"Undeliverable"

At first, it was easy to pass off as paranoia but lately it has become increasingly difficult to believe that he is not against me. The first time, I figured it was a simple mistake; maybe I typed the address in wrong, or the buzzer was broken. It is possible that all three notices fell down and then blew away, isn’t it?

It was only after I received this notice from Theo Chocolate (my favorite chocolate in the world!) that my worst fears were confirmed, the UPS deliveryman has a personal vendetta against me.

Dear Gourmet Peasant,
The package was returned to us today by UPS as undeliverable at this address:
Gourmet Peasant
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Brooklyn, NY, xxxxx
or at least it looks like this is the box that the letter carrier checked. I find it odd that we entered the address into the UPS mailing system and that it was later rejected by them….(it is kinda strange isn’t it?) But that’s another story. Is there another address that it could be sent to? Please advise. We will resend on Monday. I am sorry for any inconvenience the delay may have caused…

“Undeliverable,” I can’t believe it! What did I ever do to him? There was that time I made
him wait outside in the snow while I got dressed, but it was early and I had been sleeping. I didn’t buzz him in because I live in an old building and I have to come downstairs to let people in.

It is also possible that he stumbled upon my post entitled Stood-up in which I describe the anguish of waiting in my apartment all day for him to deliver my new ice cream machine. Perhaps he was offended that I called him the UPS man and the delivery guy, instead of calling him by his name. If you are reading this Tom, Garret, Tony, Bob, what ever your name is, I promise to learn it by heart and to mention you by name in any future posts. I apologize.

As I scour my recipe books for tasty ways to make it up to the UPS deliveryman, I share with you all some helpful advice, don’t piss off your deliveryman! Don’t take him for granted like I did. If you like receiving your packages on time then, learn his name, stop and ask him how his day was, and never, I mean never, write an entry on your blog in which you imply that he may be capable of kidnapping your ice cream machine.

As for me, it is going to take a long time for me to win back the trust of my deliveryman but, with the weather warming up, ice cream may be a good place to start. I just hope he's not allergic to chestnuts.


Chestnut and Pear Gelato
2 cups whole milk
1/2 vanilla bean
1/2 cup sugar
4 egg yolks
1 cup of unsweetened chestnut puree
1 cup heavy cream
1/2 Pear, diced

• In a medium sauce pan cook milk over medium heat until it bubbles around the edge of pan. Add the vanilla bean, scraping the seeds into the milk. Let stand for 30 minutes then remove the vanilla pod and reheat until milk bubbles again. Cover to keep hot.
• In blender of food processor beat sugar and eggs until thick. Add puree and blend. With the machine running, gradually add the hot milk, then return mixture to sauce pan.
• Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon for 6-8 min, until mixture thickens and covers the back of the wooden spoon.
• Remove from heat and set in a pan placed within an ice bath. Stir for 2 minutes then mix in cream. Refrigerate for 2 hrs then place in your ice cream machine. Add pears during the last 10 minutes of freezing cycle.

*This recipe is based on The Chestnut Gelato Recipe from Pamela Sheldon John's wonderful book entitled, Gelato.

The Leftover Salad

The wonderful thing about parties is that there are almost always leftovers. One of my favorite things to do with them is to invent leftover salads made with whatever happens to been in the fridge. Sometimes this works out easily, for instance with my Thanksgiving leftover salad made up of spinach, roasted winter vegetables, and toasted pecans, all tossed in a cranberry sauce and balsamic dressing, and garnished with thick shards of Parmesan; other times the task turns out to be a bit more challenging. For example, one time I ended up with limp mesclun greens dressed in a tahini dressing accompanied by wasabi smeared with tuna. What can I say, these were the ingredients I had to work with. This party, having been a pairing party, was particularly fruitful in the leftover department - cheese, fruit, more cheese etc. - and so composing a delicious salad was not a challenge.

Arugula, Fennel, Haricots Verts, with Grapes, slivered Almonds, Lemon Zest, and Irish Cashel Blue Cheese, tossed in a Rose Water Dressing escorted by two rolls of Roast Beef smeared with Olive and sun dried TomatoTapenade. OHG!

The Winning Combination

Of course it was not intended that my pairing party be a competition however, there simply was one entry that stood out from the rest. It was a pairing that consisted of the choicest of ingredients, assembled with great care and an enthusiastic zeal that would fill any gourmet peasant with ravenous delight.



It is of no surprise that the winning combination belongs to Bernie Shanahan, a champion food and wine pairer in my opinion, and one of my favorite dinning companions. There are many a evening that I have found myself pleasantly sloshed after a night of heavy mixing due to the fact that the oysters must be joined by their handsome companion, Sancerre, and the Sea Bass by the very complimentary Sauvignon Blanc... oh wait is that a Tamarind sauce... you know, you could go with a red, for instance the Syrah. So red wine it is. To close, a port wine or sherry would invariably tag along after a luscious dessert. When having dinner with Bernie, I basically do as he advises and well, it has always proven a successful strategy.

The Road to Recovery

I Confess

I am writing to let you all know that I have not been abducted, nor am I being held hostage by little green Martian men. If I had, you better believe that I would be keeping you abreast of the culinary exploits experienced along the way. No no, my reason for being such a poor blogger over the last few weeks is in fact quite dull: writers block. There has hardly been a scarcity of exploitative material in my life or kitchen. I have struggled with custard (something that precludes being a good ice cream maker) and with the help of my mother, I have learned the art of gently tempering eggs in order to create rich and creamy custards. With this new skill I have moved on to create countless ice creams, some of them good and some of them not so good, and having eaten all of them, I arrived at the conclusion that there was an unfathomable choice to be made in order for me to maintain my current shape and size: ice cream or cheese; I like both of these in such quantities that there would only be room for one in my daily diet. Tragic, I know.

