eyes met, but that was not the case.  He slowly took me in, eyes clearly enjoying what they saw, lazily looking up and down with a most naughty grin on his face.  I have to admit, I did the same.  His body language screamed privilege and indulgence.  The kind of boy who could, and would, play tennis at the club all day then drink and gamble all night.  My kinda guy!  I flashed him my best “I’m better looking than you” smile.  Who cares?  I’d never see him again.  Oh, man, but he was so darned cute.  I glanced down at the ticket  that my co-worker, Ketty, was issuing him… Toten Bacardi.  Yes.  Of the Bacardi dynasty.  Damn!  Rita whispered, “Hurry up, conyo! We’re late!” and we quickly disappeared into the reservation cave.  At the end of the day, we split a cab to the airport, and after catching up with our airport friends, settled into our seats.  As airline employees we had to dress well and be discreet. After all, our travel was essentially free.  We traveled just about anytime we wanted, and almost always in first class.  We were seated in the very last two seats of first.  “Thank you!  I’d LOVE a glass of champagne!” and that’s when I saw him.  My noontime ne’er-do-well.   Senor Sardonic.  This time our eyes met. He gave me an “Ah ha!” smile and I responded with a “Helloooo!” smile, with that, he dropped down into his seat five or six rows in front of me.  And we’re off!  I told Rita eveything.  We laughed and giggled far into the flight, when I announced to her I was going to the restroom.  I was making my move!  Rita, in her true-to-form crazy way issued a dare… a double-dog dare!  She threw down the devil-may-care, all or nothing challenge.  “Fleje,” she said to me.  That was our nickname for each other, it’s slang for a little piece of dead cuticle.  “Fleje, I dare you, no, I double-dog dare you to do something cafre, tacky, really tacky.”  Jeeez.  Back then a dare to me was like waving a red cape in front of a bull.  I truly gave no thought to repercussions or consequences.   I had absolutely no guilt what so ever.  And neither did she.  We wuz wild!  But I wanted to date him.  I wanted to run with the big boys.  At least for a little while.  Only now I couldn’t.  Rising out of my seat and to the occasion, I made my way down the aisle to the restroom.  I fluffed my hair and checked my lipstick.  I admired my outfit.  I remember what I had on.  It came from “the store”, my father’s clothing store.  Size 4, cotton, Christian Dior, 2-piece top with skirt, in a pale blue print.  Seriously feminine.  With 4-inch, cafe con leche colored heels.  Tres, tres sexy.  I shook my head with regret.  I knew what I had to do.  As I opened the door to the restroom, my gaze swept the first class section.  There he was, aisle seat, of course.  I made my way down the walkway, and as I approached him, our eyes met.  Closer and closer I approached and when I was almost a mere breath away, I DID IT!!  I sucked my teeth.  Loudly.  Tongue to the upper right canine, slurping as though I had the world’s largest piece of mango string stuck up there.  And that closed the deal.  At once he looked away with distaste and revulsion.  He was lost forever.  Rita, however, observing it ALL,  applauded and toasted my inventiveness and creativity.  After all, boys were like buses.  Miss one, there’s another right around the corner.  So, for my querida Rita, I bring to the table Whole Wheat Coconut Ginger Scones.  Not exactly churros, but for a couple of ex-It girls, they’ll do just fine!

These scones are so great! Easy and not bad for you. I swapped out for coconut cream, a thick coconut paste, for the oil that I couldn’t find.  Most Caribbean or Indian markets will carry several forms of coconut creams.  I found it at my neighborhood Publix grocery store in the island section.  A little six-ounce box.  These scones call for no dairy products but the coconut cream will give you the same result as butter, a rich and flaky texture. And if you’ve never baked with whole wheat pastry flour, try it! Unlike whole wheat all-purpose flour, whole wheat pastry flour yields a light, tender product.  I’m crazy about it!  The recipe originally came from the New York Times, I made a few small adjustments.  You’re welcome to do the same!  Ginger butter, spiced cream cheese and hot chocolate all go really well with these.

Whole Wheat Coconut Ginger Scones

• 2 cups whole-wheat pastry flour
• 1 tablespoon brown sugar, I use light brown
• 2 teaspoons baking powder
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 6 tablespoons coconut cream or oil, not the stuff in the can, the cream is a super thick paste
• 2/3 cup buttermilk
• 1 tablespoon honey
• 1/2 cup finely diced candied ginger

1. Preheat oven to 400°.  Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.
2. Sift together, I use a whisk, flour, salt, baking powder and baking soda.  Stir in the sugar breaking any lumps.
3. Place in your food processor the plastic blade.  The metal blade can heat up your dough, never good!  Add your flour mixture then the coconut cream.
4. Pulse until the flour has the consistency of coarse cornmeal.
5. Beat together the buttermilk and honey and add to the food processor.
6. Add the ginger and process all until the dough just comes together.
7. Place dough on a very lightly floured work surface and shape into a 3/4″ thick rectangle.
8. Cut into six squares then cut each square diagonally into triangles.
9. Place the 12 scones onto the parchment paper and bake 15 minutes.
10. Cool on a rack.

I love those special days, Mother’s Day being one, when everyone’s nice to you and you get to do anything you want.  I got out of bed this morning when I wanted to, got dressed and left the house to work out.  What a gorgeous day!!  The sun was out and stiff breezes kept me cool.  An hour later I returned home red-faced, wet and happy knowing I won’t have to do this again until tomorrow!  I prepared my breakfast while listening to Rick Steve’s travel program on NPR.  It was a predictable Mother’s Day program but I almost lost it when he spoke of his mother who had passed away a few days after this past Christmas.  It was quite touching.  He spoke of the gifts his mother had given him and credited her with giving him the gift of travel.  Made me think of our Cookie.  She was so cool, we just didn’t know it!   She gave us the gift of language when she insisted we speak Spanish.  Keep in mind, when I was growing up, there were really no Hispanics in Fort Lauderdale.  Granted, we traveled often to Puerto Rico and would stay for long periods of time, but we also had to write our thank you notes and letters in Spanish and her frequent calls to the family meant WE had to actively participate in those conversations.  I’d always try to sneak out of the house when I heard her speaking in Spanish on the telephone.  And I’d always get caught.  Mama would pull me to the phone, hissing in my ear “YOU GET ON THE PHONE RIGHT NOW AND SAY HELLO TO EVERYONE.  DO NOT EMBARRASS ME!”.  I hated it.  With a dark and sullen look on my face I would brightly say, “Hi, Madrinita!  It’s Alicia.  How are you?”.  I could feel my tongue getting thick and tangled up and self-consciousness would creep in.  Well, guess what?  At 56 years old I still speak Spanish.  Relatively well, and without an accent.  I can thank Mama for the gift of language.  That just staggers me.  She gave us ANOTHER LANGUAGE.  Mama also gave us the gift of faith.  We were all raised Catholic and we WERE at church every Sunday morning.  And we went to catechism.  Holy days of obligation were always observed and confession was said every week.  I don’t talk about it much because religion is extremely intimate to me.  Faith was not a big deal until I hit a rough patch.  Loneliness and fear struck debilitating blows at 3:00 in the morning.  Anger, pain and confusion played dominant roles in my pathetic, crumbling life.  What did I do?  More importantly, where did I turn?  My church.   Mama had given us the foundation and solace of religion.  Without it, I would not be here today.  ‘Nuff said.  On a more shallow note, she taught us to appreciate….JEWELS!!!  Pearls, gold, rubies, emeralds, it matters not which stone.  If you love it, it CAN be yours!  Anything!  A car.  That $800.00 bag you just can’t live without.  Save.  Just save.  She taught me that even 10 bucks a week will one day become seven thousand dollars and, you TOO, can be the proud owner of the fillintheblank!  She taught us no matter how little money you have, you can always save.  You girls out there need to pay attention to this.  Open your own account and keep it.  Maintain it.  You don’t have to tell anybody, either.  It’s MORE than humiliating to have to ask.  It’s contemptible to have to ask a man.  Get it yourself and you’ll enjoy whatever it is way more!  Mama taught us, in NO uncertain terms, your name is one of the few things you always have.  You represent your entire family…in my case, the Puerto Rican, the French, the English, and the more recent Greek.  Anytime we’d leave the house, especially after nightfall, she would call out to us, “Fly your banner high!”.  I have to admit, I made more wrong choices than I would have liked, but there WERE times when her words would ring in my ears and I did the right thing.  “Fly your banner high.”  I really do believe we all did.  Well, at least we tried!

