In my halcyon days, I was a fairly strict vegetarian. Having grown up in the South and definitely coming from a meat-eatin’ family, some of my earliest memories are of me fighting the battle over not wanting to eat the meat offered on my plate. There was, in fact, many a night where I remained at the kitchen table, defiant, crying, because I simply did not want to eat that fatty piece of pork chop. Of course, once I hit high school and some more say over what I wanted to eat–not to mention having had my ear bended about the reasons for vegetarianism by older friends and those late 80s-early 90s paragons of what-was-good-for-you, Natalie Merchant and Michael Stipe–meat became increasingly less appealing.

Oddly enough, there were a lot of good veggie eats in South Carolina during that time. I was introduced to tofu, lots of sprouts, and that delight of meatless cuisine, Indian food. Unfortunately, I made the exception for meatless living when my best friend Jeff introduced me to sushi when I was 18; I never thought raw fish and rice could possibly taste good, but sweet baby Jesus, they sure did.  Then as years passed, I started to tentatively eat meat again, but even then, I did (or do) so under certain conditions. Shellfish, chicken (boneless only, eating meat on the bone freaks me out), some pork, yes; all beef, game, lamb, no.

Though, even to this day, when given the veggie option at places, I almost always take it.

Pork took me awhile to like again, and even longer to cook with. I still won’t do pork loin as I carry around horrible memories of being forced to eat the fatty bits from pork chops. No matter how lean they say pork loin is, I still always pass.

Enough with my childhood traumas. Let’s get to the good bits, shall we? Let’s get to the fact that I may have found a dish that’s even tastier than pasta carbonara.

Like the recipe earlier in the week, it called for guanciale again, but having finally found a source for such an elusive ingredient, phoned them, and learned they were out of it (nice to know of all the other foodies out there in Atlanta), I opted for my new standby: pancetta. All I have to say is: Wow. If this pasta dish tasted this bloody amazing with just plain old pancetta, I think my tastebuds would expire from pleasure if I were to eat this with the guanciale. I cannot recommend you making this immediately enough.

Pasta Alla Gricia

adapted from Sandro Fioritti

1 lb. rigatoni

1 tbl. extra virgin olive oil

1 small onion, sliced thin

6 oz. guanciale or pancetta, in 1-inch slivers 1/4 inch thick

Freshly ground pepper

1/3 cup grated aged pecorino cheese,  more for serving

Bring a large pot of salted water to boil and add rigatoni. Meanwhile, place a 12-inch skillet over medium heat, add olive oil, onion and meat. Cook until onion is translucent and barely starting to brown. (I found this took me about 10 minutes with constant stirring.) Remove from heat. When pasta is done, drain it, reserving 1 cup of the pasta water. (I used a ladle and measuring cup for this.) Transfer pasta to skillet, place over medium-low heat and toss with the pancetta and onion. Season with salt and generously with pepper; fold in about half of the water and the cheese. Toss, adding more pasta water as needed to help the cheese coat the pasta. Check seasoning and serve, with more cheese on the side.

I have a tendency to be lazy. (I know–you’re shocked.) Sometimes that laziness comes in the form of not wanting to put the leg work into finding a rare ingredient for a recipe I am determined to cook, even though I know it won’t be as sublime as I have heard because I won’t have that…that ingredient. Yup, laziness.

Today’s case in point: pasta amatriciana. 

Traditionally, as the various food factions would have us believe, it involves the use of guanciale. I have no doubt that with evolution of conscientious food-buying and the repeated exhortations that local is better, somewhere here in Atlanta, there is probably a butcher who sells it. As I said before, LAZY.

I think pancetta–cut to a 1/4 inch thick–will do just fine in a pinch. In fact, I’m pretty sure it will.

There’s something I really quite adore about making my own pasta sauces; it goes right up there with making my own salad dressings. I like the amount of control and flexibility one can have with them. I love the time and care you put into it.

And oh my, the end result–!

