Ambrosia from Gourmet Today

Mention Ambrosia to anybody from Down South and you'll conjure up images of a sweet treat--a Cool-Whip based dessert that has some fruit and coconut thrown in. Oranges (canned mandarin orange slices), pineapple (canned, crushed), cherries (maraschino)--oh, and mini marshmallows are all necessary ingredients. And coconut. Here are some pics from an image search for Ambrosia Salad:

My mom's spin on this regional fave was to add pistashio pudding powder to the Cool-Whip. You get what I'm talking about, right? Buy a box of Jell-O pistashio-flavored pudding, and instead of making pudding with it, just mix the powder into the Cool-Whip.

As kids, we adored this dessert. And the irony that it's called Ambrosia Salad will not be lost on anybody who has visited the South or the Heartland. My friend Elizabeth likes to tell the story about one of her first visits to her husband's Pennsylvania kin--at a mid-day outdoor picnic she was asked to go inside and get the salad. She wandered around the kitchen, mystefied by the lack of anything involving lettuce...turns out she was supposed to fetch something like this:

Gourmet Today has updated Ambrosia by stripping it down to the flavor essentials of citrus and coconut. On the face of it this looks easy, except it involves a real coconut--not a bag of the shredded, sweetened stuff.

Coconuts are not always around in the markets here, but I had recently seen coconuts in a display case when I was lunching at Rawbert's Organic Garden Cafe and figured I could buy one there. These coconuts are prepped by (I guess) somebody hacking away the outer green shell but leaving some of the husk that protects the brown shell and good stuff inside. This somebody with a machete also cuts a star pattern in the top which helps you get inside. I'm speculating, but it helped me.

Once I drained the water (and drank it--yummy!) I was at a loss as to how to best open this thing--the recipe has you bake the coconut and then crack it with a hammer, but they were talking about the brown coconut you'd buy in a market. I had a slightly different and better protected beast on my hands.

Finally I just went with the hammer approach and used the claw end to pry my way in.

I'm not sure if you can tell from the pic, but this coconut was soft and pliable--totally different from any coconut product I'd ever seen. It reminded me of a floppy latex mold. The recipe asks you to shred the coconut but that would be impossible unless I put some effort into dehydrating it first. I decided to julienne it as thinly as I could.

The rest is easy, a little sugar and some cream sherry (because everything is better with booze.) I made this dessert for my meditation group--we have a lunchtime potluck afterwards and one of the members is gluten-sensitive. It could have been the post-meditation high, but I thought it was delicious.

Thanks to Top 50 States, Wizard Recipes, All Occassion Catering, ifood.tv and Paris Hotel Boutique Journal for image grabs.

Asian Pears with Vanilla-Poached Kumquats

Looking for a dairy- and gluten-free dessert? Like orange marmalade? Then you can't go wrong with Asian Pears with Vanilla-Poached Kumquats. The ingredients may be hard to track down--depends on how adventuresome your market is--but if you can find the two main ingredients (Asian pears and kumquats) the rest is cake.

The kumquats are poached in lime syrup (1/4 cup lime juice, water, sugar) along with half a vanilla bean. Pour that over thinly sliced Asian pears, let it sit for a while, and you're done. Easy!

Apprehensive about these unusual fruits? Don't be--Asian Pears are kind of new to the country but they're picking up steam in America--I see on the interwebs that they're trying to cultivate them in Texas. They look like apples (with a similar bite-feel) but have the texture and flavor of pears.

They also hold up well, at least in this dish. Apple pie bakers, you know how using Golden Delicious guarantees you'll have cohesive apple pieces that even have a little bit of firmness? Same deal here.

Kumquats are like the teeniest tiniest little oranges you ever saw--you could serve them at your dolly's tea party as a snack.

The funny thing about these citrus fruits is that the rind is sweet(ish) and the inside is the bitter part. I just eat them whole. In this recipe you slice them into rounds and de-seed--there's usually one one seed. Poached, you get an experience that's very much like a fine orange marmalade--sweet with just an edge of bitterness.

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Hey, you--Busy Person. Person who loves Top Chef but can't seem to find the time to watch it. Allow me to introduce you to Karen Carlson and her blog, A Just Recompense.

Karen recaps the Top Chef shows as they appear, and her commentary is both passionate and funny. This is not the main order of business on her blog--she also reviews stories that appear in Tin House, The New Yorker, and other lit mags--additionally, she's working her way through BASS.

Check her out--you'll appreciate her. I do. And keep an eye out for her guest blogger, Zin Kenter, who is a hoot. They're both published authors (Zin most recently in Smokelong)--you can see their bona fides in the right-hand column.