A Twisted Path

Each one of these experiences have provided me with countless photo opportunities and quirky anecdotes displaying my venturesome manner in the kitchen, my fanatical habits in eating, and dramatic withdrawals from one of my many sugar coated and butter filled indulgences. Yet still, every time I sit down to write, my fingers dance awkwardly across the keyboard weaving and winding down a twisted path that eventually leads to a impassable barricade that reads DEAD END you loser! Delete, delete, delete.

The Road to Recovery

So how does a gourmet peasant overcome writers block? I thought about it long and hard. Meditation was certainly an option. Perhaps all I needed to do was to quiet my mind in order to tap into my neurotic ramblings about food. In the end I decided on the road most traveled by troubled writers, booze. I decided to throw a Pairing Party, the idea being that guests bring a bottle of their favorite wine accompanied by some sort of treat, savory or sweet, which would compliment their alcoholic contribution. The results were interesting to say the least…

my entry:
Lussac-Sait Emillion (Bordeaux)
and mini focaccias served with tepinade and Goat Cheese and Potato, Portobello, and Fennel with Feta.




Matt's Entry:
Chardonnay with Jarlsberg and Gruyere







Kara and Darren's entry:
Vin de Pays de Vaucluse (Granache, Syrah, and Carignan mix)
and Saint Andre (my favorite cheese!)







Bernie and Terry's entry:

Bernie-
Rupert & Rothchild Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon mix with an Irish Cashel Blue enrobed in perfectly rare Roast Beef

Terry-
Rioja and Yodels (a classic pairing)






Random entry:
I don't remember the gentleman's name who contributed this bottle, but I must say it brought back some crazy teenage memories.

A 40oz. of Olde English 800, accompanied by yet another 400z.







There were so many more creative and wonderful contributions that I was unable to take pictures of because I was too busy keeping track of my glasses of both white and red. There was Prosecco with strawberries, White Cotes-de-Rhone with trail mix, Pouilly Fume with Ginger Melon ice cream, and another bottle of Saint Emillion with Macaroons, YUM! All in all, the Pairing Party was a success, as the night progressed I found myself growing pleasantly tipsy untill I became overwhelmed with ideas for future posts. Was it the cheese? Was it the ice cream or the booze? Its hard to say. I like to think it was the combination of my favorite food and wines together with the most delectable group of guests. Thanks guys!

It's My Party and I'll...

eat all the Rose Water and Pistachio ice cream for breakfast if I want to.
I wish I had a better picture of this wonderful ice cream that I made, but unfortunately
I ate it all before I had a chance to snap a couple

It is fairly obvious that I have an obsessive personality, and so why should you be surprised to learn that this aspect of my personality carries over into all of my relationships, namely my relationship with ice cream. I love ice cream. I love it so much that I have a tremendously hard time not eating an entire pint in one sitting. When I am eating ice cream, it is as though I am transported to a lusciously hypnotic state of delirium. As I focus on the texture and flavor components of each bite I fall deeper and deeper into the well of this meditative state; there is no yesterday, there is no tomorrow, there is only here and now and this rapturous sensation that transforms time and space.

The problem arises after this rapturous sensation comes to an end. As soon as I have swallowed my last bite, my spiritual condition quickly disintegrates leaving me in a frenzied state of withdrawal. I may decide to stop, to put the pint down and to walk away. 'I don't have to eat the entire thing' I tell myself unconvincingly. However, somewhere, in the back of my mind I understand that the battle has already been lost. As I move on with my day, attack chores, relax, exercise or what-have-you, I am all the time aware of that half eaten pint sitting in the freezer, lonely and deserted. Before dinner I sneak a bit. Two more after dinner. 'Oh what the hell!' I exclaim, 'I can eat it now or i can eat it later, whats the difference?' I ask myself as I surrender to the "now." Sometimes, like last night with my rose flavored ice cream, I muster the strength to restrain myself, to set the pint down and to forget about it. But, the next morning, as I brew my coffee, my keenly sharpened skills of rationalization (KSSR) go to work on finding some kind of logical reason for eating it all for breakfast. Lucky for me, this morning my KSSR did have to work too hard to find a reason as I had already woken up with the perfect excuse, my thirty-first birthday. Happy Birthday to me!

Now it is off to the gym - I won't have to search too long or hard to find a rationalization for that now will I?

An Appetizing End to an Unappetizing Week

If you haven’t already noticed, I have been more than lax with my posting this past week. You may think that, because of the pleasantly deceiving warm weather in the past few days, I no longer care. You may even believe that there have been many appetizing events in my week that I have mischievously decided not to tell you about. On both counts I assure you, I am innocent. The unfortunate reality is that it has been an extremely unappetizing week, spent focusing on potentially hazardous food, and the 6 favorable conditions that help incubate the bacteria and viruses that cause about a trillion different foodborne illnesses. Fun huh?

