What to eat with meat? Potato Salad and Cornbread!

Picnic Salads

It took me weeks to decide what to serve alongside all that meat at our cookout party on Saturday. I pored over all my cooking magazines and did numerous epicurious searches. There are so many picnic options I was having a hard time committing–I knew I wanted to make some kind of pasta salad, but I wanted it to be different. And potato salad is one of my favorites, but it’s usually so predictable and boring. What to do, what to do? My option paralysis was setting in and I almost threw in the towel and told everyone else to bring something, but at the last minute, inspiration struck.

Inspiriation was inside an old issue of Bon Appetit, where I glimpsed a recipe for Potato Caesar Salad. I had been thinking about making caesar salad anyway, but this sounded almost like divine intervention. I love potato salad, I love caesar salad, and I felt pretty sure this was not a picnic table standard. I didn’t follow the recipe exactly, because I wanted to try a very traditional caesar dressing (and yes, I know raw eggs are generally bad news bears at a picnic, but we were very conscientious about keeping it refrigerated.) And it was a knockout–even people who said they usually hate potato salad luurved it. And I love it when that happens.

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Meat, Meat, Beautiful Meat

Meat Valentine

Whew–this has been a week of serious grilling. Between the Fourth of July and my birthday a few days later, I have ingested more red meat than a person should be allowed, and the food coma has prevented me from sitting down and writing about any of it. Pulled pork, steak, hamburgers, sausages…it’s exhausting just thinking about it. But it was all sooo delicious. Mmm. Meeeat.

This past Saturday we had a little gathering to celebrate the fact that I managed to age another year. Of course I had to make all the food myself. All of my food-loving friends wanted to bring something, but I refused to allow it. Control freak? Perhaps. For some reason, I got really excited about planning a menu, and I enjoy cooking so it’s not as though it was a pain in the ass to cater my own birthday party.

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Pizza Chronicles, Part Six (or Eight): Stonewall Kitchen and a Pizza Stone

Look at that crust!

I luuurve our pizza stone. I’ve never had such crazy, impassioned feelings for a kitchen implement before, but this is true and lasting love. This is neverending devotion and infatuation. This pizza stone is the answer, the solution to all of my dough baking woes, to my not quite perfect crusts and my constant feelings of pizza dissatisfaction. Now that there is a pizza stone in my life, I can scale the peaks of pizza perfection, I can create crispy cheesy bites of wonder and glory rivaling anything the local pizza delivery man can send my way. My dreams of creative pizza experimentation can be realized.

Ok, I might be waxing just a bit too poetical, but when I pulled this pizza out of the oven last night, I couldn’t help feeling a little thrill in my heart. It was, yes, the best pizza so far. I realize I say that every single time, but I also take that to be a sign that my methods are improving. And method, shmethod, the single best pizza improver so far is the pizza stone.

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My First Cherry Pie

Cherry Pie

One summer about six or seven years ago, my friend Charlie and I went out to pick blackberries by the DeLaveaga disc golf course in Santa Cruz. We fought through brambles and stinging bugs and filled a couple buckets with blackberries, enough to try to bake a pie. What we didn’t do, though, is figure out how to make pie crust, and our kitchen experimentation ended up a disaster. We decided to settle for a sugary blackberry sauce to pour over ice cream, and we were perfectly satisfied. But pieless.

About four years ago, my good friend PJ Burks came to visit in Boston, and we went apple picking. It was a glorious fall afternoon, and we filled bags and bags with the most delicious apples I’ve ever tasted. We came home with all of our apples and decided to make a pie, but remembering my previous crust difficulties, we bought a premade crust. Our apple pie was beautiful and we were very proud, but my heart remained rankled by the fact that I had to yet to really, truly, and honestly bake a pie.

Last week I bought an enormous bag of beautiful cherries, and I decided this was it. This was the time to bake a pie, a real pie, from scratch, with a lattice-top crust and everything. And when the weather finally cooled down enough, on Friday, I did it. I baked my first cherry pie.

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