There are two definite schools of thought involving making Amatriciana sauce. You can read about them here, if you’d like.  Instead of using bucatini as the recipe called for, I used whatever leftover pasta I had in the house as I need to reduce buying stuff I have no immediate need for. (If left to my druthers, I would completely buy every single different pasta needed for my various dishes. But then I noticed I was saddled with a lot of dried pasta.) Elbow macaroni may be completely heretical, but it works for me.

If you decide to use pancetta–or perhaps thickly sliced bacon–fine, but it doesn’t have quite the same flavor profile. Since pancetta is cured and seasoned, it adds a meaty spiciness to the sauce. I think bacon would probably overpower it–which is why I love it best in a simpler pasta all carbonara. I think pancetta works just well enough to get the yumminess, but I am sure it’s transcendent with guanciale. Another word of advice: don’t skimp on using REAL pecorino romano. Parmesan is far too subtle and salty for this thick red sauce. The exquisite sharpness of the pecorino is a wonderful contrast. And again, if anyone knows someplace here in Atlanta to get guanciale, drop me a line…

Not Quite Bucatini All’Amatriciana

adapted loosely from Michael Tucker

1 tbl. extra virgin olive oil

1 medium onion, sliced thin

3 cloves garlic, sliced

1/4 lb. pancetta, in 1 inch slivers 1/4-inch thick

3 cups canned tomatoes (San Marzano, if you can find them), 28 0z can

1/2 tsp. red chili flakes, or to taste

1/4 cup grated aged pecorino cheese, more for serving

1 lb. bucatini–or heck, whatever you have too much of

Heat oil in a large heavy skillet. Add onion and garlic and saute’ over medium heat until transparent, about 5 minutes. Add pancetta and saute’ until barely beginning to brown, also about 5 minutes. Break up tomatoes and add. Cook about 15 minutes, crushing tomatoes with a spoon, until sauce has become somewhat concentrated and homogenized. Season with chili and salt and stir in 1 tablespoon cheese. Remove from heat.

Bring a large pot of salted water to boil and add the pasta of your choice, cooking as directed. Drain and transfer to the skillet. Gently reheat contents of skillet, folding pasta and tomato sauce together until heated through and well-coated, about 5 minutes. Fold in remaining cheese.

Some days you have the best of intention regarding a recipe; some days you have the gusto and gumption to make it work or heck, just make it, regardless of how long your day was or how tired you are.

I call those recipes “The Woulda’s.” As in: “It would have worked out if I had been paying more attention” or “it would have been fine if I had been in the mood for that sort of thing but I had bought all the ingredients and just couldn’t let them go to waste.” You know what I mean.

Case in point, this recipe here. It had all the things a girl like me could love in it: sour cream, onions, even Dijon mustard. And though I didn’t ruin it, I didn’t feel like eating it after I had made it.

Oh, the guilt. Oh, the humanity. Oh, but you’re damn straight I ate it anyway because frankly, that is what the LSC would make me do.  In a future of being married to a man who is the ultimate in green living (or real close for comfort), I suspect there may or may not be advantages to having a Human Garbage Disposal at my side.

Nevertheless, I place the recipe here for your use. I am pretty sure that the sauce–and it’s delicious despite my finicky attitude–would be a good foil for some egg noodles or maybe even couscous. I used very thin chicken breasts as the recipe stated and my results were excellent. I guess after living with cats for 10 years I too am allowed to turn my nose up at things.

Chicken in Cream Sauce

4 (5 oz.) boneless, skinless chicken breasts

1 14 oz. can fat-free chicken broth

1/2 cup chopped onion (1 small onion for me)

2 tbl. Dijon mustard

1 tsp. dried thyme

1/8 tsp. white pepper

1 clove minced garlic

1 8 oz. pkg. of fresh sliced mushrooms (which I omitted as I am NOT a fan)

2/3 cup reduced fat sour cream

Flatten chicken to an even thickness between two pieces of plastic wrap. (Again, if you find thin sliced breast at your market, it takes the work out for you.) Combine broth, onion, mustard, thyme, pepper, garlic and mushrooms in a large skillet and bring to boil. Cover, reduce heat and simmer for 5 minutes (mixture will appear curdled). Lay chicken in mixture; cover and simmer (i.e., poach) 15 minutes; do not boil. Remove chicken and cover; set aside and keep warm.

