eggs – The Kitchen Illiterate

Dorie’s Cheese Souffle

Whew. The last two weeks, nay, the past month has been crazy nuts. We have been BUSY. There’s been traveling, and hiking, and visiting with friends and family. There’s been working and more working. There has been stress, but thankfully, there has also been plenty of laughter to alleviate some of it, and there has also been some darn good food here and there along the way.

Like this souffle. I made this weeks ago, right before things got hectic, and I’ve been waiting, sometimes less than patiently, to share it with you. If you’ve ever thought of making a souffle, and pushed the idea aside thinking it’s too hard, think again. I, too, left my souffle dreams unfulfilled because I thought I wasn’t up to the task. They have a reputation as demanding and persnickety, and I’m not always good with persnickety. But this was surprisingly easy. And wow, delightful. It made an ordinary Sunday night dinner feel so special.
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Not-So-Meaty Meatloaf

Toward the end of March I started realizing that I was eating a lot of sweets. And french fries. And more pizza than usual. My carefully developed healthy habits had taken a nosedive, and I was feeling it. I decided to declare April Health Month. My intention wasn’t to embark on a month of strictness and deprivation, but to remind myself how much better I feel when I’m eating more vegetables, and being thoughtful and conscientious about the amount of sugar, meat, and fried things I’m putting in my body. I re-read Mark Bittman’s Food Matters, and I started planning healthy meals.
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Saffron Chickpea Stew

The rainy season appears to be underway here in the East Bay. I’m not complaining because it’s still the mildest winter I’ve experienced in over eight years. I’d forgotten how much rain freaks Californians out, though. We get confused by weather. I can’t even tell you how many people in my office this morning said some variation of the phrase, “I thought people moved to California for nice weather,” or “I think we might get washed away in this deluge.” We won’t, we’ll be ok. But the freakouts are happening, nonetheless.
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Saturday Morning, Coconut Muffins

I know that I’m emerging from whatever dark lull I’ve been sunk in when I wake up on a Saturday morning with an urge to bake. Before I even finish my coffee I’m pulling bins of flour and sugar out of cupboards and scattering mixing bowls and measuring spoons over the counters. Sean ambles out of bed and marvels at the mess I’ve been able to make before 9 am. I’m mixing and stirring and whisking and happily anticipating a warm, sweet breakfast. There’s something wonderful about early morning baking: The feeling of productivity first thing in the morning, sipping coffee in between breaking eggs, and watching the room become lighter as the sun rises higher in the sky.
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Greek Frittata

Frittatas are like the easier version of quiche. Just as much eggy goodness, no need to roll out pie dough. They make for a simple, quick dinner, and are perfect paired with a light green salad. You might be more familiar with the frittata’s role at the brunch table: I assure you, it plays well at any meal. What makes this such a stellar workhorse? You can do anything with a frittata. You can throw in whatever bits and pieces you have floating around in your refrigerator and chances are it will be delicious. Versatility is the name of the game.
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Shakshuka!

When I was growing up, eggs for dinner were usually a sign that money was tight. Maybe my brothers and I needed dental work that month, or we’d just had to go shopping for new clothes and school supplies, or the car has broken down. As a child, I wasn’t completely aware of my parents’ financial situation, but I could usually read the dinner table to to get a sense for how comfortable we were at any given point. And even more so by whether my parents were joking about it, or serving us pancakes at night with grim faces. We weren’t by any means poor, but my parents were young, and just getting started out in life. There were times when eggs for dinner were a necessity.
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Double-Coconut Cream Pie

[Update: Think this pie looks delicious? Enter to win a copy of Desserts from the Famous Loveless Cafe by Monday, September 5, 2011 at 8 am.]

Last June I received a cookbook to review from Library Journal that immediately sparked my urge to get into the kitchen and make something sweet. Desserts from the Famous Loveless Cafe is a tribute to classic Southern treats like Chess Pie and Hummingbird Cake, desserts I’ve heard of but never tried. The book is due out in September, and is a really lovely collection.

One of the first things that caught my eye is this Double-Coconut Cream Pie. I’ve always wanted to make a Coconut Cream Pie. Just the phrase evokes warm summer days and a clean apron tied around the waist and preferably a picnic at which this lovely pie can be presented. Fourth of July weekend provided just such an occasion.
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Pesto and Egg Potato Salad

Despite the fact that I’ve been trying to stop buying books lately, I picked up two new cookbooks shortly after we moved into our house. I figured they were worth trying to find the space for, and I was right. At first glance, Yotam Ottolenghi’s Plenty: Vibrant Recipes from London’s Ottolenghi
and Heidi Swanson’s Super Natural Every Day: Well-loved Recipes from My Natural Foods Kitchen are very similar: they are both vegetarian cookbooks full of innovative ideas, with a very similar design sensibility. And yet, I’m glad I bought both, because they are so inspiring! Not to mention just lovely.
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Baked’s Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Cookies

I grew up in San Diego, where we didn’t really have much in the way of winter weather. January tends to be a bit rainy, and the fog can roll in so thick at night you can’t see the lines on the road ahead of you. But heavy down jackets, gloves, and hats were not something I had to endure as a child. Rainy, wet weather felt special. We got to pull umbrellas out of closets, and jump in puddles, and sometimes Dad would build a fire in the fireplace if it got cool enough at night. Wintery weather was so special that people still talk about that time it snowed on Valentine’s Day, and that was 22 years ago.

I still get a little tingle of excitement on rainy days, despite having lived in places where rain was an all too common occurrence. And I always remember one rainy day in particular. Mom met my brother and I after school, and we all walked home together in the rain. We hurried into our warm house and took off damp shoes and socks, and Mom said it was a perfect day for baking cookies. So we did, and afterwards, we cut out the new Ramona Quimby paper dolls I had won at school that day, and I played with paper dolls and munched on cookies, warm in our little house while outside, our desert city got the water it probably desperately needed.
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Grandpa’s Favorite Spice Cake

My Grandparents both passed away this last April. Their deaths were unexpected: Both were pretty healthy for being 80 years old, and had just returned from spending the winter with my parents in San Diego, which they’ve been doing every year for the last 15 years. My Grandma had a stroke one spring afternoon while out tending her garden, and a week later, my Grandpa passed away of a heart attack. It’s a blessing that neither of them suffered, that they didn’t have to endure years of failing health and illness, that they lived together in their home until the end, and that they were surrounded by family in the days and weeks before they passed. But these blessings come with the sadnesses of unanticipated loss: There are so many things I never got to ask them, never got to learn, never got to understand about their histories, and their lives together.

Like most people, a lot of my family memories revolve around shared meals and food: beer cheese soup and summer sausage sandwiches every Christmas Eve; baking pies with Grandma in the summer and anticipating the scraps of dough, baked with cinnamon and sugar, as a treat; watching Grandpa grind potatoes with his old hand-cranked grinder for his famous potato pancakes; dusting Grandma’s funnel cakes, fresh out of the fryer, with powdered sugar; spreading peanut butter and honey over fried bread dough and calling it dinner. And even though I have countless kitchen memories shared with them, when I came across my Grandma’s ring of faded and smudged recipe cards in her kitchen last spring, I realized how many more family stories there were to share that I am never going to know about. Grandma’s recipes were the only thing I really wanted when my aunts and uncles started cleaning out their house.
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