12 in 12

I'm not much for New Year's Resolutions but I do like lists...
Here are my top 12 goals for 2012:

1) Learn how to say "You're welcome" in Japanese instead of "Don't touch your mustache"
2) Tolerate the nimrods with fourteen items in the ten items or less lane
3) Build more muscle and increase my metabolism so I can eat more
4) Make my polenta soft and my fudge hard
5) Spend two weeks in Italy including Terra Madre in October
6) Buy a pressure cooker and not be afraid to use it
7) Have "Marcy's Green Egg White Omelette" on my favorite diner's menu
8) Properly toss a pizza and perhaps learn a trick or two
9) Embrace quinoa
10) After cooking on a train and a plane in 2011, cook on a boat in 2012
11) Buy something new and unfamiliar from the Farmers Market every week
12) Turn my book SNACKS into HarperCollins one month early!!!

FOOD TRAFFIC CONTROLLER

It’s been years since I’ve had a nickname. Only one has endured beyond my childhood - it has sentimental value but not much else - and only a few close friends and family use it. So it came as a surprise when my pal Kitty spontaneously created the sobriquet that will stick with me for the rest of my life.

It happened during an August weekend at a vacation home in Saratoga. What had been intended to be a day at the races and a birthday celebration at a country club turned into a batten-down the-hatches extended slumber party thanks to Hurricane Irene. Despite the predicted twenty inches of rain and gale force winds, we had plenty of time to plan for provisions.  I made shopping lists and created menus.  I noted that the range had an electric starter and mandated that no one turn off one of the burners for fear we would lose power.  I asked my roommates to pre-cook and prepare as much as we could in descending order of importance for that night’s dinner. Peggy poached the scallops and the lobster. I did all the chopping and mincing since that required good lighting. I asked Alan, the only man in the house and thus the only one who would get his hair wet, to ensure that the Weber grill had plenty of propane. Kitty, observing all of this while dutifully washing dishes in hot water while we still had it, chuckled at the seriousness with which I assigned the tasks; she dubbed me the Food Traffic Controller.

Having “survived” the storm, we went to a local restaurant for lunch the following day. Overwhelmed with all the enticing options on the menu, I suggested we split several appetizers and divide a few mains. For wine I recommended that we each order a glass chardonnay followed by a bottle of California pinot noir. I was in the rhythm of ordering when Kitty quipped, “There she goes again, the Food Traffic Controller.”

I laughed aloud. Suddenly I could see myself as others have seen me for years:

Passionate about food - bossy, organized, and direct.  

The holidays are upon us. Thanksgiving is in a few weeks and a potluck dinner for twenty is being planned. Everyone is bringing their signature dish. Peggy is making the turkey, Kitty is baking the pies, and I am bringing the Food Traffic Controller. 

SHOULD YOU SLEEP WITH YOUR LETTUCE?

You probably don't want to go nighty night with your romaine, but you may want to consider using a pillow case to ensure perfectly crisp lettuce every time.
My grandmother Germy was persnickety about her lettuce. Back in the day there were no pre-washed or pre-packaged salad mixes; I doubt that she would have used them anyway.
She took great pride in meticulously rinsing each leaf and air drying them on paper towels.

Then she would gently, and I mean gently because you don't want to bruise the lettuce, place the leaves in a pillowcase. It has to be one hundred percent cotton because polyester absorbs water and that will lead to a soggy salad.

Lastly, Germy would carefully fold the top of the pillowcase and put the lettuce in the refrigerator to rest for several hours.


When creating a spectacular salad, this technique is just the tip of
the iceberg.
Bad puns aside, you're gonna seriously thank me when you bite into your crisp and crunchy lettuces of love.