Strawberries with Balsamic Vinegar

Isn't that a nice photo? I didn't take it! Patti at Worth the Whisk did, and it's a post that's actually about strawberries with black pepper and balsamic vinegar, though it's not from the Gourmet Cookbook. Thanks, Patti! May your blog thrive.

So here's another recipe from the Fruit Desserts chapter, and although you might think that this is an easy one to knock off, you'd actually be wrong--that is, if you want to get it right.

Why? Because it calls for one very special ingredient, which is aged balsamic vinegar (preferably aceto balsamico tradizionale). People, this is not the balsamic vinegar you buy at Stop N Shop.

Now, you can kind of fake it (and restaurants do, all the time) by reducing balsamic vinegar with a little sugar until it's thick and syrupy. This works fine!

Or you can keep your eyes peeled until you find a store that sells this stuff, or something close to it.

But wait! I hear you cry--What's the Big Deal about balsamic...aceto...whatever it is?

Well, my little chickies, if you were to traverse Italy you'd discover it's a VERY big deal over there, and it's partly a product thing, and partly a proprietary thing. You know how sparkling wine can't be called Champagne unless it's actually produced in the Champagne region of France? That's because the winemakers of Champagne went to the mat to get that to be a LAW, and it's like that with many food products--traditional, artisan, regional makers of food fighting for the right to not have that name be co-opted by Kraft or Gallo or whoever. (WHOMever, grammar nazis!)

Parmesan cheese is another one--if it ain't from Parma, it ain't Parmesan. It's just "aged".

So getting back to balsamic vinegar--this from Wikipedia:

Only two consortia produce true traditional balsamic vinegar, Modena and Reggio Emilia. True balsamic vinegar is made from a reduction of syrup from sweet wine grapes, called "Mosto Cotto" in Italian, which is subsequently aged for a minimum of 12 years in a battery of seven barrels of successively smaller sizes. The casks are made of different woods like chestnut, acacia, cherry, oak, mulberry, ash, and, in the past, juniper. True balsamic vinegar is rich, glossy, deep brown in color and has a complex flavour that balances the natural sweet and sour elements of the cooked grape juice with hints of wood from the casks.

Reggio Emilia (Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale di Reggio Emilia) designates the different ages of their balsamic vinegar by label colour. A red label means the vinegar has been aged for at least 12 years, a silver label that the vinegar has aged for at least 18 years and a gold label that designates the vinegar has aged for 25 years or more[2].

Modena (Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale di Modena) uses a different system to indicate the age of their balsamic vinegars. A cream coloured cap means the vinegar has aged for at least 12 years and a golden cap bearing the designation extravecchio shows the vinegar has aged for 25 years or more[2].


Did I fly to Italy to get this stuff? No, actually I was up in Newburyport with O'Malley for a little day trip, and we decided to picnic down by the waterfront. So we went to a highly acclaimed (thanks Chowhound!) place called the Grand Trunk Old World Cheese Shop, and they happened to be having a vinegar tasting.

Anyway, long story slightly shorter, I ended up buying a small bottle of 8 year-old balsamic vinegar, which was the oldest they had. It cost $30, but my paycheck was burning a hole in my pocket so it was just one of many things we bought that day-gourmet chocolates, spicy chorizo, aged cheddar, smoked herring, a crusty baguette, and a German beer that I stealthily poured into my Sigg water bottle.

Here's O'Malley eating smoked herring:



Then I decided I didn't get enough of the yummy picnic food so here's a wider shot:



I really am getting back around to Strawberries with Balsamic Vinegar. Really! But I just want to note that real true aged-more-than-12-years balsamic vinegar costs a bajillion dollars, and unless I go to Italy and get some on a dessert or something, odds are very slim that I (or you) will ever taste it. Or maybe you work for Gourmet and that stuff is in the pantry?! Maybe. Who knows?

But the 8-year stuff isn't bad--it's sweet and rich, and I like my book group enough that I decided to share this dessert with them.

Now, alas and alack, my strawberries were not the finest local strawberries, sweet, sunkissed and warm. No, they were those big honking strawberries from CA that are mostly red, mostly tart and some sweet, firm and well-formed. I got three quarts of those, cut them up, and tossed them with the aged balsamic, sugar, and freshly ground black pepper.

Yes, pepper! Don't look at me like that. It's good!

I served them whipped cream and because I still can't bring myself to give my book group desserts that don't involve either chocolate or flour I brought some cookies too. They loved it! Or, they SAID they loved it. Maybe they have low standards.

I liked the strawberries very much, and I used the leftovers all week long on arugula for a nice summery salad.