The goal was to obtain my Food Safety Certificate - one in about a thousand steps I must take in order to open my desired Peasant Ice Cream Factory. And so, with the sun glistening outside the classroom window, it has been my plight to study quit a few of these foodborne illnesses (yuck), the kinds of havoc they wreak on the body (double yuck), and what I can do in the kitchen to prevent them from occurring (no objections here.) To be honest with you, the course has been unusually interesting and, well, alarmingly informative. In fact, all this talk about bacteria, hazards, toxins, botulism, and parasites has had me considering quitting the whole ice cream biz in order to wage a full-on war against the devilishly sinister microorganisms. It would seem almost immoral to dedicate my life to the production wonderfully flavored ice cream while bacteria were still being allowed to multiply two-fold every 20-30 min under favorable and encouraging conditions.

Friday, as I walked proudly out the front door of the Health Department certificate in hand, I briefly imagined a life clouded by the smell of sanitizing solution. Would I become accustomed to the scratching sound of the scrub brush against eternally mold collecting tiles? Would it be enough to mop the kitchen floor four times a day? Would I have the strength and will power to walk into a restaurant and order my steak (I clear my throat in order to whisper), well done? On second thought, maybe spending my time inventing creamy treats would prove more rewarding, if not less… dry.

When I got home the first thing I did was to hang up in the kitchen my newly acquired certificate, then I spent the next two hours cleaning and sanitizing - just because have decided not to dedicate my life to the termination of micros, does not mean I can’t dedicate two hours to it. With my kitchen sparkling and the snow falling heavily outside, I decided it was time to brave the battlefield of germs in order to end my week on an appetizing note.


Mango chili and Lime Ice Cream


2 mangoes
4 egg yolks
1/3 cup - sugar
Splash of rose water syrup
13/4 cup - milk
1/2 cup - heavy cream
1 tbsp – Limejuice
1tsp - cayenne

Directions

• 1.) In blender or food processor, puree mangoes with limejuice, them pass through sieve and set aside.
• 2.) Beat together eggs and sugar until thick. It should have a lemony color.
• 3.) In a medium pot, heat milk and cream on stovetop, until almost boiling. DO NOT BOIL. Remove from burner and let stand for one min.
• 4.) Add 1/2 cup of the hot milk mixture to the egg mixture. Mix thoroughly before adding the next 1/2-cup. Continue until half the milk mixture is incorporated into the egg mixture. Slowly add the egg mixture back to the milk mixture whisking it by hand as you go.
• 5.) Heat the mixture on a very low heat whisking constantly (my mother says to whisk as though your life depends on it) by hand until the liquid coats the back of a wooden spoon.
• 6.) Remove from heat and pour through sieve. Place mixture over an ice bath, stirring occasionally. Once cooled add the mango puree and cayenne.
• 7.) Let mixture sit in refrigerator overnight before freezing in ice cream machine.

Marsupial Anyone?

While in school and finishing up my degree, I developed a fixation with BBC World News. Whenever I was in needed of source material to help me procrastinate from mountainous readings or tedious papers, I would surf the British news site in hopes of unearthing one of their random and offbeat stories that usually involved some kind of funny looking animal.


There was the story about a pack of flesh-eating squirrels off the cost of Russia who had viciously attacked and eaten a dog due, allegedly, to a recent pine cone shortage.


Then there was the story about roaches acquiring pet status in Australia – apparently the little buggers are popular because “the kids can play with them without getting hurt” Ah, what?!?



Who on earth covers these stories I would wonder while laughing with amazement. When China banned citizens from naming their children “Stinky Dog,” BBC World News was there (makes you wonder, was there really a surplus of people naming their children Stinky Dog?) When a woman in Sussex swallowed her cell-phone while fighting with her boyfriend, BBC World News was on the job.

As I rushed from school to my restaurant job, and from my restaurant job back to school I would often imagine myself traveling the world in search of new, unconventional, and completely trivial stories involving animals, insects, and incredibly stupid human beings. Was it possible that, one day, I too could be employed by BBC to cover wacky and unusual stories?

It was around this time that I was refining my paltry avocation; zeroing in on articles involving solely marsupials, of which there were surprisingly many. There were stories featuring flesh-eating marsupials, marsupials scared of there own noise, and, get this, marsupial recipes. A lover of Thai food, one recipe in particular caught my eye and sparked my interest, the question is, where can you buy some good Kangaroo around here?

Thai style salad of kangaroo and peanuts with lime

Ingredients
6 limes
2 tsp coconut-palm sugar (or demerara sugar)
1⁄2 red chili, seeded and finely chopped
1⁄2 tsp fish sauce
1⁄2 tsp tamari paste
1 tbsp vegetable oil
14oz kangaroo fillets, trimmed and cut into 6 equal strips
2 tsp rice, dry-roasted in the oven or in a frying pan until golden
4 shallots, finely sliced
2oz fresh coriander, chopped
1oz fresh mint, chopped
3oz roasted peanuts, coarsely ground

• Method
• To make the dressing, grate the zest of three limes, and squeeze the juice from all six.
• Mix with the sugar, chili, fish sauce and tamari until the sugar has dissolved.
• To cook the kangaroo, put the vegetable oil in a frying pan on a high heat and sear the kangaroo strips for 2-3 minutes, taking care not to over-cook.
• Remove from the pan and leave to rest in a warm place for 2 minutes. Finally, slice the kangaroo strips thinly and put in a mixing bowl with the dressing, roasted rice, shallots, herbs and peanuts. Mix well, and serve on six plates.

Recipe by Peter Gordon
from Fresh Food

Photos taken from original stories for which the links are provided

As Fundamental As The Earth...

