off my gourd

Pumpkin is a delicious food. It is also relatively cheap, when purchased in a large can from the Safeway. Don't bother me with the roasting and pureeing by hand bullshit, cuz I'm just not going to do that. Whole pumpkins are for carving funny faces into while you remove and roast the seeds, then watching them decompose on your front porch. They are not for hand processing. At least, not for me. But I will buy a big can of Libby's and go nuts.

This was definitely a pumpkin-themed week, and not even on purpose. I just didn't want to waste any. First I baked a batch of my all time favorite cookies. They're soft pumpkin cookies that I adapted a bit, then added chocolate chips to satisfy my craving for chocolate. They're spicy, cakey, almost like a muffin top, and a bit chewy all at the same time. They're also orange and black in a completely non-food-coloring sort of way that I appreciate, so I call them my Halloween cookies. Delicious. Cannot stop munching upon them. Though I probably should.

But that only used one cup out of the big-ass can, so I made Pumpkin Penne for dinner the next night. Ground pork, onions, sage, pumpkin puree, a touch of half & half, cooked penne, then topped with bread crumbs and parm. Baked until I can't stand it any longer (about 15 minutes), and it's a wonderfully orange treat for dinner. Sorry, no pictures. I was in a hurry to eat it.

Then my play date. Over the weekend, a very close friend from the high school days (which was the last time we spent any significant time together) came over to play. She wanted to learn how to make cheesecake. Fortunately, this is an area where I have a bit of experience. Right out of culinary school, I worked as the morning baker at a quaint little bakery/cafe in my hometown. I would show up at 4am, whip out the morning bake, then spend the rest of my shift on pies and cheesecakes, which were both huge sellers. The cheesecake recipe is ridiculously simple, and I learned that simple = better, so I still use it today.

First, don't mess around with recipes that call for sour cream in the filling. Bah, that's just asking for trouble. Sour cream goes on top, and only on top. The filling should just be cream cheese, eggs, sugar and vanilla. Plus whatever flavoring you want. Second, graham cracker crusts are the devil. Serious pain in the ass, and not really worth it. I use a simple sugar dough, made in the food processor, then pressed into the springform and chilled for a bit while working on the filling. It's much quicker and easier to work with, and sturdier when baked. Third, don't mess your pants if the top of the cheesecake gets dark brown. It's going to do that. That's what the sour cream is for.

Cheers to a job well done.

So we made our pumpkin cheesecake with the rest of that big freakin' can. Can finally emptied, poor persion "waste not, want not" tendencies satisfied. Pumpkin also happens to be my favorite cheesecake flavor. My friend went home with the recipe and a bunch of cheesecake, I kept the rest. Which is still in my fridge; a fact I'm very proud of.

Yesterday, CK decided he wanted to keep the pumpkin trend alive a bit longer. He very politely requested two pumpkin pies. Yes, two. He's nuts. I don't even like pumpkin pie (hence the cheesecake), but he vowed to eat it all before it went bad, or take some to work. So I became nice wife and made a batch of cream cheese pie dough (it gets puffier and doesn't use shortening or lard). I meant to make quiche this week anyway. So another big can of Libby's later, I now have two - count them, TWO (two pies, ah ah ah) - pumpkin pies in my fridge as well. Also no pictures. Everyone knows what pumpkin pie looks like.

So now I'm wondering if over-consumption of pumpkin will have any serious physical side effects, like turn my face orange a-la George Hamilton, or maybe make me pee orange until Thanksgiving.

based on true events

Ever had Lomo Saltado? Yeah, it's really good. This isn't it.

But it is based on it.

Lomo Saltado is a Peruvian beef stew kinda thing with fried potatoes just tossed in there. Pure genius. Peruvian food is heavily influenced by the Chinese (mostly due to thousands upon thousands of Chinese contract laborers sent to work on the sugar plantations in the 19th century), so there's a lot of soy sauce in addition to cumin, cinnamon, and chili peppers. Sounds tasty, right? It is.

I just wasn't feeling like putting in the effort. It was getting late, I was tired, and we were hungry. I mean, it looked like a great big pain in the ass, and really it's just modified beef stew. Which I can make blindfolded and napping on the couch. So instead, I once again opted for the lazy solution and made said modified beef stew. I added a yellow bell pepper, a metric buttload of soy sauce, cumin, cinnamon, a couple chili peppers, cayenne, and a dash of Worcestershire (cuz where there's beef, there should be Worcestershire). I baked store-bought French fries (gasp!) and threw them in at the last minute.

The fries soaked up all the beefy-tomatoey broth right away and got just a titch on the soggy side. Still very edible, mind you, but I can see how frying your own from scratch would have its textural benefits. Really though, this took me very little time to make and I didn't have hot oil splattered all over my walls and countertops afterward. A small sacrifice in order to eat much sooner.