Bring poaching liquid to a boil and cook, uncovered,  8 minutes or until reduced to about 3/4 cup. Remove from heat; let cool slightly. Stir in sour cream. Return chicken to skillet, turning to coat. Serve chicken with sauce.

I loooove breakfast. And I’m talking about a meal eaten between the hours of 8 a.m. and 11 a.m., no sooner (well, maybe sometimes, if the occasion warrants) but definitely no later. Living in Atlanta for about 8 years now, I have noticed that brunch is an institution around here, with everyone I know having their own favorite places to go to so as to wait in extremely ridiculous lines or on staggeringly long wait lists. All this just to soak up the alcohol in their bellies from the nights before. Not me, no sir, because frankly if I had that much alcohol in me from the night before then food ain’t gonna cut it and I’m not paying $10 to regurgitate something I’d rather enjoy.

Sorry…anyway, where was I?

Ah, breakfast. My schedule allows me so rarely to enjoy it, but on those blessed mornings, there’s nothing more comforting than a simple meal. It’s even better with a partner because then you can buy a newspaper, linger over it, and generally make your day better.

Stone Soup Kitchen is one of those neighborhood places which is rapidly climbing to the top of my list. Honestly, there’s nothing overly cutesy or special about it; it’s just very good food done simply. No overt fuss or muss. Don’t get me wrong, I like something fancy in the breakfast department every now and again, but on really cold mornings–like today–I just want the path of least resistance.

Though you can’t really tell from my uber-crappy interior photo, the whole place has a homey feel. The booth are blonde-wood and wide; definitely roomy for four people. The coffee and water is self-serve and refills seem pretty endless. Today the staff were playing some smoochy funk music and were very friendly and nice. I’m sure it’s nicer in warm weather, but that table at the very front of the store, right smack window-side, is a real nice place to sit with your honey and a newspaper.

Onward to food…

I ordered The Usual: it’s your choice of eggs scrambled or fried, toast, your choice of applewood bacon, turkey bacon, or soysage (I really like the fact they don’t charge extra for soysage), and your choice of potatoes, grits, or cheese grits. I always like breakfast potatoes so that’s a no-brainer for me, but I think I should try their cheese grits next time. All that food above, plus coffee, was just slightly shy of $10–not including tip.

The girl at the front counter caught me taking a picture of my food and asked me if it was pretty enough. I replied that yes, indeed, it was.

Aahh….so a delicious breakfast was had. And my fuzzy Valentine above wishes you and yours a Happy Valentine’s Day.

Breakfast: just one of those things that make life worth living. A luxurious meal it can be, not something rushed or handed to you on your way out the door to work. Wouldn’t you like to know the difference?

This is Ozzy. Ozzy is by far the most affectionate wonderful cat on Earth, but smart he isn’t.

Before you say that’s too cruel, let me also say this: Sometimes I’m right up there with him. I too am clumsy, ungainly, and often don’t think before I act.

My most damning evidence for all this comes from last night’s unintentional food debacle.

Everything was going pretty perfectly.

I had browned the ground chicken breast; I boiled the brown rice in some chicken broth for extra flavor. As I prepared the beans, onions, and peppers, I set the skillet of chicken off to the side on the stovetop, and opened the cabinet overhead to withdraw the spices I would need to finish my meal. Now if you have been to my flat, you are aware that while my kitchen isn’t miniscule, it’s still pretty small. Not a lot of counter space nor storage space. My spices and oils and vinegars are all gathered willy-nilly in an above cabinet and sometimes extracting something for my use is quite tricky. So tricky, in fact, that in searching for my bay leaves, my impatient fingers allowed a recalcitrant package of cayenne powder to come tumbling out of the cabinet and somewhere heartbreaking.