For millennia, people have known how to cook their food. They have understood animals and what to do with them, have cooked with the seasons and had a farmer's knowledge of the way the plant works. They have preserved traditions of preparing food, handed down through generations, and have come to know them as expressions of their families. People don't have this kind of knowledge today, even though it seems as fundamental as the earth, and, its true, those who do have it tend to be professionals- like chefs. But I don't want this knowledge in order to be a professional; just to be more human.

- Bill Buford, Heat, 2006

Spare Change and Bread Pudding with a Twist

I used to have a lot of sympathy, now I just have a lot less change…

A good friend once told me this in a conversation about New York City panhandlers. It seems that every city street houses one, some of them screaming, others whispering, some of them smiling, and others frowning. From the punk rock squatter kids on the lower east side you may hear a line such as, “spare change for a decadent life style,” or from a stumbling hobo in Time Square, as he sips his Old English from a plastic champagne glass, you may receive the very crude request for, “ f***ing change!”

I used to give almost all of them whatever change I had in my pocket, fully aware that only a fraction would be putting my contribution toward a meal. As time has gone by and my change pot has run dry, I have devised a new way of dealing with panhandlers, I don’t give them money; instead I offer whatever food I have handy. In the past I have donated restaurant leftovers, half of a lunchtime sandwich, a bunch of bananas from my grocery bag, and even once a tin of Christmas cookies I was bringing to work.

It is a plan that, for the most part, works well, except for the times that I don’t have food to offer. This happens to be case with my local panhandler. Every night I exit the train and am greeted by his warm smile and modest request, “Whatever you can spare would be greatly appreciated.” At night I rarely have food with me and so I smile, shake my head, and shrug my shoulders to indicate that I have no change. “ Have a good night,” he says to me in response. Do I feel guilty? Sure I do, and that is why last night, when a coworker was about to throw out the leftover bread from brunch, I stopped him. Tonight I would bring him chocolate bread from Amy’s bread! Unfortunately, when I got off the train, he was nowhere to be found.

What was I going to do with all of this chocolate bread?


Bread Pudding with a Chocolate Twist

5 pieces – Day old Amy’s Chocolate Bread Twists
2 tbsp - melted butter
4 – eggs beaten
2 cups – milk
3/4 cup - sugar
1tsp – Vanilla
sprinkle of light brown sugar and cinnamon (optional)

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
2. Break bread up into small pieces and fill one 8inch or two 4inch cake pans.
3. Drizzle bread with melted butter.
4. Beat together eggs, milk, sugar, and vanilla and pour over bread.
5. Let bread sit for a few them push down on bread with a fork in order to soak up egg mixture.
6. Sprinkle with light brown sugar and cinnamon then place in oven for 45 min, or until the center of the pudding springs back to touch.

Putting Chocolate in Perspective

By now you have become familiar with not only my coffee obsession, but my chocolate fixation as well. In order to put my sentiments for chocolate in perspective, I have decided to publish a letter I received from my friend Régine after our visit to The Chocolate Room. I think that you will find that, compared to her infatuation, my feelings for chocolate are quite mild, everything being relative of course.

Chocolate….
Feeling, smelling, seeing, touching, looking…. All my senses are awake in order to celebrate you.

Trip to The Chocolate Room

The anticipation of going to this place excites me to a point I cannot control the ecstatic smile I have stuck on my face. The whole world becomes sunny side up and quite surreal. As soon as I pushed the door of the shop, uncontrollable internal laughter gets hold of me… The abundance of different vintages of chocolate makes me happy, the strong smell of chocolate makes me happy, not being able to decide what chocolate I want makes me happy… I am so happy when I am in this store! And even happier when finally I leave with my little Chocolate Room bag full of dark chocolate… Life cannot be better. I Love It!

Orgasmic addiction

Chocolate gives me an euphoric high. First I look with divine admiration at the square of fine dark chocolate delicately placed in a plate, I smell it, then I gently take it, bite a piece, let it melts on my tongue, sit down and close my eyes… The rush starts… I can feel a million fire works exploding from my head, through my nipples, to my vagina, then I get the most euphoric orgasm… Sex cannot make me in such a state… Without my daily dosage of dark chocolate, I feel down, deeply sad inside, useless, moody, under the weather… My life makes no sense… I am in love with chocolate…

Régine
Miss SLOW Shot studio
www.myspace.com/missslowshot

Stood-up

Yesterday was a day that held great promise. It was a day for enterprising research, for heartening entertainment, and creative beginnings. It would be thought provoking, invigorating, and satiating. I had been looking forward to it all week long; yesterday I was going to make ice cream.

It was my first time and the plan was to start the day off with some Internet fieldwork looking through recipes for inspiration. I had so many questions, should I start my ice cream journey with something simple like vanilla bean, or something more adventurous like spicy apple cider, or ginger melon? Once I had decided on my flavor, I would go ice-skating in Prospect Park in hopes of burning off some of the calories I was destined to consume later on that night. After some brisk and hopefully graceful laps around the rink I would next embark on one of my favorite tasks, hunting for ingredients. Sahadi’s was on the agenda for bulk, and green market next door for fresh produce. With everything accounted for, the day was going run like clock work… or so I thought.

With all my extensive planning, there was one factor I had neglected to consider: I had yet to receive delivery of my brand new Cuisinart ice-cream maker. UPS had tried to deliver the package the previous day while I was at work and had left a notice saying that it would be delivered between 10-2pm. This would not tarnish my plans however; I would conduct research until delivery and then head out to the rink at 2pm. I was determined to fulfill my day’s plans.