My birthday, 2006

Mama loved chocolate.  One could safely say she loved chocolate as she would have a fifth child!  It mattered not if it was a Snickers bar or the finest chocolates of Europe.  She loved them all.  And you could never, EVER, have too much.  She and Daddy never really fussed much but one time, when Dad came home from a speaking trip abroad, he mentioned to her that he had been given boxes and boxes of fine Swiss and French chocolates, gifts from his clients.  He didn’t want to be weighted down or inconvenienced by carrying them on the flight home so he just left them unopened in the hotel room for the chambermaid.  Mama was furious.  She just BLEW UP.  “But, Jackson, you KNOW how I love chocolate!  How could you!! How could you!!”.  It wasn’t pretty.  So, itty bitty precious Mama, I give you CHOCOLATE CHOCOLATE CHIP PISTACHIO BISCOTTI.  And Happy Mother’s Day!  You duh Mama!!!!

Chocolate Chocolate Chip Pistachio Biscotti

yield: 13-14 biscotti not including the end pieces, (they’re the baker’s treat!)

• 7 tablespoons of softened butter, one is for the baking sheet
• 1 cup sugar
• 2 large eggs
• 2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 cup shelled pistachios
• 1/2 cup chocolate chips

1. Preheat oven to 350°.
2. Line a standard size baking sheet with parchment paper and, using on tablespoon of butter, spread evenly on parchment, down the middle, covering approximately 13 X 5 inches.  Just eyeball it.
3. In a medium bowl whisk flour, cocoa powder, baking soda and salt.  Set aside.
4. Using a stand-up mixer if you have one, otherwise use an electric mixer or arm power, cream butter and sugar until light and fluffy.
5. Add eggs and beat until well combined.
6. Add flour mixture and stir to form a stiff dough.
7. Add pistachios and chocolate chips.  I stir this addition in by hand.
8. Transfer dough to prepared parchment paper and form into a 12″ X 4″ flat log.  Smooth and shape where needed.
9. Bake until slightly firm, roughly 25 minutes.
10. Remove from oven and cool for 5 minutes.
11. Reduce oven temperature to 300°.
12. Transfer log to a cutting board and cut diagonally into 1″ thick slices.  I always use a serrated knife.
13. Return to baking sheet, cut side down, and bake until crisp but still slightly soft in the center, about 8-10 minutes.
14. Cool completely before storing.

Banging around the kitchen this evening, I heard an interview on NPR of Greece’s ex-PM, George Papandreou.  I had just gotten home, still had to change my clothes but first let me just straighten this, wait, let me put that away… Y’all know what I mean.  As I wiped down the counters, or did something equally significant, I stopped to listen.  There were no surprises in his comments but they DID turn my cerebral energies towards my island, my heaven, one of the most beautiful places on this planet.  Lesvos, Greece.  I thought of our daily activities and all the people we’ve gotten to know…and really like.  Not just family, but shop owners, hotel staff, restaurant owners, waiters, locals, dogs, donkeys, horses, farmers, our tastes run the gamut!

We try to go for at least two or three weeks every summer but last year, when the temperature in the house soared to the high eighty-somethings, we took the envelope marked VACATION 2011 and handed it to the AC man.  Yes, we needed an entire new central air system.  So it’s been two years this summer since we’ve been to Greece.  I miss it.  And I worry about it.  We’re going this August.  What will we find? Thankfully, the island of Lesvos is not dependant on tourism.  We’re usually about the only Americans there!  None the less, I’m sure the island, like the entire country, is reeling from this hideous financial quagmire.  I thought of my early morning runs,

never starting later than 6:30  in the morning because of the crushing heat.  The sun would start coming up at 5:30, I would see it peeking through the hotel curtains.  It felt soooo good in that bed, especially since we had usually been drinking the night before!  Sunscreen on, contacts in, hair back, shades, cap, music and I was off!  The resort where we stay is terraced and there must be 7 gazillion steps from top to bottom.  Each terrace has vines with velvety, deep orange flowers growing and I would always stop and just look out.  It’s unbelievably magnificent!  The swath of brilliant orange, the ancient, gnarled olive trees and then… the Aegean.

I’d trot down the steps figuring that would be a sufficient warm up, there really isn’t any place to sit and stretch, and, on my way down, decide which direction I would go.  But each morning I would always start in the same direction!  Off I’d go with my walk-man, then in later years, an iPod, music blaring just way too loud for my poor eardrums but I felt incredibly happy and free.  Leaving the Sunrise, that’s where we stay, I ALWAYS turned left and headed towards the hot springs.  I would race-walk on the winding road and my unbreakable rule was any hill, you gotta run.  Up AND down.  Those are the rules.  And you can’t stop unless you come across something really cool or pretty or dead.  My favorites tunes would come on, maybe Bob Seger’s “Katmando” and I would jam!  I would find the most darling little dogs sitting at the end of the driveway of their hotels or family’s summer home every morning. They’d watch, loyally guarding their homestead, and at attention, too!  It took a few years for us to become friends, but we did.  There was a pack of wild dogs that lived on the beach but they didn’t look feral.  They were small and cute, however, as I’m not one to temp the fates, mutual respect was observed by all.  They lived close to the guy who would be homeless except HE INHERITED A SHACK ON THE BEACH AND THE SAND IT SITS ON.  I have a photo of it somewhere, I had to kind of sneak up on it and quickly take the picture before the dogs alerted the man.  Things like that just scare me to death!