Strawberry Shortcake

Is there any dessert more quintessentially "summer" than Strawberry Shortcake?

I fall in love with it every time I eat it. How did I forget about strawberry shortcake? I'll ask myself. But I do, lured away by the charms of pies, tarts and cakes.

Strawberry shortcake is one of those desserts where the sum of the whole is greater than the parts. None of the elements--the cream biscuits, the macerated berries, the lightly sweetened whipped sour + heavy cream--can stand on their own. Together, it's summer on the tongue.

Not having made strawberry shortcake in, like, a decade, I was a little worried about the biscuits, which have not one jot of sugar in them. I was equally worried about the whipped sour + heavy cream, which has mere 1 1/2 tablespoons of confectioners sugar.

But the macerated berries more than make up for that lack--they balance each other out, and really, it's just perfect.

Could I be more fulsome? Probably not. Oh, wait. They're the ideal size--three inches in diameter. Not too huge, which sometimes you'll see with the biscuits in other recipes. Who wants biscuits the size of your face? Only diners in certain chain restaurants that shall remain unnamed.

Any other praises I can sing? I think I covered them all. No wait--one more. It's easy, people. The whole thing takes about half an hour, and you've got delicious dessert for a small crowd.

Minor technical note: the recipe on epicurious takes you to a buttermilk biscuit page, but in the book it's a very simple cream biscuit (flour, baking powder, salt, cream). You do what you want, but the cream biscuit is super easy and it gets my vote.

Osso Bucco and Chilled Sour Cherry Soup

I don't know about for you, but for me Osso Bucco is one of those legendary meals that looms large in my culinary imagination--right up there with Baked Alaska and the three-days-in-preparation Cassoulet.

I'm not sure I even knew exactly what it was, but I knew that it was in the Gourmet Cookbook, and that I'd be making it someday.

Yesterday was the day.

I didn't really plan on it. But last night was K. and L.'s final night before their departure today and as I like to do with them (beautiful hedonists that they are) I put some special thought into their dinner and thought I would make a veal dish with a good wine.

Being the smart lass that I am, I figured I'd CALL Stop and Shop before I got there, so I could see what they had, and mull over the cookbook accordingly in the house.

They had:
rib chops
flank chops
scallopini
osso bucco

"What does that mean, Osso Bucco?" I asked.

"It means the shanks FOR Osso Bucco," explained the guy.

OK! Now, if you look at the head notes for this recipe, you'll see words like "velvet" and "buttery", and you'll also see that it's one of those slow-cooking low-oven recipes.

Sign me up.

I had a moment of consternation when I was actually standing in front of the meat case, because the book tells you to get eight 12 to 16 oz shanks.



What they had on display were four packages of shanks that had been cross-cut.



Oh well. I bought all they had and ended up with about half (in weight) of what the recipe called for. I was cooking for three, after all, not eight.

In retrospect, I'm glad the cross-cut shanks were what I used--I think whole shanks would have been too unwieldy, especially for Mrs. S.

The preparation is classic French technique--dredge the meat in flour and brown in pan, then deglaze with wine. Make a mirepoix of finely chopped onions, celery, carrots and garlic, and saute. Add a bouquet garni, the browned shanks, chopped tomatoes (I used canned), and beef broth. Cook in a low oven until you can't resist the smell anymore, then take it out and EAT IT.

No, actually there are a few more steps. Take the pot out and remove the shanks, then strain the broth from the vegetables. Then reduce the sauce a bit--this will be your mopping liquid, because the shanks go back in the oven, uncovered, and you baste them with the broth.

I've never had veal shanks before, and I was blown away by how tender the meat was. I've also never eaten marrow before (though I've heard people talk swooningly about it) and I tried some of that...eh. I could take it or leave it. Frankly, all I could think was--is this really where stem cells come from? The marrow? Not such an appetizing train of thought.

What surprised me was the collagen. That's the sort of rubbery stuff that that holds the meat together, and when it's cooked for a long time it gets very soft, though it retains its shape. They were sort of like meat-flavored egg noodles.

Oh, people. This is a dish for the ages. I can see why it's so famous.

K. and L. were transported. I was especially happy with the meal because K. informed me that many people do osso bucco "not so well". I can't imagine how you could screw this meal up--it seems so straightforward--but I suppose anything is possible.



This is obviously not my photo (thanks, paperblog.fr)--I wasn't quite organized enough to get a final plate shot last night.

One final note--the gremolata (minced parley and garlic + lemon zest) was a take-it or leave-it for me. It was good with the meat, but the meal would not have been incomplete without it. It does look pretty, though.

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Readers with long memories will recall that last summer I bought a case of sour cherries and spent the day pitting them by hand, then bagging and freezing them according to recipe requirements.