• By 12:30 I had completed my research and was nervously pacing in front of my window.
• By 1pm I was dressed, packed, and had checked my e-mail, myspace, and the weather four or five times.
• At 1:30pm I had decided to change my outfit and by a quarter to 2pm I had changed it once again.
• 2pm found me sitting in the windowsill and with hopeful eyes watching every car that passed.

The hours rolled by with no sign of the delivery guy. At first I was unnerved. How could the deliveryman lie so blatantly? I checked the slip one more time. It was now 3pm. My anger gave way to anxiety when I considered that possibility that there had been an accident. “ I hope he is okay,” I said to myself, feeling ashamed about my unnecessary anger. By 5:30pm my hunger inched up a notch, and my vexation soon followed. I had only planned on being in the apartment until 2pm and had no real food in the house. As my appetite grew, I was overtaken by paranoid delusions. I began imagining the deliveryman at home, happily making ice cream with my machine, ‘That bastard!’ I thought to myself as I pursed my lips and checked the UPS web site one more time.

At 6pm I scrambled some eggs with the remainder of some very old and stale up Edam cheese (the only two ingredients in my refrigerator) and as I ate I tried to let go of my ill feelings. I was upset, hurt even. What could I say? The UPS guy had stood me up. I felt betrayed and humiliated.

At 7pm, just as I was putting aside my venomous feelings the buzzer rang. I jumped to attention, my hair wildly disheveled and my eyes complete with dark circles. I ran down the stairs and swung open the front door expecting to come face to face with the villainous delivery man. Would he apologize? Would he care? I wondered. I opened the door and found nobody. I looked down the block but neither he nor his truck were anywhere to be found. On my doorstep there lay a large brown box, with CUISINART clearly printed on one side. I don’t know why the UPS guy did not stick around to deliver my package in person. Perhaps he did not have the heart to face me after his hurtful lies, or much more likely this was his last delivery of the day and he wanted the get the hell out of there. Regardless, I had my ice cream maker and although it was seven hours late and it was now evening, I was finally free to begin my day.

Does My Blog Look Good in This?

This Month's Does My Blog Look Good in This? photo contest/event is being hosted by on of my favorite bloggers, Fancy Toast. Basically, it is a chance to peruse some of the wonderful food pics posted this month on food blogs across the world. In an attempt to represent Brooklyn, I have entered a photo that I posted on both my Gourmet Peasant blog and its sister site, Peasant Pics. There are 70 entries in all, and every one of them is torturously tantalizing, so if you check out the gallery, I suggest you have some goodies on hand.

More Chocolate, More Challenges - Part II

If ever there were a picture that could tell a thousand words, this one would tell them all about my mother.
It is Easter 1952. My mother Vivian (middle), my Aunt Pat (right), their cousin Robert (middle), and their friend Ellen (left) sit gleefully displaying their holiday spoils. As Ellen tilts her head coyly at the camera, Pat holds a block of chocolate to her face completely oblivious to the camera. Robert, the youngest of them all, stairs distractedly into the distance as my mother, with a sweet-as-pumpkin-pie grin, squats prominently in front of her towering basket of goodies. She is an adorable creature to behold, with vibrant eyes, a darling hairdo, and an innocent smile. It is only once you glance down at her arm that you realize that, by this clever little culprit, you too have been deceived. Not only does Vivian have the largest Easter basket of all the children, containing the most chocolate, but as she poses sweetly for the family photo, she also happens to have her hand in innocent little Robert’s Easter basket. Not only was she greedy enough to steal from her baby cousin, she was also ballsy enough to do it in front of a camera. The thing that makes me smile, as well as shake my head with disapproval is that, most likely, she got away with it.

This picture appeared in my mind today as my now sixty-year-old mother tried to convince me to cheat Dave, her boyfriend, out of his portion of the Oliver Kita’s chocolates. “Come on,” she said, her eyes sparkling with glee as she spoke, “he’ll never notice.” “That’s not very nice,” I replied disapprovingly. “ I’m telling you the truth,” she protested “if we don’t say anything, he’ll never remember!” She was twirling her braid mischievously like a fox and trying hard to keep a straight face. I suppose some things just don’t change, and I guess no amount of chocolate, not even a fully stocked chocolate pantry (which my mother has at all times) will never be enough.

We had bought the chocolates the day before after she picked me up from the station. The snow had stopped by then, and the sun had done a good job of melting most of the ice, but there were reminders of the storm, large snowdrifts lined the roads, fallen tree branches were strewn about, and every so often we passed an abandoned car stuck in a ditch. As we made our way to the chocolate shop, my mother explained what had happened to her to make her so emotional. The car had been giving her problems on her drive and, as it turned out, the cause was a nest in the center of her engine complete with the now roasted mouse. Tears welled up in her eyes as she told the story. “ Well maybe some chocolate will calm you down,” I suggested ignorantly as we pulled into the parking lot.