Continuing on, I passed older, sprawling hotels, newly renovated with flowers everywhere, lemon and orange trees jumping out from around every corner and majestic swimming pools all lined with local marble.  Old school meets new school.  Up and down the hills I welcomed the gusty winds as I would begin to feel the morning heat.  I’d still be riding on happy, it’s just so incredibly gorgeous.  The Aegean was right next to me, waves gently lapping at the stone beach!!  Can you stand it??!!  When I heard fast, hard music, I’d look around, not that there would ever be anybody out, and play MY version of air guitar.  I love my classic rock and, in years past, would carefully pack my fave CD’s, Allman Brothers, Bob Seger, Lynyrd Skynyrd, ZZ Top.  “Southbound”, “Done Somebody Wrong” or “Tush” would come on and I was in another world.  I ran in some kind of reverie and, when my most loved chorus would come on, I’d burst into a blistering air guitar riff.  And that’s when the sound of a deafening horn BLEW me off the road.  Scared the life out of me!!!  A chain of foul and ugly words spewed forth from my mouth as I was harshly jolted out of La-La land.  Almost falling, I spun around to see who was the dolt, the dunderhead, the ASS who was fixin’ to feel my wrath TAKE.HIM.DOWN.  I turned to see a mammoth tractor, dressed with a flowered wreath and finished with a smokestack train whistle. Seated on the very top was a man with THE biggest handlebar mustache I had ever, EVER seen.  And he was laughing at me.  Yes, laughing.  He had on one of those black and white checked headscarves like Yasser Arafat used to wear.  I spoke no Greek, none, except for my food vocabulary and what was I going to call him?  You freakin’ loser stuffed grape leaf?  Well, I showed him!  I gave him my haughtiest, scathing look and off he chugged, laughing all the way down the road.  In the following days I’d hear him coming and, you bet I made it a point, I would just stand out of the way until he passed.  A full year passed, we’re on vacation, YAY!, and I’m back to working out.  I heard the familiar chug-chug-chug.  As he passed I didn’t reward him with a smile but I did, ever so imperceptibly, give him a polite nod.  That’s it… that’s all he got that year.  Now we’re into the following summer.  Back on the road, hot, sweaty, winding down with Freebird, and I hear it.  Chug-chug-chug.  I was elated!!  By then I had been taking Greek for a few years.  Every so often I would think of this man, almost fondly, during the year especially during winter when the days would get dark early and I longed for a 9:00 p.m. sunset.  Jimmy, Selene and I gave him a name, “My Friend”.  He tooted his horn, still laughing at me, but this time I managed to sputter my name and my nationality as my face lit up with a smile to match his.  I saw him at least every other morning, we’d laugh and wave, I have no idea where he was going or where he’d been.  On my last day I took my camera.  This is before cell phones with cameras.  I’d run, take a few photos, run, take a few photos and then I heard that familiar engine cough.  I turned, smiled and waved.  I gestured with my camera, was it okay?  He just laughed and kept smiling but brought the tractor to a halt giving me enough time to snap a few shots. The sun had just come up and was just blazing away behind him.  It was too, too bright, the photos would NEVER come out!  And I knew he wouldn’t turn the tractor around just so I could take his picture, he seemed to be a real man’s man.  What I had would just have to do.  The following year I never saw him on the road but, one day, driving through some village, in the corner of my eye, I saw him, headdress on, sitting outside a taverna with his cronies flipping his worry beads.  I felt SO much better that I knew my friend was all right!  I hope he’s well.  I hope I see my friend.  And I hope he’s on his tractor.  I’ll keep you posted!

My Friend.

I want to give you a quintessential Greek dish, Baklava.  It’s easy.  You just need a little time.  The nuts are interchangeable so you can combine them any way you’d like.  A syrup is made to pour over the Baklava in the final stages of preparation and either fresh orange or lemon juice and peel can be used.  The spices in the syrup call for cinnamon, but as of late, I’ve also been adding a spice called Mahlep.  Mahlep is the kernel of a kind of wild cherry.  Its flavor is extremely subtle, its addition adds another layer of flavor.  If you don’t have an international market close to you, don’t fret.  It will be still be fabulous!  But if you DO, grab some.  It’s not expensive at all.  The kernels look like enormous sesame seeds.  When I make the syrup, I toss a tablespoon of the mahlep into a ziplock bag and pound it with a pestle, of the mortar and pestle combo, on the counter.  Enough to break it up.

The syrup will later be strained so there’s no right or wrong here.  Butter is now used more frequently between the sheets of phyllo whereas in the past, the fat of choice was high-grade, local olive oil.  As I mentioned, different combinations of nuts can, and are, used.  Walnuts, pistachios, hazelnuts, almonds, even pecans can be gently layered in the sheets of dough, and all taste great!  I hope you won’t let phyllo intimidate or torture you.  Just follow a couple of simple rules and you’ll be golden!  Like the Baklava I’m sure you’ll make!  Oh, and let me be so bold to add, it’s better the next day!

Baklava

yield: 1 13X9 pan

• 2-2 1/2 cups finely chopped walnuts, or 1 cup walnuts, the other cup your nut of choice, but finely chopped not ground
• 1 teaspoon cinnamon
• 1/2 pound phyllo dough, opened and covered with a clean, damp linen towel.  Turn your ceiling fan off.  It’ll dry out the dough.
• 1 cup butter, melted
• 2 cups syrup, at room temp, recipe follows

Syrup

• 1 cup sugar
• 1 cup water
• 1 cup honey
• 2-3 wide strips of lemon or orange rind
• 2 tablespoons of lemon juice if using. 3 tablespoons of juice if using fresh orange.
• 2 teaspoons of smashed Mahlep, if you can find it.  Greek markets carry it.

1. Combine all the syrup ingredients in a medium saucepan and bring to a boil.
2. Simmer until thickened, maybe 10 to 15 minutes.
3. Strain into a bowl and let come to room temperature.

Baklava

1. Preheat oven to 350°.
2. Mix nuts, cinnamon and 2 tablespoons of butter together in a small bowl and set aside.
3. Spray the bottom and sides of pan with nonstick spray.
4. With a pastry brush, butter one sheet of phyllo and place on bottom of pan, taking care to fit into corners.  Don’t worry if any sheets tear, you’ll never know looking at the final product. Butter and stack 9 or 10 sheets.  Ends can hang over as long as they’re buttered.
5. Scatter 1/3 of the nut mixture over the buttered phyllo.
6. Butter and layer another 9 or 10 sheets of phyllo and scatter another third of the nut mixture over that.
7. Repeat once more and finish with the last sheets of buttered phyllo.  Any remaining butter can be liberally brushed all over phyllo.
8. Using a sharp knife, cut through all the layers, making diamond or square-shaped serving pieces, being careful not to scratch the bottom of your pan.
9. Holding the pan in one hand, use your other hand to sprinkle water from your faucet aaaaaaallllll over the baklava.  But be careful to only sprinkle, if you drench it it’ll be soggy.  It takes a minute or two but keeps the phyllo edges from curling up.
10. Bake 40-45 minutes until the top is light gold  and crisp to the touch.
11. Remove from the oven and set aside to cool.
12. When the liquids in the dish no longer sizzle, carefully spoon the syrup in the cuts in between the pieces and around the edges of the baklava.  Try not to pour the syrup over the phyllo because it will make it soggy.
13. Let it cool completely and when completely cooled, but only then, cover.  Let it sit all day or over night to soak up the syrup.

Hey, y’all!  It’s Derby Day!  So pull out your Jack Roger’s and Lilly’s, get that hair shiny and big, and let’s gamble!  And drink!  When James was growing up, we always had such a good time at our own Kentucky Derby party.  A couple of hours before the race, we’d start mixing our drinks.  Jimmy and I would have juleps and James would have Sprite with a couple of cherries.  Jimmy would measure from my grandfather’s silver jigger.  Drinks just tasted so much better out of that thing!  And the mint, without fail, came from the garden.  I had juleps for the longest time until the year Jimmy made them with confectioners sugar instead of granulated sugar.  No simple syrup, just powdered sugar.  No muddling, just powdered sugar.  Lordy!  After that I thought, “Why ruin perfectly good bourbon by adding anything to it other than ice??”  And y’all know, I LOOOVE my bourbon!  While I prepared a little pick-up food, James and Jimmy would be cutting out of the newspaper all the names of the horses in the running.  James would then fold them into teeny-tiny bits and into a pretty little bowl they would go.  The pre-race highlights would always be on early and whenever one of us would walk by the television set we’d stop and catch some pretty filly prancing about, tossing her mane, sometimes of the four-legged variety, sometimes of the two.  We’d each carve out our little space in the study and get down to business.  Serious business.