All over my ground chicken. Layered in a fine patina of rust red was my chicken; my unseasoned chicken. (I was going to take a photograph but at the moment, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.) What didn’t get on the chicken got all over the stove. Taking a deep breath, I added the spices I was supposed to to the remainder of the dish and cleaned up what I could only term as a “shitload” of cayenne pepper from stove. As for the chicken? I was determined to make lemonade out of this spicy lemon and added it to the finished dish. It didn’t make it inedible, but it definitely made it a lot more fiery than I wanted or expected.

I tempered some of the heat with some reduced fat sour cream. It worked…a little. Ah, culinary disasters. Anyway, here’s the recipe as it was before I screwed it all up with my grace and genius.

Chicken, Black Bean & Rice Skillet

1 cup brown rice

14 oz. chicken broth (I used a reduced sodium kind)

3/4 cup of water

1 tbl. olive oil

1 medium chopped onion

1 medium chopped red bell pepper

1 15 oz. can rinsed black beans

1 bay leaf

3 tbl. red wine vinegar

1/2 tsp. liquid smoke

1 lb. ground chicken

Combine rice, broth, water; cook according to package directions. Drain and set aside. Brown chicken in a nonstick skillet. Drain of excess grease and also set aside. Meanwhile, heat oil in a large skillet (nonstick or no, your choice) on medium heat. Add onion and bell pepper and cook 5 minutes until softened; stir occasionally. Stir in black beans, bay leaf, vinegar, liquid smoke and some pepper to taste. Cook on low, uncovered, for 5 minutes. Add the rice and chicken; fold gently with the black bean mixture. Cover, turn off the heat, and let stand on the burner for another 5 minutes. Voila! Easy peasy.

I think I have may have found the most perfect chili recipe ever.

Yes, it’s meatless–essentially–and yes, it too takes a long time for goodness. (What is with me doing all these long-ass dinners suddenly?) But again, something that is so worth it, you’ll wonder why you don’t make chili more often.

The actual recipe comes from a restaurant over in Grant Park called Dakota Blue. I haven’t been there yet–something I will remedy when the LSC is down here in March–but if this chili is anything to go by, as well as the ecstatic reviews, then I expect an excellent meal. The recipe was apparently wanted by a regular and so it was printed in the local rag’s Food & Drink section back in October.

One of the things about this recipe is that you have to roast your own peppers. I love spicy and I love shortcuts, so roasting my own peppers was something I half-enjoyed doing and also didn’t want to do. It took me a bit longer than I expected mainly because I no longer live in a place with gas heat so therefore no gas stove (which I dearly miss) and I don’t really have a grill. Well, I have one of those George Foreman grills, but having never seen George use one of those babies for roasting peppers, I felt it wasn’t time to experiment.

Another awesome ingredient for this chili is the judicious use of leftover red wine. I had a small dinner party this past Saturday–sorry, I didn’t write or photograph the Pasta with Tomato Cream Sauce–which meant lots of excellent wine, banter, and a rousing few games of Cockroach Poker. And it also meant leftover wine…which is a rarity. I suppose you could omit the wine, but it adds a certain depth to the chili I swear you would like.

Remember: I hasten to mention that this is a long-simmering chili. Best reserved for long Sunday afternoons with friends, good dark beer (or heck, more of that leftover red wine, if you got any), and cheesy movie marathons.