As we walked through the front door of Oliver Kita’s chocolate shop, the earthy sweet aroma of chocolate pleasurably engulfed us. The intensity of the scent was like no other; it was dense and vibrant, a rich confectionery smog that filled every corner of the room. As we penetrated the chocolaty mist, it encircled us filling out mouths, noses, and caressing us from head to toe. As I acclimated to the riotous bouquet, the heavey smell of savory soil mellowed and mingled playfully with the sturdy and still lingering honeyed savor. It was a blissful rhapsody of the senses that left my mother and I lightheaded. We looked around the shop, classically decorated with pinkish orange walls and dark brown trim. The windows at the back of the shop looked out on the now icy exterior; its chilly tones of white and gray contrasted the warm and embracing interior and made us thankful to be inside. The colorfully painted chocolates were arranged neatly inside two brightly lit display cabinets, behind which Oliver’s chocolate studio was visible.

Oliver greeted us both warmly, vaguely remembering my mother from years past, and we began to chat. At this point my mother’s intoxication at the hands of this otherworldly perfume became evident. Every thought that entered her mind she immediately expelled in the form of jumbled up sentences. She was talking about chocolates, my chocolates, the fact that she likes chocolate, my food blog, and the fact that I was toying with the idea of starting an ice cream company with odd flavors. Having plummeted into a pool of bittersweet mania - she was now stuttering - I was worried that she might hyperventilate. ‘Just take a deep breath’ I though silently, hoping she would telepathically pick up the signal. I put my hand on her shoulder in an anchoring attempt, and we finally got to the job at hand, picking out chocolates.

Here is what we choose:
Mint &Lemon Balm
Shiki Matcha Crunch
Cherry Ancho
Caramel du Del
Palet d’Olivier
Palet d’Opium
Fig and Pistachio
Lavender Citronade
What is it about the aroma of chocolate that takes such strong hold, causing in us a state of bumbling dementia? Perhaps it is the intoxicating scent that drove my mother to steal chocolate from her young cousin, or to attempt to swindle her boyfriend out of his share of the goods. One thing is certain; if chocolate is a useful remedy for a great number of maladies, intoxication, giddiness, and an overwhelming need for more chocolate is not among them.

More Chocolate, More Challenges - Part I

There were many obstacles, challenges, and so much uncertainty, but in the end I made it. I had planned to visit my mother for a few days, but the snowy ice storm that had consumed the region was making my safe passage questionable. As I have mentioned before, leaving the glass prism of the city is not always as easy as it should be, but this time my mother and I had one sparkling incentive, chocolate. I was bringing her a sampling of my new and improved Regine truffle along with two new experimental flavors, and she was planning on whisking me up in her Jeep and heading straight for Oliver Kita's chocolate shop in Rhinebeck. There was only one problem,“ Well the schools are closed, which is not a good sign…” she told me with concern in her voice. I looked out my window and imagined what I would do with my three days off here in Brooklyn, same old thing as I always do I suppose. “ Maybe if we wait until noon, the ice will be melted and the wind will settle down,” she said, having sensed the disappointment hidden beneath my silence. “I’ll start packing!” I yelped as I jumped out of bed to brew my morning coffee.
Two hours later I was watching mountains roll past my Metro North window. They were like old ancient ancestors, I thought to myself, with thinning trees peeking out through their snow-blanketed scalps. The banks of the river were congested with large slabs of ice that crackled and split under the weight of the current and the beaming sunlight. As the train pulled into the station I could sense a change had taken place. Somewhere along the journey, within the insulated capsule of the train, I had unloaded a large portion of my mundane worries, checking them for future retrieval amongst the gray, and unfortunately inhabited, margin that segregate cityscape from rural terrain. I walked up to my mother’s Jeep, truffles in hand, and opened the door; “Now I don’t want to freak you out,” she said trying to sustain a façade of calm to shield her manicness. “Everything is fine, I’m okay, thank the gods,” she said taking a deep breathe and looking up at the heavens as if to give them (the gods) an appreciative nod. “ What happened?” I asked, having flashbacks to our past deer incident…

Sugar High Friday #28 - Chocolate Seduction

“Pomegranate and Basil!!!” Guy advanced toward me, his face marked with the grammar of disbelief. “How did you come up with that_ _ _” I wasn’t sure if his statement warranted a diligent trio of question marks or one menacing exclamation. “Where did you get an idea like that?” - the quizzical glisten in his eyes said, question mark - “ Well… um… I …” I might have known how to answer if I were sure whether his spirited response was one of pleasure or of disgust. “I don’t know how to feel about it,” Caitlin chimed in as she folded napkins, “ I was only able to have one bite, and that just wasn’t enough to form an opinion.” Every one responded differently. Many smiled as they chewed. Was this a sign that they liked them? It was hard to tell. Some kept a straight face trying hard to guard their first impressions, while other just spit them out. “Basil! Oh yuck! Spit! Ah, sorry hon, I just can’t do chocolate and Basil” Prudence said matter-of-factly as she wiped her mouth with a napkin.

As my co-workers curiously tested my chocolates, I thought about Guy’s question. Where did I come up with an idea to make a Chocolate, Pomegranate, and Basil Truffle? I can assure you, I meant no harm. Valentine’s Day was approaching and I was merely trying to seduce my friends, family, and co-workers with the tender and unfailing comforts of chocolate. Boyfriends may come and go, but chocolate has always been by my side. It is dependable, romantic, and sultry. It’s sweet and sometimes savory. It can be whatever you want it to be, and this is what makes it, in my opinion, the most delightful pleasure to be seduced by.