Picking our horses.  Jimmy and I would graciously let James choose first.  After all, he is our child.  He should be awarded first pick in the gambling game!  Round and round we would go until the little bowl was empty and we had our prospective winners before us.  We’d each settle back, leisurely going over each horse, the odds, and it’s stats.  The beauty of our competition was that after randomly picking the horses, you didn’t have to pick the winner, you didn’t have to commit.  All you had to do was hold the name of the winning horse!  As the race would grow closer and closer, I would bring whatever I had prepared, just a little something pretty to nibble on with your drink, something civilized, to the study.  We so enjoyed ourselves!  Then, all of a sudden, we’d hear the first strains of “My Old Kentucky Home”.  Just to mess with James I would insist we ALL stand up while the song played.  I’m mean that way.  The last few years we got together on Derby Day, James just flat out refused to stand up!  “Sorry, Mama. Just ain’t happenin’”.  It was alright because, by then, I had had a couple of cocktails and the song would just about move me to tears!  It is just the saddest!  I mean really!  “…then my old Kentucky Home, good night!”  I’m not alluding to other parts of the song, I recognize they’re controversial, only that it’s a really sad anthem.  However, I am fickle and childlike, so after a few more sips and maybe a bite or two, I was back to my wicked, happy self!  And then came the race!!!  All three of us would start out leaning forward, calling out to our best performers, “C’mon, Easy Grades!”  “Awright, Proud Citizen!” “Do it, War Emblem! Woo hoo!”  Actually, I was the only one that yelled “Woo hoo!”.  The race was over and to the winner went the spoils!  All $27.00!  (Or whatever Jimmy had in his pocket that day!)  If Jimmy won, he’d just put the money back in his wallet and I’d just steal it the following day for groceries!!  If either James or I won, we’d squirrel it away in some top-secret hiding place.  And since we had good food and drink, there were never hurt feelings when the race was over.  Who says gambling isn’t a wholesome family activity?

Cheese straws are one of the many classic Southern foods served at get togethers, big and small.  They are served at parties, luncheons, weddings, funerals, Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year and they are served with cocktails.  So, you won’t see too many of them at a church’s Sunday dinner! They’re easy on the eye, uncomplicated and effortless.  Many, and I’m one of them, maintain rolls of cheese straw dough in their refrigerator, especially during holiday times.  It’s as simple as pulling a portioned roll out of the freezer, as it softens, slice and bake!  I’m sure more than a few of you have looked at the photo above and thought, “pecans?”.  Well, I make my cheese straws a little differently thus ratcheting up the flavor just a little bit more.  The pecan takes first place in the South and I am a HUGE fan.  I place the finished dough on a sheet of plastic wrap, fold the plastic over and form the dough into logs.  Tightly wrapped, they chill in the refrigerator to rest and firm up.  When I’m ready to bake I take them out, cut the logs into 1/4″ thick rounds and brush lightly with just a  touch of egg white. To that is crowned a gorgeous, sweet, mahogany pecan half.  Heaven!  Put a pretty glass packed with ice and some really smooth bourbon next to a cunning little plate of these cheese straws… and well, it’s better than cookies and crack!!!

Cheese Straws

yield: approx. 50 (but remember you can portion the dough and freeze it for up to 3 months)

• 1/2 pound extra sharp cheddar cheese, grated and at room temperature
• 1 stick soft butter
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1 tablespoon cayenne pepper, you can cut back if you like, we like ours with a little kick
• 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
• Whole pecan halves, you’ll need one for each round of dough
• 1 egg white

1. Mix all dry ingredients together then add the moist, mixing well. mix into a dough that is somewhat soft and pliable.
2. Tear sheets of plastic wrap to your desired lengths and drop dough onto plastic wrap.  Fold to cover, shape into logs, wrap well and chill in refrigerator until hard and stiff.
3. Line a baking pan with parchment paper or tin foil.
4. Cut dough into rounds no more than 1/4″ thick.
5. Place rounds on prepared baking sheet, they can be close but leave a quarter-inch between them.
6. With a brush or your finger, dab a little egg white into the middle of each round and gently but firmly press a pecan half into dough.
7. Bake 15 to 20 minutes.

Yesterday I saw the title of an article in a cooking magazine.  “We’ll Show You How to Spend LESS Time in the Kitchen!”, it barked.  Are you kidding?  Thanks but no thanks.  I KNOW how to spend less time in the kitchen; my quest is how to make my time in the kitchen MORE enjoyable. Because I ALREADY take pleasure in it. I finally went to The Fresh Market, which recently opened in our neighborhood, to see if all the hubbub was justified.  Btw, you don’t have to ask me anymore if I’ve been.  Just a thought.  Anyway, I liked it.  It’s extremely well laid out, and tres, TRES jolie!  And y’all know, pretty is very important in my kingdom.  I gauge a good market by whether or not they carry two items.  Mahlep, seed or ground, and nigella seeds.  Fresh Market carries neither.  But I DID like it.  I took my time, working my way through produce, and I’ve got to say it looked good.  I was happily surprised by some pretty decent pricing.  As we’re eating less and less meat, organic has become, well, more important.  We eat salad for dinner at least four times a week so when a green, leafy is on sale I give thanks and then I buy a couple!  But then I found myself smack dab in the middle of the bakery section thinking, “I don’t WANT to work anymore.  I want to create.  I want to fiddle with doughs and flavors.  I want to play with fruits and scents.  And textures.”  Mentally stamping my Delman encased foot while changing a line from one of my favorite movies, I thought, “But cha can’t, Blanche.  But cha can’t!”  Well, a girl can dream.  So, to make myself feel better, I bought some big, fat, shiny dried cherries.  And some sweet sunflower seeds.  I bought lavender, pistachios and raspberry honey.  Now I’ll be happier in the kitchen.  I’m playing with homemade granola.  This past Christmas Jimmy made me VERY happy by researching and giving me a spectacular serrated chef’s knife.  He researched it by asking Selene, “Hey, tell me about that knife you’ve got that Alicia wants?” It doesn’t get any easier!!  For all involved!  And makes my time in the kitchen more pleasurable.  Years ago we redid the kitchen and Jimmy suggested since I spend a ridiculous amount of time in there that we bite the financial bullet and get the sink of my dreams.  And, boy howdy, did I!!!  You could bathe two large babies in it with room for toys!  It’s black, matte and sleek.  And STILL gives me a swell of pleasure when I turn around from anywhere in that room and see that spectacular inky hole.  Money well, well spent.  I have five or six cutting boards, and love them all.  Hardwood, bamboo, small to large, each gives me pleasure just by being supremely functional.  A kitchen should be a place of enjoyment, free of anger and tension.  We have the rest of the house for that!!  Truthfully, a bit of thought and planning in the kitchen can turn things around.  It adds to the contentment.  Think of how much nicer it looks when, in June, you get rid of that tall stack of Christmas cards.  You know it’s true!  It’s hard to toss them when they’re the Yuletide photos of family and friends so I take the special ones and use them as bookmarks in my cookbooks.  There must be at least three or four of the Schloss’ in my “The Olive and the Caper” volume.  Megan, Emily and Zach will forever be in grade school in MY kitchen!  And my aunt in Puerto Rico, Titi Myrna, sent us a gorgeous card some years back of a typical Puerto Rican Christmas feast.  It lives happily in “The Art of Caribbean Cookery”, presented to me in 1970 by another aunt, affectionately named “Madrinita”.  Engagement announcements, precious thank you notes, Christmas cards, class pictures, baptism invitations, they ALL make me happy!  And they make terrific bookmarks for those favorite recipes.