I also ran out of cilantro. That was the part that made me want to cry just a little. I'm sure this dish would have been markedly improved by fresh cilantro, even as a mere garnish; a splash of color, if you will. Alas, I made udon soup a few days earlier and used it all, then forgot to pick up more. I'm kicking myself, I assure you. Just imagine you see beautiful green cilantro bits on top, and it will make me feel a whole lot better.

To be honest, I was sort of expecting to not be impressed by this at all. I mean, I totally phoned it in. Sometimes that's been known to happen with my experimental cop-out versions of fancier dinners. But that did not occur. Apparently you really can't go wrong with meat and potatoes.

thug life

Indeed.

Sorry that's my friend's daughter Bailey, who is adorable, and way too trusting of the adults when there are magic markers and digital cameras in the vicinity. She'll learn.

This post is in no way about thug life. I just had that picture on my camera from last week and it keeps making me giggle.

This post is about butternut squash ravioli, yay. This was my attempt to replicate the flavors (operative word, as it does not resemble in any way) of a dish from a small neighborhood Italian restaurant that sadly, has become one of the latest casualties of the economy. I'll miss you, Smashed Tomatoes (although your name was pretty crappy).

Butternut squash ravioli with sage brown butter sauce. This dish was my favorite. I am sad that I now will have to continue to make it myself when I crave it, because as you can see, I am not very good at it.

Pile-o-ravioli.

The problem is most likely my method. I am very lazy, you understand, and can't be bothered with such things as making pasta dough by hand. That's what wrinkley old Italian women are for. I am neither old (yet) nor Italian, so I do what any self-respecting lazy person would do, and I buy little wonton wrappers.

I swear the raviolis looked perfectly fine before they went into the boiling water. They just got all foldy and stuck together after that. But they still tasted the same. The brown butter sauce was fragrant and nutty and the sage was crispy and delicious. Inside, velvety butternut squash (cooked down with onion and sage, then stick-blended). Paired with a quick wilted spinach salad with fig vinaigrette.

I made too much filling, so I ended up with butternut squash concentrate. Just add milk and I had a delicious soup for lunch today.

Very deliciously thug life. Yeah, that's how I roll.

breakfast of champions, I guess, like little chocolate donuts

We were on Mount Baker a couple weeks ago, when the weather was still warm and sunny at sea level but brisk and foggy at elevation (the fog obscured the peak most of the time, boo). We hiked in and camped just below the glacier, in a sprawling meadow that would have inspired Julie Andrews to burst into spontaneous, annoying song about deer and Christmas presents. There were mountain huckleberries everywhere. Literally everywhere. When I needed to make number one in the dark, I had little choice but to pee right on them. They were that abundant. So before hiking out the next morning, I spent some time hunkered over in the bushes, filling up one of our Nalgene water bottles with delicious little gems (picked from an area that would have been difficult to pee on, unless you have Inspector Gadget legs and excellent balance).


The ground is covered in huckleberry bushes. Except for the narrow trail. And I snacked.

Not really knowing what else to do with them, and only having brought home a quart (next time I must remember to bring a hand-truck and some Rubbermaid containers up the mountain with me), I froze them and will be using them in small quantities to liven up otherwise ordinary and/or boring foods. Such as pancakes.

Ugh, pancakes. I know this will be an unpopular position on the matter, but I am not a fan of the pancake breakfast. They make me feel like lead for the rest of the day. I want protein in the morning, not dessert. I used to love them--or rather the experience of them--as a wee little thing, when my Dad would get up early on a Saturday and attempt to make Mickey Mouse shapes with the batter, but accidentally end up with only two conjoined rounds instead of three. He made the most of his error, carving a hole in the center to fill with syrup and calling his creation "butt pancakes". We laughed our little asses off. We were very easily amused.

Of course CK adores pancakes, craves them fortnightly, and frequently requests them for breakfast on a weekend. I usually refuse, sometimes compromising with French toast (quicker to make but still dessert-ey), most often I just make omelets. However, having huckleberries on hand changed things a little and I felt like being a gracious and wonderful wife just this one time. I supplemented this cakey, sweet, heavy-as-iron breakfast item (which was vastly improved by the addition of huckleberries, only strengthening my belief that huckleberries make everything better), with chicken apple sausage and applewood smoked bacon. I got my meat, he got his pancakes.


Overall not a difficult cooking task, but it was probably the highlight of the month so far.

pestilence

Last time I checked, you're not supposed to get the flu from the flu shot. That's supposed to be preventing the flu, not causing it. Correct? Well I had the damn shot on Friday and by Monday afternoon I was sick as a . . . as a . . . as a very sick person. Yeah, that's it. And I blame the shot because the nurse was kind of rude and had shifty eyes. I suspect she used the non-dead virus on me. It's been a while since an illness has kicked my ass to this degree. I made several efforts to go in to work, each time being sent home within a couple hours with the same "why the hell are you here" glares from my co-workers. Sorry guys. Hope you don't get it.