Not everyone fell for my wacky truffles, but the ones who did, fell hard, myself included. Days later I found myself thinking about them, and I couldn’t help but compare all other chocolates to my burstingly fragrant cocoa creation. My cravings have been so fierce that, where else did I find myself late Tuesday night, but melting chocolate with the feverishness of an addict. Once I had replicated the pomegranate truffle (a bit less basil this time, sorry Pru), I experimented with two new flavors, Gram Marsala and orange zest, and Mint and Tarragon with Port bathed Cherries. Forget about a Valentine, the only thing I want to be seduced by this Valentine's day is chocolate, and by the looks of my refrigerator right now, that's not going to be a problem.


Sugar High Friday #28 is being hosted this month by Cardomom Addict. Her very Valentine's Day Theme is Sweet Seduction, the idea being that you post a recipe that you will or would seduce someone with, or one that you would want someone to seduce you with. Bellow is my entry: The Regine Truffle, named after my friend who's devotion to chocolate is inspirational. With this truffle I plan not to seduce anyone. In fact as far as I'm concerned there is no third Party, just me and Regine. She is the only one I hope to be seduced by this Valentine's day and if you follow these instructions, you can be seduced by her as well.
(I'm talking about Regine the Truffle silly, not the girl!)

The Regine Truffle

Ingredients
8oz. of dark chocolate 70% -85% ( I used Vintage Plantations 75%)
3/4 cup – Heavy Cream
7 -9 - Basil leaves, cleaned and dried
2 - Tbsp – butter
2 - Tbsp - Pomegranate Molasses (I got mine at Sahadi's)

1.) Chop up the chocolate very, very, very fine (if it is to thick, it will not melt all the way.)

2.) Heat cream over med heat and when it is about to boil, add the Basil leaves and remove from heat. Let steep 10 min.

3.) Remove leaves and place them in a tiny sieve and squeeze out the remainder of cream.

4.) Return to medium heat and add butter. When it is almost boiling pour the cream over the chopped chocolate and let stand 30 second. Stir a little and wait, stir then wait etc. Continue until chocolate is melted.

5.) Add pomegranate molasses and stir in.

6.) Chill for at least two hours.

7.) Once the chocolate mixture is cooled scoop out chocolate with tiny spoon and roll in your hands to create a ball.

8.) You can cover these with what ever you like. I use cocoa or chopped pistachio.

Cooking, Sex Scenes, and Unearthly Places

I had decided to take a break from cooking and from blogging. As of late, the two have grown into a slight addiction and I figured that I stood to benefit from a night away from my beloved kitchen. Instead of food, my night would be about sex. Yes, you heard me, SEX. I planned on going to see a reading of Sex Scenes by Polly Frost. Sex Scenes is sort of a comic and erotic ‘soap opera’ read by actors to a virtually over flowing and eclectic crowd. I remember the first time I was ‘turned on’ to Sex Scenes. I had been working where Polly held her readings, and as she greeted her actors and guests I couldn't shake the feeling that, somehow, I already knew her. As it turns out, Polly had been a customer at the Cedar Tavern and had actually done much of her writing there.

As I spoke with her about the tragedy of Cedar’s closing she told me a little bit about her work, “I just think all couples should write erotica together…” she told me with a firm yet breathless energy that was impossible to define. Here was this woman who writes ‘erotica’ (whatever that means) standing before me speaking to me with Zen-like assurance . Her voice was gentle yet assertive, positive, and almost bubbly. She invited me to stay for the reading and I accepted gratefully. I had no idea what to expect. Just how graphic would it be, erotic, hardcore, soft core, racy? I had no idea.

As lights dimmed, the audience chatter simmered down and they sat quietly at attention. Halfway through the first scene, there was no denying it, her work was hot! So much so - I had goose bumps - that it might have been embarrassing if it had not also been funny, heart warming, and true to life. This writing was not merely about sex; it was about life and all its conflicts, choices, and rewards. And, without a doubt, it was about sex. As I listened, it struck me: Sex Scenes was as much about sex, as my blog was about food. Gourmet Peasant is based around food, yet food is simply the palpable thread that stitches together and enhances the less tangible elements of my life. Food and sex are rudimentary elements, and at the same time they are so much more than that; they are the foundations of a majority of our experiences, and are a means of our expression and fellowship. I could go on and on, but I will spare you. What I am trying to say is that I can take a break from my kitchen, and I can take a break from my blog, but I can never escape the roots of experience - nor would I want to. My second Polly Frost reading was as interesting and moving as the first. In taking a night off from cooking, I had found my way back to the same unearthly place to which food can transport me, only this time, food was not the vehicle, sex was.

I Love You Coffee Robot

Those of you who are familiar with my The Fefe Monster and The Coffee Fanatic post already know that my love of coffee is so great that “I dream of the day they invent a ‘coffee Robot’ that will brew coffee to my liking and wheel it in to me first thing in the morning saying, with electronic intonation, ‘Here is your coffee…Madeline.’” For those of you who have not yet read the entry, now you know, I long for a robotic coffee slave.
You may laugh, thinking that I am merely joking, but let me assure you, I am rather serious. I have spent many a lazy mornings in bed dreaming of my Coffee Robot, her tin can legs, her flashing R2-D2 lights, and her electronic purr. On indecently early alarm-clock-mornings I experience the excruciating anguish of her truancy and as I pull my weary bones from the warm and feathery comforts of my bed, I am welcomed by the unsavory bite of cold and the shameful sting of reality: I am the coffee robot.

The Lucky Roommate, or The Paranormal Roommate?