Years ago we brought back bottles of Metaxa, a beautiful, Greek brandy-like spirit from one of our summer trips. Lots of memories THERE!  Metaxa is distilled twice, wed with aged muscat wine from Samos and Lemnos, blended and aged in handmade oak casks.  It’s a real sipper and poli divine!  (Poli – the word for “very” in Greek, poh-lee, accent on the second syllable.)  We also brought back bottles of Ouzo, specifically Barbayannis, an aniseed liquor which many people mistakenly shoot, but which is also a sipper.  The bottles we brought back are gorgeous!  Absolutely splendid labels, rich in color AND happy memories.  I kept the empties, then and now, filling them with liquid dishwashing detergent.  I don’t want some mass-produced-made-for-the-masses cheap piece of crap gracing my sink.  I don’t want mediocrity in my kitchen.  It looks poli splendid, gives me such pleasure, and don’t nobody else have it!!!  Rum, wine, champagne, it will all look crazy good!  When I was in college, my friend BL, AKA Betty Lou, had a gorgeous, deep red runner in her kitchen.  That is brilliant.  You ain’t got no little ones?  Put something outstanding on the floor!  It will make your heart sing and make that small space welcoming yet add that surprise of sophistication.  I always have music playing, always, classic rock, salsa, whatever helps me prepare a dish and enjoy the color of the food, the sound of chopping, or the scents of aromatics.  I love my time in the kitchen and look forward to Saturday afternoons when the weekly demands have been met and now I owe no one anything.  This is MY time!  I pull out my good flours or chocolates.  My good vanilla or the Greek oregano I THOUGHT I was smuggling back.  Whatever floats my boat that day.  Even if you’re not crazy about cooking, a good-looking kitchen will make that first cup of coffee you pressed even better.  At 6:00 in the morning it’s dark out and utterly still in my house. I look around me and don’t pretend my house is sumptuous or lavish but I love it and think it’s pretty terrific. And most splendid!!  I WILL make that olive foccacia, some chocolate chocolate-chip pistachio biscotti or whole wheat coconut ginger scones.

Yesterday Jimmy brought home some stunning irises.  I put them, yeah, you guessed it, in the kitchen!  I look forward to my time in the kitchen.  I L.O.V.E my time in the kitchen.  Oh, hell yeah, it’s time well spent, and I want more!

This is kind of a base granola recipe that I’m crazy about.  I don’t keep any sweets in the house with the exception of baking chocolates, so it can get a little sketchy and tense here when I have a craving and am not quite ready to pluck out an eye to sacrifice to the diet devil.  Thankfully, this is just sweet enough to talk me down.  There is a little bit of brown sugar and a bit o’ honey, just the right amount.  I’m on a dried cherry kick right now along with raw, unsalted pumpkin seeds.  They’re both rich and gorgeous, most pleasing to the eye and the palate.  You can use any seeds or berries as well as mix up the spices.  I think lavender and orange zest would be wonderful together.  Or  pear with dried raspberries and almonds.  To add more flavor and brightness, add fresh citrus zest to the dry ingredients and the juice of the fruit to the wet ingredients.  Try this cinnamon, cardamom, coriander mix.. it’s quite the exotic blend!  Really, the combination is endless.  These are soft bars, I’m just not crazy about that break-your-teeth hard stuff.  So, I use some egg whites to bind the granola together and help it hold its shape.  (It still kind of falls apart.)  So, so good, tho.  So, so good!

Soft Granola Bars

Yield: 24 bars

• 3 cups old-fashioned oats
• 1 cup dried cherries, or dried fruit of your choice
• 1 cup chopped or sliced almonds, or nut of your choice
• 1 cup raw pumpkin seeds
• 1/2-1 cup wheat germ
• 1/2-3/4 cup honey or maple syrup
• 1/4 cup packed light brown sugar
• 1/4 cup vegetable oil
• 2 large egg whites
• 3 teaspoons cinnamon
• 2 teaspoons ground cardamom
• 1 teaspoon ground coriander
• 1 teaspoon salt

1. Preheat oven to 325°.
2. Line a 12 X 17 jelly roll pan with tin foil leaving an excess of a few inches to hang over each end of the two short sides.
3. Spray tin foil with non-stick spray.
4. In a large bowl combine all the dry ingredients, including the brown sugar and mix well.
5. In another bowl combine all the wet ingredients, mixing well.
6. Pour the wet into the dry, stirring until all the dry ingredients are well coated with the honey, oil, egg mixture.
7. Transfer the mixture to the prepared pan and, using wet hands, press the mixture firmly into the pan, making sure it’s reasonably level, and pressed into all corners.
8. Bake about 35-45 minutes or until a dark golden color.  The baking time varies depending on your humidity level.
9. Cool on a wire rack but still in the pan.
10. When cool use the foil as handles and transfer to a counter.  Using a sharp knife, a pizza cutter will not work, cut lengthwise into six strips then crosswise into four strips.
11. Store in an airtight container or, as in our house, a gallon size freezer bag.

At work the other day, my eyes happened to fall on the name of one of our patients who also goes to my church.  The Catholic church where I grew up, heck, where we ALL grew up!  Tommy and Pamela were baptized there, all four of us made our First Communions there and Cynthia and Pamela were married there.  As an adult I discovered the beauty of Sunday’s 7:30 a.m. mass.  No organ playing, (I HATE organ music), no shrieking children’s choir, but more importantly, blessed anonymity!  There’s nothing worse than going to that cocktail party called “10:30 Mass”, looking out at your fellow parishioners and thinking, “Jesus H. Christ.  What the f**k does she have on?  I mean really.  Don’t tell me she looked in the mirror  and thought, “Now THIS is the look I want.  I am ready now!”.  That little voice inside me screams, “What are you doing???? YOU ARE IN THE HOUSE OF THE LORD.  Stop it!”  Back and forth it goes, so it’s really best if I go to the 7:30 service.  I stand in the very back… I lean against the confessionals and take in the cool quiet, the beautiful wood of the beamed ceiling and the sun streaming through the original stained glass windows, colors dancing and splashing onto the terrazzo floors.  I think, “Bless me Father, for I have sinned.  It has been 12 years since my last confession.  Hope you packed a lunch!”.  Those same confessional doors were there when I made MY First Communion.

Dad would take Cynthia and me to confession every Friday night, around five or six.  And, sometimes after confessing, IF we had had dinner, he would take us down to the beach to a little shack where they would make fresh, hot waffles from a little machine.  Then, with a practiced hand, cut off a big slab of Neapolitan ice cream and sandwich it between the steaming hot waffles.  Heaven!!  We’d always take his car, the Healy, with the top down, and park in front of the church’s double doors where he would wait patiently until we came out.  (Dad only went to church if Tommy was altar serving or one of us was getting married.  We won’t go there.)  Cynthia was eight and I was six.  Right after my First Communion I went on a typical Friday night to confession,  stood in line outside the confessionals, and then, when it was my turn, went in, and knelt down.  A little muslin panel was pulled across a window so only a blurry profile was seen.  I began, “Bless me Father for I have sinned.  It has been one week since my last confession.  And my sins are…”  I can only imagine what my sins were since I was only six.  I didn’t even steal change out of my mother’s purse, I was so little!!  What.  I talked back when it was my turn to set the table?  I didn’t make my bed?  I called somebody the positively WORST word I knew… SKUNK?  Whatever my sins were, I confessed.  I knew I had been stained by original sin, thanks to Adam and Eve, but I never dreamed I had committed mortal sin.  I didn’t really feel it was just to throw me into the venial category either!!  But that was the first time I felt that the skies had parted and God’s wrath had been hurled down directly at me.  That man, that priest, whoever he was, bellowed from the other side of the curtain, “YOU WHAT?  YOU HAVE SINNED!!  YOU ARE A SINNER AND YOU HAVE SINNED!!”.  The HUGE, thunderous voice persisted until I drowned in an unknown terror.  No one had ever raised their voice at me, at us.  Not my parents, not a teacher, grandparents, neighbor, no one.  I wanted to be an angel.  I wanted to be holy.  I was six.  Six.  I just crumbled.  Huge, hot and uncontrollable tears spilled over.  I slipped out of the confessional, didn’t even say my penance, and ran from the church.  Cynthia was already in the car.  She wasn’t much of a sinner so it didn’t take her very long.  I don’t remember if I told my parents, but it shook me through and through.  And, sadly, at that age, adults are ALWAYS right, even when they’re wrong.  The days rolled by and, once again, it was Friday, confession time.  Cynthia hopped out of the car, brightly announcing, “I’ll be right back!”.  Yeah, we know.  I didn’t get out of the car.  My father asked, “Aren’t you going in?”.  “No”, I answered.  “Why not?”  “I don’t want to.”  “Okay.”  Okay.  That’s all he said.  Okay.  Gotta love that man.  Week after week Daddy took us to confession and I stayed in the car.  Until one Friday, Dad asked, “You going in?”  Opening the door and answering at the same time I replied, “Yup.”  I strolled right into St. Anthony’s and stood in line outside the confessionals. When it was my turn, I went into the confessional.  And guess what??  Nothing happened.  One Act of Contrition, two Hail Mary’s and an Our Father later, I had a brand new soul!  AND…a waffle and ice cream sandwich!  (After dinner, of course!)