For example, I might have a bag in the freezer that said "Cherry Tortoni--1 lb." Actually, believe it or not, Teena did the exact same thing, and when we had coffee together earlier this summer we had a laugh over how geeky that is, and that we had both done it.

So I had one last bag of cherries kicking around from last summer that I wanted to use (the above-mentioned Cherry Tortoni bag), and since I wasn't up to making Cherry Tortoni (which would have required a trip to the store which may or may not have had the cookies I needed) I looked for another cherry recipe that required 1 lb. of sour cherries.

Chilled Sour Cherry Soup was what I settled on. We had a small dinner party going on at work, and although I had some chocolate cream pie to offer, I thought I'd add this to the dessert roster as an alternative.

This recipe isn't on epicurious, but the head notes say that it's adapted from a classic Hungarian dessert. The basic idea is cherries, sugar, water, cinnamon and lemon zest, thickened a bit with cornstarch, then chilled. A sour cream + cream combo is drizzed on top right before serving.

I was a little worried that this would be glorified pie filling, but it never got that thick. The flavor was really yummy--perfect for summer--and the sour cream on top was a great complement. My only complaint about that was that it wasn't thin enough to "drizzle" as the recipe directs--more of a "plop".

Here's a photo of what it's supposed to look like--I'll try to get a photo today at work so I'm not using somebody else's pic.

Grapefruit Ambrosia

Grapefruit Ambrosia is meant to be a sophisticated spin on an old Southern classic.

But you know what, people? Campari (yech) just can't compare with the restorative yum factor of Cool Whip and mini-marshmallows.

THIS is what ambrosia is supposed to be:



I'm sorry. I can't help it. I grew up in Georgia, Texas and North Carolina. And actually, if you really want to get nit-picky about it, not only should ambrosia have Cool-Whip and mini-marshmallows, you should also mix pistachio pudding mix (dry) into the Cool-Whip.

So call this what you want--Grapefruit and Coconut Salad, perhaps. But it ain't ambrosia. Sorry.



P.S. People who still haven't made this yet. Do not buy a bottle of Campari. You will be so mad, because it's the most disgusting liquor on the planet. I happen to have it at work because somebody here actually likes it, but you should just go to a local bar and beg them to give you 2 tablespoons in a little ziplock bag. They'll probably feel sorry for you and not charge you anything.

P.P.S. Gourmet people--what's with the photo for this recipe on Epicurious? It has nothing to do with the actual recipe, though it might be a grapefruit, but it sort of looks grilled with a little toast thing next to it.

Rhubarb Charlotte

This is one of those recipes I've been dying to try, because not only have I never tasted or seen a charlotte, I've never even heard of one. But The Gourmet Cookbook offers two or three charlotte recipes, so with rhubarb season here at last I decided to give Rhubarb Charlotte a go.

Folks, a charlotte is cake, deconstructed. Instead of layers of cake on the inside, you line your mold with ladyfingers, bottom and sides. Instead of putting fruit and whipped cream on the outside of your cake, you layer it on the inside, with a layer of ladyfingers to separate.



Then you fold the plastic wrap that you've lined the mold with over the top, put a 2 lb. weighted plate on the whole thing and leave it in the fridge for 24 hours.

It's a pretty little thing, when it comes out. My biggest complaint was that the mold I put it in was a souffle mold with a crown on the bottom so the souffle will rise high in the middle. But it gave my charlotte the distinct look of a cake that had had a bowling ball resting on top.



The taste is lovely, though be forewarned if you're not a bread pudding type of person (as in: no soggy bread-type things) the texture might be a turn-off. But I found it very soothing--it would be a great thing to eat on a balmy spring day.

Blackberry Cobbler

What? Blackberry Cobbler in the middle of winter?

I know, I know--macrobiotic squeamishness aside, isn't it nice to be able to buy ripe berries in January? I don't know where they come from, and lord knows how much of a carbon footprint they have, but: I used a cloth bag to carry them home, so there.

Actually not home, work. Dr. and Mrs. S. have fruit salad every morning for breakfast, and they like their berries--so berries it is, year round, regardless of the price. So it's just a short hop from buying a half pint of blackberries to getting six half pints for cobbler. Right? Just don't look at my receipts.

This is one of those cobblers you bake right in the frying pan--you cook the cornstarch/sugar/water mix with the berries, sling the dough on top, and throw the whole shootin' match in a 400 oven. The dough is sweet-biscuity.