Dakota Blue Vegetarian Chili

2 poblano peppers

3 tbl. canola oil

1 cup finely chopped onion (about 1 medium)

1 cup finely chopped celery (about 3 ribs)

1 cup finely chopped carrots (about 2 large)

1 tsp. kosher salt

1 12 oz. pkg. frozen meatless ground-beef substitute, much as Morningstar Farms brand

2 28 oz. cans crushed tomatoes

2 tbl. cumin

2 tbl. chili powder, or to taste

1 1/2 tsp. ground cayenne, or to taste

1 1/2 tsp. dried basil

1 1/2 tsp. dried marjoram

1 1/2 tsp. dried oregano

1/2 cup ketchup

1/2 cup balsamic vinegar

1/2 cup red wine

3 16 oz. cans pinto beans, rinsed and drained

1 16 oz. can black beans, rinsed and drained

* a quick word about the spices: for the cumin, cayenne, and chili powder, I essentially halved the amounts as I didn’t want a chili so spicy I couldn’t eat it. And as well, considering the heat would grow in intensity in its state of eventual leftovers. Oh yeah, and I omitted one can of beans, figuring three cans of beans were enough to ensure that I would out-poot my black cat later on after dinner.

On a grill or directly over a gas burner (or in my case, a broiler), roast the peppers until they are blackened and blistered, using tongs. Place the peppers in a paper bag until they cool, about 5 to 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, in a large pot over medium heat, add the oil. Let it heat for a hot minute. Add the onion, celery, carrot, and salt; cover and cook the veggies for about 5 min., until soft.

When the peppers are cool enough to handle, rub off that nasty blackened skin under cold running water. Stem and seed them (though I found this to be easy enough in their roasted delicate condition to do under the running water) and then dice. Add to the cooking veggies.

When the veggies are soft, add the meatless crumbles, tomatoes, and all of them spices. Give it a quick stir. Then add the ketchup, vinegar, wine, and pinto beans. Give it another quick stir. Bring to a simmer, reduce heat to low, partially cover the pot, and simmer for 1 to 1 1/2 hours. (Yes, you heard me correctly, Fast Freddy.). Give it a stir occasionally; you’ll be rewarded with the scent of heaven. If your chili is too thick or seems like it may burn, add some water. Before serving, give it a heaping dollop of sour cream and enjoy!

So last week I treated myself to a fabulous decadent meal made with these very hands. And when I say “decadent,” I don’t mean I hoofed it down to Whole Foods and picked up some luxurious ingredients that cost me the better part of my paycheck. Nay, I merely made something so divine and delicious that single girls (well, in my case, engaged) don’t usually make at home. I’m not saying we’re in our jammies, eating Grape-Nuts, watching Grey’s Anatomy every night, but we’re not whipping up souffles either.

I made mussels with white wine and leeks. Meaty plump delicious mussels steamed in a broth of said wine and leeks, along with tons of garlic, too. It left a sinful broth in the bowl that I wiped up with a crusty baguette. I’m drooling again just remembering it. Only there’s one–well, two–problems. The first is: you know that money shot you take of the  completed recipe? The one where you’ve plated everything up and damn, if it doesn’t look like something out of Gourmet, it’s at least passable? The one where you tinker with your camera, making it do something, because you’re hungry and not in the mood for its shenanigans?

I forgot about it. In fact, I ended up taking a photo of the carnage.

I was starving. As you can plainly see, there is nary a morsel of mollusk left in those shells. All devoured by me. Then, after my gluttony and my dawning realization that I hadn’t taken a completed picture, I remembered that there were still some mussels left in the pot for tomorrow’s dinner. (The LSC having checked on the safety of reheated shellfish for second consumption.)

Gorgeous, yeah? And definitely not the sort of thing you make on a nightly, or even weekly, basis? But here’s where Problem #2 steps in and introduces itself:

I’ve lost the recipe.

I know, right? This recipe I carefully clipped out of the Dining Out section of the Times, that I set aside for a day when I just wanted to treat myself. I think in a frenzy of tidying up–I believe Shazzer was coming into town that week–I tossed it away. Gone. Probably in a dump somewhere. Sigh.