This is the dinner I would have liked to have had on a Friday night instead of the hour-long baked fish!!  It is SO light and savory, the flavors compliment each other well yet surprise with their lingering tones.  The dish is quite flexible, any small shaped pasta works great.  There is a little chopping, but, hey!  You will be rewarded handsomely with clever and discerning compliments and your family will love you even more! In place of shrimp you could use scallops or squid rings.  And goat cheese or any soft, crumbling cheese could be put to use rather than feta.  It’s what YOU like!  It’s a pretty dish and works well for a buffet or to serve a large number of people.  The lemon, fresh oregano and feta are insanely good together but if you wanted to dress the dish up a bit, a splash or two of Armagnac or ouzo will do the trick, added when you mix the tomatoes into the sauce.  I have to confess, it’s truly superb!

Baked Shrimp with Feta

• 1/2 pound small shaped pasta, such as orzo
• 1 pound large shrimp, shelled, deveined and cut into bite sized pieces
• 2 cups crumbled feta, crumble it yourself.  Don’t buy that already crumbled garbage at the store.  Really.
• 1 large bunch flat leaf parsley, washed, dried and chopped
• 1 bunch fresh oregano, leaves chopped
• 1 large onion, finely chopped
• 4 or 5 garlic cloves, minced
• 1 large lemon, zested and juiced
• 1 28 ounce can whole San Marzano tomatoes, rough chopped with juices
• 1/4 cup olive oil
• salt and pepper to taste

1. Bring a large pot of water up to a boil for your pasta and cook pasta to box directions.
2. Adding the feta last, add all the ingredients to a large bowl and mix to combine.  Add the feta, lightly mixing so as not to completely break up the cheese.
3. When the pasta is al dente, drain and put back into pot.  Add all the ingredients from the bowl.  Stir to combine.
4. Pour into a baking dish prepared with non stick spray.  I use a 4-quart or 11″ X 13″.
5. Spray a large piece of tin foil with non stick spray and cover baking dish tightly, crimping edges and corners to keep the moisture in.
6. Bake 30-45 minutes.

Doesn’t it make you feel so good, SO special, when you stand back and assess your work… the final product?  Your table.  The crystal glitters, facets just sparkling away.  And the silver!!  Rich and pearly white, giving a generous feeling of stability and comfort.  Mama gave us this gift  when we were quite young, so young we didn’t know we were learning.  Although she couldn’t/didn’t cook, Mama set a killer table.  That woman KNEW.  My parents entertained often and she made it fun.  Days before an event, Mama would take stock of her “booty”.  Oh, Lord!  Did she have good stuff!!  She used it often, thankfully she was not of the mindset,  “Oh, this is TOO special!! I’ll save it for Christmas Eve.”  Uh uh.  Silver was used every day, breakfast, lunch and dinner.  She taught us you’ll polish less if you use it every day.  And it’s so pretty.  Why not surround yourself with as much beauty as you can?  She’d look over the list of hors d’oeuvre she’d be serving, blessedly prepared by a caterer, and then decide on the most suitable platters and pieces.  They always came out of their storage spots swathed in green flannel with cream-colored satin ribbons sewn in the flannel to keep the fabric in place.  The dining room table had been opened with the extra leaves dropped in.  Our housekeeper, Frankie, would always help Mama with the table and when they would stretch it open, wadded up napkins would come tumbling out of the tracks from MY end of the table where I had hastily shoved half chewed up bites of boiled vegetables my father insisted I eat.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, “They were disgusting”.  And when those moldy napkins fell on the floor, Frankie scooped them up, dropped them in her pockets and kept right on laughing and gossiping with my mother.  She never told on me, either.

Frankie and Mama would move those serving pieces around and around until they were just perfect, they flowed, in proportion with the appetizer and the table.  This past weekend was Greek Easter and I had a house to ready.  I thought of those two wonderful ladies when I pulled my table apart.  I spent half a day polishing silver, LORD it seemed like it would NEVER end!!!  But when I put those bowls and platters of gleaming silver on the table of dark wood, I enjoyed the contrast of textures.  I appreciated the simple beauty of the room, the light, the graceful lines of the table.  Mama taught us that.  She would stand back and look at her efforts and adjust where needed.  Then she would take little scraps of paper and write the name of the dish to be served on each scrap and drop them into the appropriate serving piece.

She would always arrange her flowers herself, whether they came from outside or a florist.  She made sure we knew, better dead flowers in the house than no flowers in the house.  And silk never even entered the equation, never mind the house!!  The candles were always cream or off white.  Tall tapers sat elegantly in candlesticks, the wicks black from having been lit for one minute then carefully blown out.  Mama said white, unlit wicks were just too harsh and didn’t necessarily say good things about their owners.  That falls in the silk flower category.  I had lilies on my table and made certain I cut out the pollen-filled stamens from all the open blooms.  Many a tablecloth, napkin, sofa or chair has been ruined by this powdery orange substance.  Mama taught me to do that.

I decided I wanted to use my crystal but not formal china nor linen napkins.  I work.  I’m old.  And I’m tired.  You cannot load a dishwasher with china and linens have to be spotted, cleaned and ironed.  I did, however, choose a lovely linen runner that I would gladly take to the dry cleaners the following day.  It’s a beautiful runner, made of soft, blue linen with small brilliant purple, pansy-looking, silk floss flowers embroidered all around the edges.  The table looked just lovely!  It made me so happy to look at it.  My mentor and close friend, BL, once told me the prettiest tables are the ones that sparkle and to have a sparkling table you need faceted crystal.  When Jimmy and I were to be married and were registering for our glasses, boy, did I keep THAT in mind!!!  And as I set these exquisite, fragile goblets out I was so very grateful for that piece of advice.  They are splendid and give such pleasure!  All these things came slowly, some were gifts and some I saved and saved.  It was always a really good sign when Mama showed up at your doorstep with a bag under her arm.  And the rattier, the better!!  The first bag was when I was single.  Heart pounding, I slowly opened the offered bag and found… grapefruit spoons.  MA-a-ma.  I remember thinking, “What am I going to do with these?? You’re going to take them with a smile on your face and brightly say ‘THANK YOU!’, that’s what you’re gonna do!!”  And I did.  A few years later, the next bag was bigger and shabbier.  It was an old, paper, grocery store bag all soft and creased under her arm.  My heart leapt!!  It was my great grandmother’s silver.  We referred to her as “Battle Axe”.  Be that as it may, it was beautiful and it was MINE!!  Additional pieces were acquired by saving a little here and a little there, wherever and whenever we could.   Mama always said to all of us, “I want you to use this NOW.  I want you to enjoy this while I’m alive, not dead.  I want to SEE you enjoy this.”  And I think we all have.  She taught us even if we had no money that we were to keep a clean house.  Bring flowers in from outside.  Sit at the dinner table.  Good manners show respect and courtesy to others.  My mother was not a snob.  She was, however, gracious, soft-spoken and gentle.  She had a red-hot temper but never succumbed to coarse or offensive behavior as her second child is wont to do.  And she so appreciated pretty things!  Like Pamela hiding in the lilies.  More Prosecco, Pam?