So the week has been spent in the recumbent position in fleece pants, drinking chicken broth and water, watching shitty movies and playing solitaire. Yeah it's been pretty rad.

But before the pestilence was able to fully declare war on my body, my sister gave me a big-ass box of italian plums. Right on. Plum time.

Or not. See above RE: the kicking of my ass.

All I managed before the flu took control of my immune system was a batch of plum-chambord jam and a couple loaves of plum bread (oh sweet baby jesus it's so good). I was able to get most of the stragglers into the freezer -- submerged in apple juice -- before the fruit flies could set up camp in there, but I did have to toss a bunch. F-ing flu.

And I had such big plans for chinese plum sauce and fancy tarts and all sorts of fun shit. Now all I'll get later on is a plum pie or cobbler of some sort. Oh well, still good.

The plum bread was so good I've decided to share the recipe.

• 2 cups italian plums, seeded & chopped
• 8 oz butter, room temp
• 1 1/2 cups sugar
• 1 tsp vanilla
• 4 eggs
• 3 cups flour
• 1 tsp salt
• 1 tsp cream of tartar
• 1 tsp baking soda
• 3/4 cup vanilla yogurt

Cream together the butter, sugar and vanilla. Add eggs one at a time. Combine dry ingredients. Add dry mix and yogurt in batches, until it's all in there.

Grease 2 loaf pans. Add about a quarter of the batter into each, layer chopped plums on top, then the rest of the batter, then the rest of the plums. Bake at 350 for about 50-55 minutes.

Apparently it freezes really well, but I didn't have to test that out.

pork and pork with pork

Question: How can you improve the flavor of smoked pork?

Answer: Wrap it in more smoked pork.

Duh.

Thick, smoked pork chops wrapped in thick, smoked bacon. There's a winner.

CK's not a big fan of fruit on his pork (weirdo), so I had to sneak it in - cuz fruit and pork are BFFs and I can't deprive them of each others' company. It would just be cruel and wrong.

I seared the chops, paying special attention to make sure the bacon got a brown on as well. Then I used some surprisingly refreshing and delicious (dry, not sweet) Washington State Apple wine and a tiny glug of fig vinegar with pulp to deglaze the pan and start a sauce. Though lots of other shit went in there, the only ingredient I can remember is butter. The sauce got drizzled over the chops and garlic mashed potatoes. The bacon-ey gift wrap also served as a distraction, so the hubs didn't identify the suspiciously delicious apple flavor. The pork sat on a mattress of green cabbage, cooked for about 40 minutes in the wine, a diced apple, and a Walla Walla sweet onion.

sausagefest.

I'm sorry, that title is pretty misleading. You probably thought this post would be in some way about sausage, especially since this is supposed to be a food blog. I did not make, nor did I attend any kind of Sausagefest (though interestingly, the town I live in sponsors one every year in October, and it's excellent). No, instead the title references my wedding last month. Odd, we did not serve sausage there either.

But take a look at the wedding party:

Only two girls, and we're both taken. Sausagefest indeed. They look like a bunch of waiters, don't they? Poor guys. At least we gave them liquor.

So it took a little while, but I got my wedding pictures and I thought I would share. I don't know why exactly, probably because I had nothing else to post about. I have been cooking like crazy lately but none of it has been interesting enough to share. Unless you're dying to see pictures of my chicken noodle casserole? Didn't think so. Let's look at some pretty pictures instead, shall we?

Brittany's delicious cupcakes. We had white cake with white chocolate cream cheese icing and edible flowers, berry, and fig adornment (pictured). Then chocolate with chocolate mousse buttercream and some kind of cocoa nib brittle decoration. The top tier was coconut with regular ole buttercream and toasted coconut flakes. They were a hit. Good thing my friends are a bunch of pigs, cuz there were also a ton. But somehow no leftovers. Good work, Brittany.

I love this picture and I don't know why that is exactly.

Brittany and me. We both like this one cuz we're blurry, and that's how we look best.

My Dad. Does he look like a mobster or what? And that's their car Claire. All I know is it's a Chrysler and it's old, so don't ask any other questions.

My Mom showing off her tattoo. I was messing around in Photoshop with these pictures and played with the colorization. Looks pretty cool this way I think.

Brittany taking a shot of liquid courage before walking down the aisle. Check out that cleavage. Rawr.

They didn't actually let me drive. This picture is deceiving.

The wedding was held at an old hotel in Everett that's been turned into an art gallery in the old lobby, with artist's lofts above. They moved all the sculptures out of the way so we could get married in there. Most of the guests had to stand on the balcony and watch from above. It was pretty cool lookin.

Me signing away my freedom as Brittany watches.

More Photoshop fun. I ditched the shoes after posing for all the pictures and got married barefoot. They were uncomfortable, and kept snagging my dress. Bastard shoes.