At every place I've ever worked, people will trample each other at the sight of free food. I've never understood this, as I can say with near 100% certainty that I've never worked with extremely poor and destitute people; in fact, most were probably moderately affluent to affluent people. Still, once an all-staff email goes out advertising leftover sandwiches from a lunch meeting, cookies from a training session, or the last sugary corners of a grocery-store birthday cake, there's a stampede to get to the break room first.
It may not surprise you, especially if you know me, that I am not one of these people. Being a bit of a germophobe combined with a food snob takes care of any afternoon sweet tooth I might have. I don't even really want to see the public offerings, let alone try them. I like tidy food with traceable origins.
Today, though, I actually contributed to the food free-for-all. Over the weekend I made a chocolate gingerbread, which I have yet to write about here. It turned out very well. But, the recipe made too much for two people to consume. So I cut it up into cute pieces and arranged them on a paper plate in the break room and put a Post-It on it that said, "Eat Me."
When I walked by less than an hour later, they were all gone, eaten quietly and I hope happily by my little officemates who apparently did not wonder (or did not care) where the gingerbread came from or why it was abandoned. And even while I personally would not have eaten any of it in a similar situation, I felt a sliver of pride that it had disappeared so rapidly.
Of course, there's no point in feeling proud, based on what I just said: people will eat anything in an office environment if it's placed on a public table for consumption. Chips and salsa from the Cinco de Mayo lunch, dried-out bagels from a morning meeting, Halloween candy in June. They don't care. So the fact that the gingerbread disappeared is no testament to its quality.
In any case, I'm glad it's been devoured.
There are actually two things I will consider eating at the work place: chocolate if someone opens up a box of Sees Candies (and assuming I can accurately identify the caramels and avoid getting stuck with a raspberry or coconut-filled chew) and fruit if someone brings it in from their tree. It's true, I've been known to eat oranges and tangerines and persimmons that someone plucked from their yard and loaded up in paper bags and shlepped to the office. Fruit seems more appealing to me (perhaps because each piece is intact) and I appreciate the effort someone made to share the bounty from their garden. I do, however, like to wash the fruit first. But that's just common sense.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
A good dish for a cold night
My husband is the most agreeable eater I could ask for to test recipes on. While he'll be as earnestly critical as I need him to be, for the most part, he's sweet and enthusiastic about whatever I make, as long as it does not involve eggplant.
If pressed, he'd probably say that his favorite things that I make are roast chicken (a la Marcella), flank steak with black beans, some really great chocolate chip cookies that come with assembly instructions, and pasta with broccoli rabe and sausage.
If pressed, he'd probably say that his favorite things that I make are roast chicken (a la Marcella), flank steak with black beans, some really great chocolate chip cookies that come with assembly instructions, and pasta with broccoli rabe and sausage.
It's an old dish, right, nothing new here. I'd had it many times but never made it myself until we ended up one day in North Beach a year or two ago, having sort of a vacation day in the City. We ended up at Cafe Zoetrope, Francis Ford Coppola's restaurant in the Sentinel Building, after rejecting all the other touristy and almost sad-feeling places (on Columbus Street, restaurant managers will often stand on the street and try and lure you in and away from their competitors). I ordered orecchiette with broccoli rabe.
Maybe it was the the decadence of having wine in the middle of a regular Saturday afternoon, or the kitschy thrill of all the black and white photos of Francis and all of his movie stars plastered on the walls, but somehow, that dish sent us both over the moon. So I went home, anxious to recreate it. After several incarnations, I finally have it down. It's a recipe delicious enough for guests, but simple enough for a weeknight dinner. The only things this recipe requires are a cold night and someone to split the rest of the bottle of wine with.
Here is the recipe, not for the kosher or the faint of heart.
Orecchiette with Sausage and Broccoli Rabe
1 lb. orecchiette or medium pasta shells
1 lb sweet Italian sausage, crumbled
1 bunch broccoli rabe, root end trimmed
3 T. olive oil
1 small onion, minced
4-5 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
1/2 c. red wine
1 c. cream
1/3 c. grated parmesan
salt and pepper
Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Plunge the broccoli rabe in and blanche for 2 minutes. Remove with a spider (do not dump water, you will use it for the pasta) and run under cold water to stop cooking. Drain, and when cool enough, squeeze excess water out and chop into 1-inch pieces.
Meanwhile, in a large saute pan, heat the olive oil over medium-high heat. Add the onions and cook 4-5 minutes, until slightly softened. Add the sausage and cook another 5-7 minutes, until browned.
Add the garlic and cook for 1 minute. Then add the wine. Let simmer until slightly reduced, 2-3 minutes. Add broccoli rabe and stir to heat through, 2-3 minutes. Add cream, let bubble only until it's slightly thickened, and season with salt and pepper.
Meanwhile, cook pasta until nearly done. Drain and add to pan with sausage and broccoli rabe. Turn the heat down to medium low, toss the pasta with the sauce and grated parmesan and finish cooking, 1-2 minutes.
Drink with copious amounts of red wine.