Now--although Dixie (the aide) and I thought this was delicious, Dr. and Mrs. S. pushed those beautiful biscuits aside and just ate the berries. In her case I think it's a hangover from those dieting days--in his case, he's got a weird thing about texture. No bread pudding for this fellow. I guess the biscuits didn't make the crispy cut, or maybe he was just full. Sometimes I over-analyze.

Gourmet doesn't have this specific recipe, but it couldn't be easier--in fact, if you're a baker you already have this one imprinted in your memory and could figure it out in a snap. Well actually, the biscuit part did use one technique I've never used before--it's the standard flour/baking powder/sugar/salt + cold butter--but then you add a little boiling water to make it come together. So why cold butter? I don't know, but it came out great so who am I to question?

Carmelized Oranges and Bulgur and Lentil Salad with Tarragon and Walnuts

Carmelized Oranges does not appear on Epicurious, and I'll tell you why. Because somebody thought of it in the middle of the night, wrote it out, thought it sounded good, and stuck it in the cookbook.

That's the only conclusion I can come up with, because this recipe makes no sense whatsoever.

Sauteeing orange slices in butter "until they turn golden brown"? Adding half a cup of orange juice to a quarter cup freshly cooked caramel to make a sauce?

First, when heat is applied to oranges, they fall apart. The only way you're going to get them golden brown is by dipping them in batter and deep frying them.

Second, I wouldn't exactly call orange juice a "sauce", no matter how much caramel flavor you've got in there.

This is not to say it didn't taste good. Dr. S. LOVED it with vanilla ice cream, and I poured some of that orange juice in my ginger tea and thought it tasted mighty fine.

But come on, Editors of Gourmet Cookbook!! Didn't anybody screen these recipes?

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What do you cook for your family after a week of feasting and merrymaking? Bulgur and Lentil Salad with Tarragon and Walnuts, of course!

This is not to say I wasn't a little apprehensive about this recipe. In spite (or perhaps because) of my twelve years as a vegetarian, I'm a little spooky when it comes to recipes that call for things like bulgur.

I was worried for nothing. This recipe is a winner and our Sea Meadow vegetarians will be enjoying too it at some point--maybe at Christmas, maybe next summer. What makes it great is the vinegar and the walnuts--they add a layer of refinement that takes it beyond those slodgy, chewy, whole grain salads of yesteryear.

I must confess I didn't make it exactly as printed, since tarragon for some reason was nowhere to be found the day after Thanksgiving. I used sage, sliced it into ribbons and mixed it in with the bulgur while it was cooking to get the raw off.

I still gained a pound and a half this week, so watch this space for more recipes that will have a hopefully slimming effect.

Cheese Fondue and Fresh Orange Slices with Candied Zest and Pistachios

Now, when was the last time you had Cheese Fondue?

For me, it was one of those palate-defining moments. I was 13, and on a youth group skiing trip to Switzerland. We were in a lodge with long wooden tables and benches, and starving from a long day of trying to ski on the springtime ice fields of the Alps. The cheese fondue--gooey dripping cheese, chunky crusty bread-- seemed like a miracle, and even more amazing was that we were all given a small glass of white wine "so the cheese wouldn't make a big lump" in our stomachs. I haven't had it since (cheese fondue that is, not wine), but I have never forgotten it.

So last Christmas, when grandson J. roamed around the house, poking into cupboards, looking forlornly for a fondue pot, it started me off on a mission. OK, so it took 10 months to come to fruition, but at least I'm persistent in my goals. Really what I was looking for was the proper alignment of events, weather, people and equipment. You need colder weather for cheese fondue. Nobody wants to eat gooey hot cheese and bread when it's 90 degrees outside. You need enough people to make it merry but not too many. Last night I had seven adults and one four year old, perfect because there are eight fondue forks. You need to be able to sit them at a round table (there is only one, and it's in the kitchen), so it needs to be somewhat informal, and it needs to have been a day when it's all right to have a "light" meal for dinner. Yesterday there was a big birthday celebration for Dr. S. (89 years!) at the Essex Club and the lunch there was rather heavy.

Perfect.

Perfect, that is, until math came into the equation. Can I just have a little rant here about our measuring and weighing system? Why on earth do our cookbooks call for ounces when markets weigh things out in tenths of a pound? So say for example you need 8 oz. each of Gruyere and Emmenthaler. At the market they are in little bricks of 0.4 lbs. each. So you buy two of each. Now say you are cooking and you decided to not double the recipe, but one and a half it. So you need 12 oz. of each. So 0.4 of a pound is 6 oz., right? Because if you split 8 oz. by five units, 4 oz. would be .25 lb. and 6 oz. would be roughly 0.4 lbs, or a little less. So theoretically two 0.4 lb. blocks of should give you exactly what you're looking for.