LOVE THE ONE YOU'RE WITH

I am often asked what my last meal would be or what my signature dish is or what ingredients I can't live without. I always respond that I love the food I am with...and man o' man I am loving grilled swordfish stuffed with avocado.
My pal Marla Pennington Rowan shared her recipe in her annual Christmas cookbook in 1991. I still crave it twenty years later.
When I posted this on Facebook a few days ago I had a ton of "likes" and drooling comments asking how it is prepared. I change it up each time I make it. That's the fun of it!
Here are the basics to get you started:


Four pieces swordfish, about one inch thick and half pound each
One avocado or more diced
Minced white onion
Minced garlic
Minced cilantro
Lemon juice
Sea salt
Freshly ground pepper
Soy sauce
Worcestershire sauce
With a very sharp knife cut a pocket in the center of the swordfish. Make it as deep and wide as you can. You're going to want all that room for the yummy avocado filling.
Combine the avocado, onion, garlic, cilantro, lemon juice, salt and pepper. Stuff inside the swordfish.
Transfer to a non-reactive bowl. Marinate in olive oil, soy sauce and Worcestershire sauce for twenty minutes and up to an hour in the refrigerator.
Place on a very hot grill for about five to seven minutes a side depending on the thickness of the fish. Don't be in a hurry to turn it, not only will you miss out on beautiful grill marks, you'll lose some of the precious filling through the grates.
Don't let it cool down. Serve immediately with lemon wedges.

TWABLE MANNERS

I'm not talking about napkins in your lap or elbows off the table.
I'm talking about tweeting while dining.
I like to get my Twitter on like the next gal, but I can't get past the idea that the dinner table is for conversation and not for broadcasting.
Leaving your cell phone on because the kids might need you - that's legit.
Incessantly updating mundane details - not so much.
The art of conversation is just that, an art, and I'm put off when my dining companion's attention is divided between the convo and the Blackberry.
I've attended lots of juicy dinner parties with famous guests of honor. Trust me, there were ad libs and quips that were tantalizingly twitterable, yet I refused to interrupt our confabulation for the prize of a well parsed tweet.
Lest I doth protest too much, I admit to taking photos of food during the meal. A lot. And while I'm in the confessional, I'll fess up to having more pictures of edibles than my children, but I don't post at the table.
My vintner pal whose identity I must protect, told me the tale of her dinner recently with a well known wine blogger. He and his team did not make eye contact with her for the first fifteen minutes. With Pinball Wizard skills, they Twittered and Facebooked throughout the four courses. It appeared as if they were more interested in bragging about their esteemed dinner companion than they were with actually getting to know her. Guess who's not being invited to the next release party?
Twenty somethings think I'm old-fashioned but there are some things in the world of food that are sacrosanct:
Ordering with "May I please have" instead of the repulsive "I want."
Waiting to add salt until after you've tasted the dish.
Marshmallows on the yams at Thanksgiving.
And no Twittering at the table.

DESPERATELY SEEKING TO PLEASE THE SUSHI MAN

For me, sushi is a food group. Not only is it yummy in my tummy, it's low in fat, high in protein and chock full of Omega 3s.
Sushi bars are the preferred place for me to eat when I am alone. Unlike an airplane, where I prefer to fly in silence, sushi bars are a bastion of conversation and conviviality.
Here's my play-by-play after dining solo at a newly discovered restaurant:
My first order of business is to bond with the sushi man. It doesn't matter how many sushi bars I frequent, I always want to please the sushi man. Not impress him, please him, with my thoughtful and authentic order. My general strategy is to order the traditional nigiri first: hamachi, sake, hirame. Not the silly rolls. Those will have to wait until after I have earned the sushi man's respect.
Perhaps I should never have read that book on sushi etiquette. Pity my poor pals when I was endlessly admonishing them about "the rules." Recently I have reversed myself, although there are a few customs I can't ignore. I never, ever, rub the wooden chopsticks together. I am careful not to make a palette-busting soup composed of wasabi and soy sauce. When sharing from a communal plate, I always turn my chopsticks upside down to take my food. That way I am not touching your pristine sashimi with the chopsticks that just left my lips. It is considered rude to leave rice from your nigiri on your plate. Always a problem for me as I don't eat many starchy white carbs like rice. Back in the day I made a rice ball in my paper napkin with all the extra rice and disposed of it in the restroom like I used to do with my vegetables when I was a kid. Empowered now, I ask the sushi man for half rice with my nigiri (the better to eat the whole piece in one bite) and no rice with my handrolls (extra veggies instead).
When I am eating at a new sushi bar, I like to sit back, sip sake, and see what the regulars are ordering. At any other restaurant staring at other people's fare might be considered rude - at a sushi bar it is a compliment. And forget what your mother told you about accepting food from strangers. I happily accept a taste of poki from the couple on my left.
I am getting a hankering for a silly roll now. First I order something off the specials board to ensure my good standing with the sushi man. He nods his approval when I request the Spanish Mackerel. It's not my favorite but it is fresh. Having taken one for the team, I order a Godzilla roll, a concoction of spicy tuna, shrimp tempura, eel and avocado. For my closer I have my signature scallop roll.
I am rewarded with fresh oranges at the end of my meal. Maybe everyone gets the oranges; I prefer to see it as a sign that our sushi exchange went well.