I’m sure there are lots of helpful sites out there that will have similar, if not better, mussel/leek recipes.  It just won’t be mine. Oh well. Still, you, dear reader, should find a really good recipe of your own and treat yourself one night. I promise you’ll not regret it.

p.s. Didn’t the LSC do a fab job on the Carbonara? Mine was more traditional, but the fiance has always been a “what’s on hand” kind of man.

Browsing through our office’s Office Snack selection (a little box in the kitchen with stale pre-baked treats and an honour box), I ran across a pastry called a “Pet’s de Soeur.” Misplaced apostrophe aside, I thought “that can’t be right” and — after double-checking my own understanding of “pet” in my French-English dictionary — checked with a co-worker.

And yes, here in Quebec (and also French, Belgium, and the rest of the Francophonie), you can sit down after a good meal and sink your teeth into a delightful sister’s fart.

A bit of poking around reveals that it is in fact not your sister’s farts, but the Sister’s farts, so it is in fact the delicious fart of a nun that you are gorging yourself on. Apparently, back in the ‘day, it used to be the “Pets du putain,” but whore’s farts just didn’t have that modern marketing cachet that helps a bakery stay afloat in this day and age.

I’m just as happy about it being a nun than “your sister,” though, as that’s kind of… weirdly incestuous. Ugh.

The etymology is fun to think about: I’d imagine these are light, airy, sweet little nothings, trifling baked treats that more or less melt in your mouth. Inconsequential and sweet and easily forgiven.

Here’s a picture: needless to say, I’d imagine the real deal is much tastier than what’s on offer in the mass-produced, bag-sealed thing in the kitchen box.

The picture, by the way, was found at One Whole Clove, a seemingly-sadly defunct food blog with a focus on Quebec traditional foods! Hooray for it!

After hearing Kali extol its virtues this week, I had to get me some bacon and try to whip up some carbonara.

This was, of course, what the Italians would call “half-assed carbonara,” using no recipe other than what Kali herself told me over the phone in about two minutes. But — in my own bastardized non-Italian way — I wound up making something pretty good.

Here’s the rundown:

Box of President’s Choice “Memories of Calabria” bronze cut fusilli corti bucati
Two eggs
Two tablespoons olive oil
Six slices thick home-cut farmer’s bacon
Whack o’ sharp cheddar cheese
Also some Parmesan cheese
Fresh ground pepper
Green and red bell peppers (off-recipe, for colour).

Set your water to boilin’ and, as the water gets to boilin’, start pre-heating your skillet (cast iron, baby!) with the olive oil and chop your bacon into fine strips.

When the water is boilin’ good, toss that pasta in there. As the pasta cooks, keep frying that bacon, and toss a couple of eggs into a bowl. Grate up a bunch of the cheese (should be all Parmesan, but I didn’t have that much, so I subbed in the very old sharp cheddar), and mix a handful of grated cheese with the two eggs. Mix, but don’t beat the hell out of the egg-and-cheese. Add some fresh ground pepper.

Once the pasta is done, drain it and then, quick like bunny, put it back in the hot pot and put your cheese-and-egg in there. Stir it up, then add your bacon (but not alla the grease). Stir a bit more. The heat of the pasta and the bacon cook the egg and melt the cheese.

Let the whole thing mix/cook/sit for a minute, then add another handful of shredded cheese and give it another stir. This second handful of cheese will stay less melty and more cheesy. More pepper, and your pre-chopped green and red bell pepper.

I added the green and red bell pepper for colour — it’s not in any recipe — and for flavour, because I love bell peppers, and for vegetables, because I can’t always be arsed to prepare a vegetable side. Added a bit more ground pepper just before eating, and it was good to go.

SUPER good to go. What a meal. I’m a happy camper. Made enough for four future dinners too, all portioned out in the freezer and awaiting the journey to the centre of my belly.

Start to finish: 32 minutes. Not so bad, hey? I listened to the commentary track on Season Two, Episode Six of The Wire and sang merry songs.

A delicious evening. Most highly recommended.