Maybe it was the the decadence of having wine in the middle of a regular Saturday afternoon, or the kitschy thrill of all the black and white photos of Francis and all of his movie stars plastered on the walls, but somehow, that dish sent us both over the moon. So I went home, anxious to recreate it. After several incarnations, I finally have it down. It's a recipe delicious enough for guests, but simple enough for a weeknight dinner. The only things this recipe requires are a cold night and someone to split the rest of the bottle of wine with.
Here is the recipe, not for the kosher or the faint of heart.
Orecchiette with Sausage and Broccoli Rabe
1 lb. orecchiette or medium pasta shells
1 lb sweet Italian sausage, crumbled
1 bunch broccoli rabe, root end trimmed
3 T. olive oil
1 small onion, minced
4-5 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
1/2 c. red wine
1 c. cream
1/3 c. grated parmesan
salt and pepper
Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Plunge the broccoli rabe in and blanche for 2 minutes. Remove with a spider (do not dump water, you will use it for the pasta) and run under cold water to stop cooking. Drain, and when cool enough, squeeze excess water out and chop into 1-inch pieces.
Meanwhile, in a large saute pan, heat the olive oil over medium-high heat. Add the onions and cook 4-5 minutes, until slightly softened. Add the sausage and cook another 5-7 minutes, until browned.
Add the garlic and cook for 1 minute. Then add the wine. Let simmer until slightly reduced, 2-3 minutes. Add broccoli rabe and stir to heat through, 2-3 minutes. Add cream, let bubble only until it's slightly thickened, and season with salt and pepper.
Meanwhile, cook pasta until nearly done. Drain and add to pan with sausage and broccoli rabe. Turn the heat down to medium low, toss the pasta with the sauce and grated parmesan and finish cooking, 1-2 minutes.
Drink with copious amounts of red wine.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
My acquired tastes
When I was little, I had a short list of things I didn't like to eat. This didn't really matter, since I grew up in a household where you ate what was served to you--personal preferences were moot. But I had the list anyway: Things I Won't Eat When I Grow Up.
Mostly the list consisted of vegetables. Looking back, I don't think the ones I didn't care for were too unusual: Brussels sprouts, asparagus, peas, radishes, and of course the lowly lima bean. Plenty of adults don't like those things.
Now, decades later, I've learned to like all of them, with the exception of lima beans. I still can't quite embrace their starchy texture. But I've learned to roast asparagus, rather than steam it and serve it with Hollandaise, as my parents used to. And I've found that Brussels sprouts also benefit from roasting, though recently I've been blanching then cooking them stovetop, with bacon and shallots. Peas I'll add to nearly any pasta, and I find they go especially nicely with a little ham and cream.
And radishes. Finally, I learned to love them. I especially love watermelon radishes. You'd be hard-pressed to find a more stunning and surprising vegetable (with the exception of romanesque broccoli, another one of my vegetable obsessions, along with cardoons). I have tried the French way, with sweet butter and sea salt, and while it goes against every particle of my being, I'm not sure this pairing is for me. The Barefoot Contessa would shake her head sadly at me, and maybe I really am a rube, but the thing I like about radishes is their clean, sharp bite. I understand how it goes with the butter and salt, but I like them plain, in a green salad. I'll save my butter and salt for something else.
Last night, we ate salads comprised completely from farm vegetables: little lettuces, Nantes carrots, tiny Yukon Golds, and thinly sliced bright red radishes, dressed with a Meyer lemon vinaigrette. Since we're having a brief but intense heat wave here in the City, it was about all we could muster, cooking-wise, but it suited us just fine.
Mostly the list consisted of vegetables. Looking back, I don't think the ones I didn't care for were too unusual: Brussels sprouts, asparagus, peas, radishes, and of course the lowly lima bean. Plenty of adults don't like those things.
Now, decades later, I've learned to like all of them, with the exception of lima beans. I still can't quite embrace their starchy texture. But I've learned to roast asparagus, rather than steam it and serve it with Hollandaise, as my parents used to. And I've found that Brussels sprouts also benefit from roasting, though recently I've been blanching then cooking them stovetop, with bacon and shallots. Peas I'll add to nearly any pasta, and I find they go especially nicely with a little ham and cream.
And radishes. Finally, I learned to love them. I especially love watermelon radishes. You'd be hard-pressed to find a more stunning and surprising vegetable (with the exception of romanesque broccoli, another one of my vegetable obsessions, along with cardoons). I have tried the French way, with sweet butter and sea salt, and while it goes against every particle of my being, I'm not sure this pairing is for me. The Barefoot Contessa would shake her head sadly at me, and maybe I really am a rube, but the thing I like about radishes is their clean, sharp bite. I understand how it goes with the butter and salt, but I like them plain, in a green salad. I'll save my butter and salt for something else.
Last night, we ate salads comprised completely from farm vegetables: little lettuces, Nantes carrots, tiny Yukon Golds, and thinly sliced bright red radishes, dressed with a Meyer lemon vinaigrette. Since we're having a brief but intense heat wave here in the City, it was about all we could muster, cooking-wise, but it suited us just fine.
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