MARIE AND ME

When I was co-hosting The Food Guy and Marcy Show with Guy Fieri, I coined a few phrases that are still part of my culinary lexicon – homecooker and vegetablist.
I refer to myself as a homecooker to indicate that I’m not a gourmet chef although I am a bit more skilled than the average home cook. Vegetablist conveys my commitment to eating fifty-percent vegetables every day. My two worlds converged last week when I had the opportunity to interview Marie Simmons, author of Fresh and Fast Vegetarian: Recipes That Make a Meal.

Marie is a Julia Child and James Beard award-winning writer, cooking teacher and long time columnist for Bon Appétit magazine. You may recognize her from Sur La Table’s Things Cooks Love: Implements, Ingredients, Recipes. In her newest release, she brings us 150 vibrant vegetarian and vegan recipes along with tips and techniques for success. The tip that stunned me was learning that the fresher the vegetable, the faster it cooks. Why? There’s more water in recently plucked veggies than there is in veggies sitting in the supermarket for a week or more.

I joined Marie in the kitchen and prepared one of her signature vegetable side dishes that make a meal. She noted that depending on the season, frozen vegetables are acceptable and sometimes preferred. This recipe calls for both frozen peas and frozen artichokes hearts.

Spring Vegetable Sauté

4 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 bag (12 ounces) frozen artichoke hearts, partially thawed, blotted dry
Course salt and freshly ground pepper
½ cup ¼-inch wedges shallots
1 garlic clove, sliced paper thin
1 cup thin diagonal slices tender carrots (from 1 -2 carrots)
1 cup 1-inch length slender green beans (about 4 ounces)
12 ounces slender asparagus, peeled it large, cut diagonally into 1-inch lengths (3 cups)
1 cup frozen petite peas
2 tablespoons chopped fresh dill or mint
Lemon wedges

Heat 2 tablespoons of the oil in a large skillet. When it is hot enough to sizzle a piece of artichoke, add the artichokes, cut sides down, and cook over medium heat until golden brown, about 5 minutes. Turn, sprinkle with salt and a generous grinding of black pepper and brown the other sides, about 5 minutes. Transfer the browned artichokes to a bowl.

Add the remaining 2 tablespoons oil, the shallots and garlic to the pan and cook, stirring, over low heat until sizzling. Add the carrots, green beans and ¼ cup water. Sprinkle with ½ teaspoon salt and a grinding of black pepper and cook, covered, until the vegetables are crisp-tender, about 5 minutes. Add the asparagus and peas and cook, stirring, uncovered, until the asparagus is crisp-tender, about 3 minutes. Add the artichokes and dill and cook, stirring, over medium-low heat until the artichokes are heated through, about 2 minutes. Serve with lemon wedges to squeeze over each serving.

I had three mouthwatering servings and still felt light. That’s the beauty of inspired vegetarian cookery.

The older I get, the more conscious I am of my health and weight, the more I want to eat the type of food that Marie Simmons shares in Fresh and Fast Vegetarian: Recipes That Make a Meal. The recipes are easy to follow and have plenty of room for improvisation and substitution. They’re so creative, you won’t miss the meat and you’ll soon be craving veggies for every meal.

Fresh and Fast Vegetarian: Recipes That Make a Meal was released this week. Be sure and pick one up because there’s always room for one more cookbook in the collection!