Here’s something ALMOST free to put on your table and all your guests will gobble it up!  I mean it!  Get an uncut loaf of good, whole-grain bread.  Cut it into thick slices and place side by side on a baking sheet. Drizzle LIGHTLY with good olive oil and scatter a bit of kosher salt over the bread.  Place on a hot grill for a minute or two per side.  Lordy, that’s good!!  And it’s pretty!  Did I mention cheap?

WOW.  I just made the most outrageous, EASY, and fast, fish soup!!!  I’m trying to cool down with a HUGE ice-cold, crisp Pinot Grigio!!  And, thankfully, it’s working.   It rained a bit today, the temperature dropped a stunning 4 degrees, I’m down for soup.  But I didn’t want some cook-all-day, roiling, thick, stew thing.  So… a gorgeously colored fish soup.  Always light but incredibly savory.  Dad gets a beautiful fish soup just about every Saturday at the Swap Shop, it’s so darned good but so darned expensive.  $12.00 for a cup.  Are you kidding?  Kiss my lily, white ass.  I looked all through my cookbooks for different recipes but they all did the “fish stock” thing.  I didn’t have any made or frozen and I just didn’t want to kill myself making it.  It’s fish soup, dammit, fish soup.  “I’m Gumby, dammit!! Gumby”.  Well, that’s how I felt.  Anyway, I wanted something rich in flavor, but at the same time, light and pretty.  Apparently I wanted it all.  And guess what?  Through hard work and diligence I got it.  I started with a good knob of butter, maybe 2 or 3 tablespoons, and a good splash of olive oil in a medium hot dutch oven/stock pot.  To that I added a HUGE onion that I had finely chopped and when that had cooked to soft and clear I added 7 or 8 finely chopped garlic cloves.  My feeling is, if I don’t have a good seafood stock then I need to unquestionably produce a broth that is strong, luxurious and full-bodied.  And I did.  After the garlic had softened sufficiently, I heightened the flavor by adding three large, peeled and cubed  red-skinned boiling potatoes, two whole scotch bonnet peppers, and a large bunch of fresh cilantro, washed and finely chopped.  We enjoy a lot of heat in our food and although scotch bonnets are small, they DO pack a considerable amount of heat!!  Fair warning!  I also threw in a good measure of salt and freshly ground pepper.  Actually, I added more than I usually would because the potatoes will soak up a lot of the salt, they need it to bring out their own flavor.  I found some saffron and tossed a few threads into the mix.  A little color is ALWAYS good.  I chopped and included another onion to deepen the taste.  And a healthy glass of the grape I was enjoying, my snappy Pinot Grigio.  To the juice of four lemons I added six cups of water and into the pot that went. I brought it up to a good simmer, covered it and walked away.  I had set aside a large bowl with two pounds of shelled and cleaned shrimp and a couple of pounds of cod fillets cut into small cubes.  After poking around on the computer and watching a little junky daytime television with Jimmy, I tasted the broth to see what it needed.  Just a little salt and pepper.  I added the seafood and another bunch of washed, chopped cilantro, to brighten the pot.  And turned up the heat, just enough to cook the fish but not toughen it.  Two minutes later… voila!!  It was gorgeous!  Just the right amount of heat, citrus and aromatics.  Even Jimmy liked it and he HATES soup!  I think snapper, dolphin or wahoo would be outrageous in this and, of course, lime in place of lemon.  Lemon grass would be lovely as would some marjoram.  Play around with it or focus on the flavor YOU like.  If you like the anise flavor use fennel in place of cilantro and add  a splash of Pernod.  I few chopped tomatoes might be nice.  And I ever so carefully took the scotch bonnets out and discarded them.  Well, Jimmy just called from the Panther’s game, in some fancy, hoity-toity box, to say he can’t wait to come home and have some of the soup. I say, “Get out!”.  He hates beans and he hates soup and he’s going to start liking it now?  Well, fine by me!  Nothing makes me happier than when he likes what I love!  Soup is a luxury to me so if there’s motivation to prepare it, bring it!!  This is a fine soup, delicate and light, still satisfying and potent.  In MY kingdom, this would be the consummate meal if served in an individual, footed soup bowl in my formal porcelain pattern.  Would that it were.  But it’s still the best regardless of it’s serving vessel!

In my house, we quote often from movies, and I’m not even a big movie goer!  The earliest quote I remember, that we used often, was “…Ain’t got no underwear!”, from the musical, “Hair”.  Mom and Dad saw the play in Palm Beach and I saw the movie.  Dad would sing that line to us anytime one of us would ask him for money.  I guess we were supposed to feel sorry for him, no underwear = no money?  Apparently it didn’t faze us a bit as we continually went back for more!!  One of my favorite movies, if not my favorite, is “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?”  With a stellar cast of Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton, George Segal and Sandy Dennis, it is my #1, go-to, cheer me up movie!  I will frequently quote from the movie, “Never mix, never worry!”, a line I happily chose to follow in high school!!  I love that movie… it’s SO brutal!!  And visceral.  Pamela and I have adopted a line from “Beetlejuice”, a movie we watched over and over screaming and cackling with sheer delight over some really terrific lines.  Our favorite is most often and best used in public, drawing questioning looks from strangers that are now certain those two girls are really strange losers.  It is heard most often in Publix, Target and the Dixie, when one sister unexpectedly comes upon the other.  Low, harsh and guttural, one will call the other, “HEY! AIL-VUS!!”  The head of the startled sister being called will shoot up in recognition.  And we always laugh as if it’s the very first time!  At Jamesy’s and Biscuit’s baseball games, she and I would yell, “Hey, battuh, battuh, battuh, battuh.  Suh-WING, battuh”, from the movie everyone adores, “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off”.  I might announce my arrival into the house for James by calling loudly, “Randy Watson.”  I stomp my foot then add, “Randy Watson and Sexual Chocolate”.  From the movie “Coming To America”.  James, Elizabeth and I will say to one another, “YOU LIE!!! You ain’t NEVAH seen Dr. Martin Luther duh King!”  Correct response to that incendiary charge?  And in falsetto, please. “He ain’ lyin’!!”  Sometimes when I say goodbye to James, but only if he’s going out, not when he’s going back to school, I’ll yell as he goes through our gate, “His mama call ‘im Cassius Clay, I call ‘im Cassius Clay!” and I’m always rewarded with a blazing, white smile!   If James is going out for the evening, and in an exceptionally good mood, he might say to the dog, Pericles, “I have a date with LEEsa!”  And many an advice session has been wrapped up with a resounding, “Go on, honey. Take a chi-ance!”, again, from “Coming To America”.   But I have to say, the one person who is ALWAYS ready to give me a choice quote, a pet bit, is my friend, SELENE!!!!  That girl LOVES her movies!! And do we ever have some top seed quotes!!  Every single weekday morning on my way into work I call Selene and if she doesn’t answer, what do I say?? “Disappointed!!” “A Fish Called Wanda”.  Got your panties in a wad over something you know, YOU KNOW, is just plain stupid?   We say, “Fester, fester.  Rot, rot”.  “French Kiss”.  Irritated at a staff meeting because your co-workers just aren’t quite sharp enough??  “I don’t get it.  I don’t get it.”, said as nasally as is possible.  “BIG”.  Husband annoy you because he didn’t clean the bottom of the pan, wipe down the counters, put down the commode seat, put UP the commode seat, put away the hose, make the coffee, put gas in the car, put his dishes in the sink OOOOOR, do anything?????  “That boy is a P-I-G, pig”.   “Animal House”.   I’m probably going to get in trouble for that one.  But the other friend always says, “I’m wit’ cha.  An’ when I say I’m wit’ cha, I’M WIT’ CHA!”  “My Blue Heaven”.   Selene and I LOVE “My Blue Heaven”!!  We’ll give a play-by-play of our dinner menus for the day  and, so frequently we say, “Uh-roo-guh-luh.  It’s a ve-ge-tuh-BUL.” If we’re talking about an incredible, 12-ply, aqua colored, cashmere sweater from Italy that one of us found on extra, extra clearance for $22.00, the other one will say, “Todd Wilkerson.  It’s Italian for extra special”, or, “You could MELT all this stuff!”, again, “My Blue Heaven”.  It’s fabulous.  But our ALL TIME FAVORITE is used when one is truly distressed.  I mean upset, pissed off, outraged, incensed, furious, fuming.  And that’s when the put-out one says, “Oh, fuck the sweater.  She’ll have to learn to live with disappointment.” “The American President”.  That says it all.  Harsh, but true.  And when we’re satisfied, “That’ll do, Pig.  That’ll do”, spoken by Farmer Hoggett.  Movie?  “Babe”.