Oh, and if you're one and a halfing 1 1/2 cups of wine, you add an additional 3/4 cup. Right?

Can I just tell you right now that I had to drop accounting in college because I was getting a D and I didn't want to screw up my GPA? I should have stuck with it.

Anyway, the result of all of this mental strain is that I was terribly anxious while I was watching that cheese melt in what seemed like a LOT of wine. It seemed like too much liquid to the cheese, and I didn't remember it having that consistency (from all those decades ago). I added the cornstarch/kirsch slurry with high hopes, only to have it clump on the bottom of the pot, and so I had to take a whisk and beat the bejeezus out of it. Then I started to doubt my math and rummaged around in the cheese drawer for more cheese to add. I ripped up four slices of deli swiss and was ready to start grating some cheddar in there when it finally simmered itself into a consistency that I was happy enough with.

Friends, this dinner was a success. There was much laughing and general merriment at the table, and I think my favorite moment was when I heard Dr. S. say, "I feel absolutely, perfectly contented right now."

Now, after the fact I have looked on Epicurious to give you the link (and a nice photo) and I see some suggestions that I wish I had seen ahead of time. One is to toss the cheese with the cornstarch, another is to increase the amount of cornstarch. A third is to provide other dipping options: apples and pears, boiled potatoes, etc.

Food for thought for next time, because there will definitely be a next time!



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Here's a mental exercise for you, as if you needed another one. Say you're serving cheese fondue for dinner on a night that has followed at least three nights of heavy eating (including desserts)? You need a dessert. There's nothing leftover to appropriate, except a little angelfood cake with ganache frosting. There's no ice cream worth mentioning. You don't want to go shopping, and you don't want to make anything heavy to follow all that cheese. Hmmm.....

Fruit of some kind seemed like an obvious choice to me, but not just any old fruit. The Gourmet Cookbook to the rescue once again--this book seems to have a solution for just about any cooking quandry I have. I had all the ingredients for Fresh Orange Slices with Candied Zest and Pistachios
and embarked upon it with much faith and enthusiasm. Really, it is quite amazing how much faith I have in these recipes because I make them for the first time on the job almost every day. That's some testimony right there.

And I wasn't disappointed, at least not with the recipe. The only thing that stressed me out about this dish was the oranges--I wasn't using navels as the recipe asks, I was using Florida oranges, which are great for juice but have seeds and are kind of membrane-y. So getting the seeds out was a little time consuming and also scraping the pith off the rind. Helpful hint: it's easier to get off AFTER you boil the rinds for 10 minutes--scrapes right off with a spoon. Then cut the rind into matchsticks. I also had the foresight to try a little sample plate and realized that the membrane holding it all together was a little tough and would make for difficulties if the slices were left in perfect circles so I cut them all in half (this was after they were all plated, mind you).

And then my final worry (do you think I worry too much?) was that the Grand Marnier in this dish would just be too much booze after the wine and the kirsch of the fondue.

I can't tell you how this dish was received, because by the time it was being eaten I was at home watching the Red Sox kick some Colorado butt. OK, slow butt-kicking, but who cares? Go Sox!!

Cranberry Fool, Hamburger Buns, and Sauteed Potato Balls

Here's yet another way to date yourself. When you see a recipe titled "Cranberry Fool", do you think of: Mr. T?



Fool on the Hill?



or Fools falling in Love?



I'm firmly in the "I pity the fool" generation, but that didn't stop me from humming 'Fool on the Hill' the whole time I was making this dessert.

I was un-wowed by Cranberry Fool, although I like cranberries. It was pretty--beautiful actually--with striations of darker cranberry puree in the lighter pink whipped cream--but the texture was too light and the flavor too one-dimensional. I would make this only if I were looking for variations for a Thanksgiving Buffet and wanted to offer something seasonal but lighter than pie.

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The Hamburger Buns were actually Hot Dog Buns, thanks to a mini-loaf pan I used to cut out some rectangles. This recipe was fun--the dough is very reminiscent of Parker House Rolls. I wanted hot dog buns that you could saute in butter, New England Style, so I laid my dough out close together so they'd connect in the baking. I found the texture to be a little coarse, but they worked well enough with the hot dogs and Dr. and Mrs. S. loved them.

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God help the perfectionist who tries to make Sauteed Potato Balls. The recipe says to use a melon baller to get little potato spheres, which is fine except that unless you've got a very large potato (or a very small one) you're not going to get a perfect sphere, which will have you trimming your so-called potato balls to get the ridges off and to round the flat planes. THEN, since you don't have real roundness, when you go to saute these things, they don't really roll around in the pan--you have to flip them by hand individually or just trust to luck that you don't burn the ones that you're too lazy to turn when you just shake the pan instead.