My roommate has either astonishing luck, or an almost supernatural intuition for she seems always to be bursting through the front door just as I am plating an extravagant dinner, removing a pie from the oven, or better yet, just adding the finishing touches to the cream filled cup cakes. "It sure smells good in here!" she says beaming as she leans gingerly into the kitchen with the curiosity of a cat. Of course there is always enough stew for a second helping, a mixing bowl ready to be licked clean of batter, or extra plate of sweet and savory salad. Why just this week, as I was removing these scallops from a scolding pan, in walks my roommate, cheeks rosy from the howling wind outside. "Are you hungry?" I asked. " Are you kidding me?" she answered.
Here is what was served:

Salty and Sweet Pan Seared Scallops with and Arugula, Fennel, and basil salad in a Pomegranate Dressing garnished with Squash Seeds, Leeks, and Kiwi...






Sweet Potato and Acorn Squash Soup, with Cardamom, Leeks, and Toasted Squash Seeds...







and for dessert, Black Pepper Cookies with Pine Nuts.

A Brief Meditation on Chocolate

I can’t say that I remember my first time. I was exposed at an inappropriately early age, and have never fully recovered. It is as though that first fateful experience is caged deep within the musky caverns of my subconscious and with each new encounter is released, for but a moment, to thrust upon my senses the recollections of that all-enveloping rapture. The sensation is that of a sharp intimate blade cutting right through the center of the palette, leaving on one side a dry and tannic piquancy and on the other, a warm, sweet, and voluptuous earthiness. With each inhalation, the threading aroma blossoms sending out bouquets of nostalgic harmonies that erupt in the fingers and toes. It is then that it strikes, the final and singular thunderous clap of gratification. I open my eyes and it is a new day, my senses are clear, my mind is keen, and I am ready for another bite.

The Joy Of Cooking...with a recipe

As I patiently fill the cup-cakeless hours, it occurred to me that it was not at all necessary to rob my beloved baking utensils of a meaningful existence. There was no need to abandon the kitchen just because I decided to give up sugar for a week. Besides, if I was to get through the week, I was going to need something tasty to munch on in-between my impending sugar withdrawal fits.

I thought long and hard and decided to make something I had never made before: quiche. “I used to make quiche every week when you were a little girl…” my mother recalled as I told her about my latest under taking. Apparently quiche was one of my father’s favorite dishes – how 70’s of him. “ After baking, the quiche needs to cools entirely in order for the custard to set. I used to have to guard it from your father to prevent him from eating it straight out of the oven,” something I foresaw myself doing to prevent my roommate from doing the same.

For the project, I consulted my 1973 version of the Joy of Cooking. The use of cookbooks is a novelty to me. In fact I have always prided myself on coming up with my own recipes using my very own blend of cautious competence and fearless intuition - or beginners luck, as some would call it. There was something adventurous and exciting about coming up with an idea, and with little training and no background, trying to approximate my desired result. Sometimes, by some unknown miracle, my inventions would come out just as I had imagined them, but a majority of the time they would end up in the trashcan. It was a precarious and thrilling, not to mention wasteful, way to learn how to cook, but over the years that is what I did, learn.
Currently, it is not the adventure that attracts me to the kitchen, rather the satisfaction that comes along with executing an idea with ease and grace. For this, a cookbook comes in handy. Though I do use recipes, an adventurous streak still runs through my cooking. You see, to me, recipes are nothing more than a set of guidelines, guidelines that I will eventually bend to my own tastes, preferences, and even fetishes. Printed below are the Joy Of Cooking’s guidelines for making quiche, laced with Gourmet Peasant specifications.

Fennel, Asparagus, and Leek Quiche with Artisan Manchego Cheese

Pâte Brisée
one 9-inch pie crust

ingredients:
1/2 cup – butter
2 tbsp – lard (I used extra butter)
2 cups – sifted all-purpose flour
1/2 tsp – salt
5-6 tbsp – water

1.) Blend until mixed, butter, flour, and salt using a pastry cutter or a Cuisinart.

2.) Sprinkle mixture with water a little at a time, incorporating it into the mixture until you can gather dough into a ball (it should not stick to your fingers.)

3.) Squeeze into a disk and let the dough rest in the refrigerator for 2-36 hours.

4.) Remove from refrigerator and let stand one hour.

5.) Preheat oven to 450 degrees F. Between two pieces of wax paper, or on a lightly floured surface, roll out the dough to fit a 9-inch baking pan. It should be one inch larger all around than the baking pan. Always roll from the center out to create an even crust.

6.) Roll crust onto the rolling pin then unroll it over the pie pan. Ease the dough into the pan and pinch around the edge of the pan.

7.) Poke bottom of crust with a fork, or cover with wax paper and fill with dry beans. This prevents bubbling of the crust. Bake in oven for 12 minutes or until golden brown.



Filling
The Custard:
2 cups – milk
3 eggs
1/4 tsp salt
1/8 tsp pepper
a fresh grating of nutmeg
1/2 cup of grated cheese

Veggies:
Fennel sliced thin and lightly blanched
Asparagus blanched
1 small yellow onion caramelized
One leek cooked with onion
A sprinkling of chopped dill

1.) Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Place veggie mixture inside the precooked pie crust.

2.) Mix eggs, salt, milk, pepper and nutmeg well and pour over the top of veggies.

3.) Sprinkle with cheese before placing in oven. Bake for 35- 40 minutes or until top is golden Brown.

4.) Guard your pie well as it cools otherwise you roommate might get to it before it has a chance to set.