This is an exquisite recipe from Puerto Rico, rich in spices, smooth with coconut milk and warm in comfort and steadfastness.  We fall back on it because it says the right thing to us.  It does the right thing for us.  It will fill part of the black hole.  It’s home with an offbeat twist!  All the ingredients are found at the grocery store and, lagniappe, it’s a walk away kind of recipe.  It just knows what to do and how to do it!  This is a rice pudding, cooked in coconut milk in lieu of whole milk.  Replacing vanilla, are whole cloves, cinnamon sticks, freshly bruised ginger and star anise.  We’re not in Kansas anymore!  Trust me.  It’s unbelievably satisfying!

Coconut Rice

Yield: 10-12 scant cup servings

• 2 cups short or medium grain rice
• 4 cans coconut milk, don’t use lite.  Just don’t.
• 1 cup sugar
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1 large piece fresh ginger, about the size of a man’s thumb
• 8 cinnamon sticks
• 7 or 8 whole cloves
• 1/2 cup raisins, (optional)
• ground cinnamon for garnish

1. In large bowl, wash and rinse rice in water until water runs pretty clear.
2. Add fresh water to bowl, an inch above rice, and let soak for at least 2 hours.  This will soften the rice and keep it from sticking to the bottom of the pot when cooked.
3. When rice has soaked sufficiently, drain and add to heavy-bottomed pot along with cloves, cinnamon sticks, salt, and 3 cans of coconut milk.
4. Take the whole piece of ginger and using something hard and heavy, I use a pestle but a wine bottle, heavy sauce pan or meat tenderizer can be used, give the ginger a couple good whacks.  Just enough to open it to allow the flavor out.  Add that to the pot.
5. Stir well, cover and cook at low heat checking every once in a while that it’s not cooking at too aggressive a boil.  You want it to just simmer.
6. When the rice is just about dry, add the sugar, the last can of coconut milk and the raisins if you’re using them.  Stir, cover and continue to cook on low.
7. When rice is almost dry pour onto platter and chill.
8. Sprinkle with cinnamon just before serving. Buen provecho!

*He’s never going to leave his wife.  “When Harry Met Sally”, silly!  We say that about  something that is NEVER going to change!

Although we’re almost to the home stretch of Lent, I still try to maintain certain food items in my refrigerator.  Going completely without meat for 40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS is certainly a test of self-discipline, but it CAN be accomplished!  And I have to be honest, each year it becomes easier and easier.  It’s not so much that we crave meat, as much as the daily meals, the weekly menus, shrink significantly in variety and assortment.  Can you visualize the undertaking of  having NO CHICKEN for this period of time?  I mean, at the very least, you’re somewhat limited as to what you can throw on the grill!!  It’s easy to get bored and easier to fall into the pattern of the same few dishes done over and over and over… It’s hard if you LIKE to cook, I can only imagine the drudgery and monotony if you DON’T like being in the kitchen.  So I have something I TRY to always maintain in the refrigerator.  And that is homemade pesto, which is fabulous, easy, keeps well, and marries superbly with so many ingredients, not just pasta.  One day last weekend we were to be out in the evening so my cooking was just our lunch.  I sliced and toasted some whole grain bread and, when it cooled to the touch, I spread it with a little pesto.  I then topped each piece of bread with freshly sliced tomatoes and finished with a bit of Armenian string cheese I found at the Dixie.  The cheese was fabulous, with Nigella seeds running through it.  The seeds have a wonderful exotic kind of perfume flavor.  I ran the guilty little pleasures under the broiler until they were golden and bubbly.  Ohmygosh, were they EVER good!!  That same pesto is light yet substantive mixed with your favorite whole grain pasta, a little of the cooking water from the pasta to thin the pesto, and some grilled chicken slices, or shrimp, or thin slices of grilled beef or pork tenderloin. Add to that some frozen edamame, shredded carrot, scallions, maybe some crisp asparagus pieces.   Can you say, “great leftovers”?!  How about pesto pizza or basted on salmon as it grills?  For a pretty and easy appetizer roll out a sheet of grocery store puff pastry.  Using a spatula, spread a thin layer of pesto all over pastry leaving a quarter-inch border without.  Roll up pesto pastry tightly, slice into rounds maybe 1/4 inch thick, and bake the pinwheels at 400° until puff pastry is golden. Oh, man, are those good!  You can make a great stuffed mushroom mixing a little pesto, remember this stuff is strong, with breadcrumbs, top with parmesan cheese and bake.  It’s delicious spread on boneless, brainless chicken breasts, cover with some thinly sliced mushrooms and top with a slice of provolone or a little grated fontina.  Bake at 350° for 25 minutes or until chicken is cooked but still moist inside.  So good.  Vegetables and potatoes are sublime tossed in this pesto and roasted at 425°…try brussel sprouts, bell pepper and onion chunks, whole, peeled garlic cloves and split grape tomatoes.  Here’s another fast dinner.  Take equal sized sheets of tin foil, one for each packet, and spray with non-stick spray.  In the middle of the foil, stack a few thin slices of potatoes such as Yukon Gold, a white fish fillet like dolphin, spread A LITTLE pesto on the fish and top fish with tomato slices, zucchini slices, and whole leaves of basil.  Salt and pepper to taste, crimp and seal edges of tin foil to make snug packets, put onto baking sheet with a lip and bake at 375° for 20 minutes or vegetables are fork tender.  I love that recipe!!  Just make sure your baking pan has a lip because the packets are LOADED with the juices from the fish and vegetables and if any of them leak the oven won’t get soaked.  I serve the packets in a shallow bowl, like a pasta bowl, with some good, whole grain bread, sliced and toasted, most probably with a garlic clove run over the bread, a little olive oil drizzled over it and a quick toss of salt and pepper.  Heaven!  The broth which comes out of the packets is out of this world and extremely healthful.  The number of grilled or pressed sandwich combinations one can make is endless.  Grilled turkey, pesto with provolone or mozzarella.  Try thin slices of rare, roast beef.  This recipe yields quite a bit of pesto but it freezes superbly!  Try freezing the pesto in small, individual containers and pour a small film of good olive oil to cover before sealing and freezing.  The olive oil will protect the pesto from turning dark and will help keep it a brilliant green.  I’m tellin’ ya, it’s great stuff.

Pesto

• 1/2 cup walnuts, (they’re a super food and more flavorful than pine nuts)
• 1 large head of garlic, cloves peeled and roughly chopped
• 5-6 packed cups fresh basil leaves, no stems, they’re bitter
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
• 1-1 1/2 cups good olive oil
• 1 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese

1. In the bowl of your food processor, fit the steel blade and add walnuts and garlic and process for 30 seconds.
2. Add the basil, salt and pepper.
3. With the food processor running, slowly drizzle the olive oil into the feed tube and process until the pesto is well processed.
4. Add the Parmesan cheese and puree for another minute.  You don’t want it completely smooth.
5. Use and store as needed.