The butter gives them a nice brown color, but whose ideas was it to use Russets for this recipe? Utterly stupid--they are a baking potato and the texture is all wrong. Take my advice and use a boiling potato instead, and since you're going to be applying a knife anyway, skip the melon baller and just cut the darn things into hexagons or whatever shape they use at the Four Seasons. Here, I'll give you a picture of what I'm talking about:



It's a pain, especially if you're making a lot, but at least you have control with the knife from start to finish.

Of course, you can skip the fancy shapes and just par-boil, cut into cubes, season and fry in butter, and then you'll have (that's right) home fries!

Prosecco and Summer Fruit Terrine

This is one of those recipes that I looked at when I skimmed the book and said, "Huh?" What is Prosecco, I wondered, and aren't terrines what you cook pate in?

Basically what this is folks, is Champagne Jello.



Prosecco is an Italian sparkling wine, and we have tons left from Dr. and Mrs. S.'s 65th anniversary party. I fact, I picked it out because I knew I could use it afterwards for this recipe. And don't get freaked out if you don't have a terrine--the lowly loaf pan will do just fine as long as it's glass, ceramic or nonstick.

But here's the best reason to make Prosecco and Summer Fruit Terrine: it's terrific, and for an unusual reason.

Prosecco has a complex bouquet, like most wines. You get a different taste vibe from it when you combine it with different food flavors. So here you have the Prosecco in jello-d form, and one bite will be with a blueberry. The next will be with a bing cherry. The next, a nectarine. And the Prosecco tastes a little different with each one, with spice, honey, and berry tones. It's subtle and delightful.

Please note that the alcohol in this dessert does not magically dissipate through the jello-ification process--it's front and center so if you don't care for alcohol in your food, steer clear. Please also note that the FRUIT is front and center--there are 4 full cups of it here--so you want to make sure that everything is perfectly ripe and pretty--there's no hiding with this recipe.

The dishes I'm not telling you about

This is the time of year when I cook more than I could possibly describe (and still have time for anything else.)

Here's what I put out for dinner last night (for 9):
sole
Rosemary Focaccia
Sauteed Kale with Bacon and Vinegar
Spaghetti Squash with Moroccan Spices
Fresh Banana Layer Cake

for lunch today(for 13):
Shredded Pork and Lemon Coleslaw Sandwiches
green salad
chips
watermelon

for dinner tonight (for 14):
roasted turkey and chicken
pan gravy
stuffing
roasted sweet potatoes
Sesame Spinach with Ginger and Garlic
Roasted Cherry Tomatoes with Mint
Grilled Tropical Fruit

Oh, and let's not forget EG's birthday cake! She's a 4th of July baby and turns 3 tomorrow. What fun to have fireworks on your birthday every year!

Geez, you might be wondering, that sounds awfully busy for one person! Tell us Melissa, what did YOU eat today?

I'll tell you:
9:00 (at home) Bran Buds with Orange Juice because we're out of soy milk
1:00-2:00 Black Coffee left over from breakfast
2:30 Sourdough Toast with Peanut Butter
4:30 Water
5:30 2 Pieces of String Cheese
7:00 Half a Glass of Rose
8:30 Half a Can of Chocolate-Covered Almonds
9:30 (at home again) More Cereal with Orange Juice
10:00 Martini

Normally I would not eat cereal for dinner but Don is in Florida. Thank God I don't live alone, and thank God even more that he likes to cook dinner for me.

Scallops Provencale and Strawberry Rhubarb Crumble

Scallops Provencale is, as the book says, a great weeknight supper because it's so easy. My only problem with the recipe was that my pan was so hot from cooking the scallops that it fried the garlic too quickly...and that garlic continued to cook with the tomatoes. Garlic that is over-fried turns bitter--there's a very fine line that takes a split second to cross. It was redeemed by the sweet juices from the scallops and the added salt, but when I make this again (and I will) I'll get the garlic out of the pan once it hits that perfect shade of gold and add it back in at the end.

Once a year, I just have to make something that involves strawberry and rhubarb together. Rhubarb is one of those rare items that DOESN'T show up in the markets year-round, so it must be celebrated! (Can you think of more? Fiddleheads is another...) If I can organize myself this year I'll chop and freeze some to extend the pleasure, because The Gourmet Cookbook offers quite a few recipes that feature rhubarb: Rhubarb Anise Upside-Down Cake; Rhubarb Charlotte; Roasted Rhubarb Tarts with Strawberry Sauce; Rhubarb Roulade; Strawberry Rhubarb Crumble; and Warm Tapioca Pudding with Rhubarb. Phew! Don't you wish you had a rhubarb patch out back now?

