The Winter Slow Down

It’s snowing.  We were hoping old man winter was going to forget us this year, but no dice.  That and four weeks of vegetables and water make for a bored cranky couple.

Me:   “Shall we light a fire, dear?”

Chris:  “No, it’s too cold.”

What?  Truth of the matter is, if you have a real fire going, you might as well have a big window in your house open.  Nice and warm near the fire, until you step out of the room and wonder why it feels like a meat locker.  That and the heat bill will cure you of this particular romantic notion.

So, no adult beverages, no fire.  No pasta, no pizza.  No mashed potatoes.  No popcorn. 

Worse, yet, no cocktails on the porch.

So, I thought I would try a little cooking school this Winter. 

When I finally came up with a hook for a cookbook, it was about re-inventing recipes.  Not making them non-fat or low fat, but about honing your cooking skills and taking any recipe and making it better.  Developing layers of flavor from the process, instead of adding more fat, salt, sugar or starch.  Getting the most out of what you use.  Using your leftovers to maximize results.

The Recipe Page will remain the same, and I'll leave up lots of the other posts if you want to share them with others.  (Yes, please do, that's the only way I'm going to be able keep doing this.  I need lots of page hits!)

A new page, The How To Journal, has been added, with lots of pictures of the process, not just the finished results.  Because it is the process that get's you the result, not just the ingredients.  This, you cannot learn from a cooking show.  They just don't have the air time to cover the entire process (and certainly not in 30 minutes).  You know when they dump everything into a pan, and then bring out another pan with the dish all finished?  What they do in between, particularly the patience and the waiting part, that's what really counts.

That, and finally trying to figure out how to get my wireless LAN network to let me download Netflix.  We're going to need non-stop movies once football is over.

So please hang in there with me this Winter after the de-decorating, and we'll get to the deglazing.

De Decorating

Depressing.  That's how the house feels when all of the Christmas Decorations get taken down and packed away.  That and the dieting we're going to have to do this Winter to get us back to fighting weight.

I have a plan.  And once I finish the leftover Ragu, I'm going to begin execution

First, the Tree.  It's amazing the care and delicate handling the Tree gets on the way in, versus the heave-ho it gets on the way out. 

But not this year. We left our tree, with the lights on it, outside.  Somehow, having that tree lit up in the back yard is somewhat comforting for the long snowy months ahead.

And the decorations.  I put away all of the red decorations, and left anything wintery, snowy, white and green.  Like eating a chocolate mint outside on a cold day. 

Resolutions and White Bean Pasta Fagioli

 

Leave it to Chris to decide to go on his diet BEFORE Thanksgiving. 

No stuffing.  No gravy.  No mashed potatoes.   No potatoes au gratin.  No beans.  No bread.  No root vegetables. 

Why?  No starch of any kind. 

Meat?  Sure thing.  And lots of it.

Cheese?  You bet.  So much that I’m surprised he’s not a solid.

Olive Oil and Butter?  Slather it on.  Fat is not his enemy.

Me?

I figured out what my kryptonite is:  All of the above.

And I have to cook for both of us.

Which means either I cook two completely different meals, or one of us doesn’t loose weight.

Challenging. 

Boring.  Just what you want in a food blog.

Worst yet, no cocktails on the porch. 

My diet starts January 2^nd.

Until then, here is a quick little dish I just whipped up with what I had in the house.  Depending on volume, it could be healthy or a heart attack.

But I won’t think about that today.  I'll just enjoy my White Bean Pasta Fagioli.

Vodka Sauce, Then and Now

Many (many) New Years Eve’s ago, alone still, I had invited Louise, one of my dear friends, over for dinner.  I had been dating a man the previous year and was devasted by the break up.  Actually, it wasn’t so much a break up as it was a case of MIA.  (Yeah, again.)

A couple of months before, I was driving us to dinner.  At the time, I had a five-speed Mercedes.  He commented that he had bought his first wife a Mercedes, and his second wife a BMW.  I was leasing my car at the time, and we were discussing the "keep or not keep" option at the end of the lease. 

Later, he said to me, “You know, I think you should keep that car.”  And I said, without missing a beat, “You’re just saying that so you don’t have to buy me one.” 

You know that moment when you think you are in a relationship and then you know you’ve stepped over the boundary line?  I held my breath.

I never saw him again.

Being a glutton for punishment, I sent him a tin of Christmas Cookies over the holidays, in a desperate attempt to get a response from him. 

Nothing. 

I was planning to make fusilli with Vodka Sauce for New Year’s Eve dinner with Louise.  Whole Foods Market had just opened, and they carried fresh pasta, and I placed an order for a couple of pounds of fresh fusilli.  When I went to pick up the pasta, they had forgotten my order.  My emotions running rampant, I burst into tears.  The Manager of Whole Foods took pity on me, and promised to make the pasta and deliver it. 

When I got home, I found three items on my doorstep:  The pasta, a bottle of champagne from Whole Foods, and a package.  When I opened the package, it was the empty cookie tin and note from him to: “Take care.” 

I was livid.  When Louise came over and I told her what happened, she asked if I was going to do anything about it. 

Me: “I’ll wait until I’m a little less angry and then I’ll decide.” 

Louise: “Don’t wait too long.” 

She was right.  I picked up the phone and left him a scathing voicemail about being such a coward. 

Hung up. 

Called back.

Me (to his answering machine): “AND YOU ATE THE COOKIES?!” 

We spent the remainder of the evening marveling over the vodka sauce, and the fact that that creep ate the cookies.

Recently, I saw a woman I know from the gym in the grocery store.  She was racking her brains trying to come up with a plan for dinner, while her teenage son pulled at her sleeve to buy a jar of Vodka Sauce.  I quickly wrote down this recipe for her.  Hope it was good.  Saw Mr. Pepin in the grocery store as well.  Should’ve asked him what he was making for dinner.