I picked the Strawberry Rhubarb Crumble, since strawberries were on sale. It's your standard crisp/crumble recipe, involving rolled oats, flour, butter and sugar--the only odd thing about the recipe is that it asks you to bake it in a 425 oven. For 40 to 50 minutes. When I took mine out at 40 minutes the top was a little scorched! So should you go with this recipe (and you'll have to own the book to do that since I can't find it on Epicurious) turn the oven down. To, say, 375. Bon appetit! (Hmm, now what should I do with the rest of that rhubarb?)

Honeydew in Rosemary Syrup

Every once in a while a recipe comes along that offers expanded horizons for your taste buds and your brain cells.

Honeydew in Rosemary Syrup is one of them.

I think it's mostly the idea of using components in a sweet dish that are normally associated with savory, which in this case are rosemary and black peppercorns. I don't know about you, but lamb or chicken as a partner comes to mind most immediately, certainly not honeydew melon.

Honeydew in Rosemary Syrup is simple (melon balls floating in syrup) but the flavor makes you cock your head and hum with the pleasure of tasting something delicious that you've never ever had before. If you're a foodie who delights in interesting, unusual food combinations, give this recipe a try. It's well worth the minimal time it takes to create, and the bonus is that you'll have syrup leftover to use again as you please. I restrained myself from simply drinking it, and am sending it home with M., who certainly qualifies as a foodie. If she can restrain herself from drinking it on the way home, I know she'll put it to good use. :-)

Chocolate Prune Pave with Armagnac Creme Anglaise and Candied Orange Zest (or, a Recipe for Clarissa)

OK, Clarissa, here it is. It's beyond fabulous, and of course, you don't have to put Armagnac in the creme Anglaise. (btw, this is not on the epicurious site. Good thing I like you so much.)

1/2 pound pitted prunes
1/4 cup Armagnac (I guess you could substitute vanilla?)
1 lb. good bittersweet chocolate, chopped
1 1/2 cups heavy cream
2 cups creme anglaise (a different recipe)
candied orange zest (also a different recipe)

Oh wait!! I just found it. They call it something different. (a Marquise. ???)

Phew.

Grilled Tropical Fruit with Rum Sauce and Prune Armagnac Ice Cream

Can we just talk about making caramel? Making caramel is a PAIN IN THE ASS.

Or at least, it depends on the recipe. The one where you stir dry sugar in a pan with a fork until it melts is the time-consuming way that requires you to have some reading material while you stand next to a pot, bored out of your skull, stirring the damn sugar. Good thing I just got a new copy of The Week.

There are other ways to make caramel, and I like those ways better. And no, I don't mean buying caramel sauce at the store either.

OK, now that I've got that out of the way, if you can stand to make the caramel, the Grilled Tropical Fruit with Rum Sauce is divine. I've never grilled fruit (another first for me, and if you try this at home with the aforementioned lobster recipe, don't forget to clean the grill really well or you'll have lobster flavored fruit.) Grilled pineapple--where have you been all my life? This recipe was supposed to be served with vanilla ice cream, but I forgot to buy that and all we had was the Prune Armagnac Ice Cream I made earlier in the day (you would think on my days off I would just eat Cheerios). Oh lord. This was one of those meals where you know you really should stop eating because your stomach hurts, but you just can't because it tastes so good.

And I have to confess, it was really Prune Brandy Ice Cream--my friend Ruth and I had a discussion about this during a walk--if one really needs Amagnac. She had just read an article in the NY Times about cooking wine and the conclusion was that it didn't matter if you used the good stuff...

So I had a long morning of indecision. I have a bottle of brandy, but should I buy Armagnac for veracity? And if I did, where would I put it and when would I drink the rest of it? I'm not a night-cap type of person. This is the sort of thing that paralyzes me.

You'll be happy to know that in spite of all the time spent thinking and talking about it, the recipe itself took less than 20 minutes to make, and I know this because I had to leave to pick Ruth up for the movies at 1 and I walked through the door with groceries at 12:42. OK, I did put the prunes in to soak in brandy the day before, but the rest of it--scalding the cream, grinding the prunes in the food processor, mixing the cream with the eggs and then bringing back up to temp...I had it in the fridge to cool by 1:01.

OK, so back to the ice cream with the grilled fruit...in my opinion the ice cream was overshadowed by the other, much bolder flavors of the tropical fruit and the rum sauce. It needs to be the star of the show, or perhaps just the only performer. The flavor is sweet, the brandy is subtle, and it's not unlike rum raisin ice cream.

(There you go, Clarissa--another worthy use for prunes.)