Hurricane Pizza



The past couple of weeks have been pretty eventful here in South Florida. We were barely missed by that hulking behemoth Katrina at the turn of September, and just this past Monday and Tuesday all of Miami-Dade and Broward counties were effectively shut down in preparation for Hurricane Rita, which luckily proved just to be an ugly tropical storm, but which is now barreling forth toward Texas at Category 5 force.

So it's been relatively difficult to think about food creatively, or even shop for bare-necessities food, throughout the hurricane-preparedness frenzies. Monday at noon, after Miami-Dade County announced the closure of its facilities, my office shut down, and as a foolhardy group of my co-workers made its way to have a celebratory lunch at Chili's (witness the peculiar spirit and character of the native Miamian), I packed myself into the S bus and made my way home to prepare. Stopped at CVS, which was nearly deserted, to pick up some meds and batteries, but figured water and electrical-outage food could wait until my mother was able to leave her office and take me along with her to Publix. The early-hours ghost-town CVS totally misled me.

Publix was an evil jungle at 4:30 p.m. when my mother and I set out to forage for supplies. Actually, the two Miami Beach Publixes were inaccessible, parking lots full and waited on by snaking lines of cars. A causeway and some 40 blocks away, the Downtown Publix was crawling with tightly-packed cranky people grabbing the closest thing, the darndest thing, anything within reach -- we're talking frosted cupcakes, boxes upon boxes of cereal (to be eaten, in the event of an outage, how? à la Ice Cube in Friday, with water?), ready-made hot dishes... Mom and I got the hell out of there and walked across the street to my old friend CVS, where I got the following crucial hurricane supplies:

• toilet paper
• Oreo cookies
• 6 one-liter bottles of Aquafina
• graham crackers

I am not a good maker of emergency lists, in the event of an emergency.

Anyway, so Rita passed through without much fanfare after all. Monday night, buried in our little studio apartment, we lived off of my mom's meatball stew (previously frozen and delivered in Tupperware) and the aforementioned Oreos; and Tuesday we braved the gusty, wet outer rings and made our way to the Van Dyke for overcooked calamari, gigantic comfort-food burgers, and the most gargantuan brownie sundaes ever recorded in the books (at least in mine). So we've completely been avoiding taking on the responsibility of food for several days now, which likewise reflects on the state of our fridge (poor, malnourished).

So tonight I decided to pull together a few odds and ends and throw them together onto a whole-wheat pizza crust in a nod to resourcefulness in the face of hardship, hurricane hardship, and laziness. The outcome is conveniently, alluringly pictured above.

While I George-grilled a chicken breast brushed with oil and aux herbes de Provence, topped the pizza crust with a store-bought red wine marinara (bertolli, not bad for prefab), slices of fresh water-packed mozzarella, dollops of ricotta and goat cheese, sundried tomatoes, fresh spinach, and manzanilla olives. When the chicken was cooked through, I cut it into small chunks and added it to the pizza. I sprinkled all toppings with grated Parmigiano-Romano cheese, herbes, and drops of olive oil, and slid the pizza into the oven at 450°F for about 15 minutes. The combination of toppings was delicious (fresh basil arranged on top just before serving would have capped off the experience, but none was to be had), but the pizza base was a big disappointment. The crust was chewy and rubbery all around, rather than being crisp on the outside and tenderly flaky inside, and the whole-wheat taste was overpowering and gluey. I definitely don't recommend, and I still strive for the heights of dough-crafting and pizza-making that characterize Spris. But that's a food review for another time.

I leave you heavy-lidded and with a belly full of hurricane pizza. Mmmm.

The Lasagna Chronicles

Today was the day: I made my first-ever lasagna. The results? Mixed, a little tough around the middle, and somewhat sloppy. I guess that's what happens when one gets a little too cocky too soon, self-declares oneself a cook, and decides to wing a recipe one has never attempted before. I'm afraid I'll have to call this attempt a learning experience and move on . . . at least after we've finished working our way through it, which will surely take a couple of days.

The Experiment. I chopped up three garlic cloves, one medium onion, and half a leftover yellow bell pepper (hey, I'm a gourmand on a budget). I heated up olive oil in a large, deep skillet, sautéed the garlic, and added the diced onion and bell pepper. As the vegetables cooked, I prepared roughly 1 1/3 pounds of ground turkey, sprinkling it generously with pepper, cumin, coriander, dried oregano and basil, and pinches of salt and red pepper flakes. We do like our condiments, and turkey needs all the help it can get. I stirred the vegetables in the pan over to the perimeter of the pan and added the seasoned ground turkey, turning up the gas accordingly. (South Beach cooks on gas stoves, by the way. Cheap, tasty, and efficient, if a wee bit hazardous.) After breaking up the ground turkey into smaller and smaller bits, and continuing to stir it often, I seasoned some 6 ounces of part-skim ricotta cheese with oregano and basil. A few indulgent pinches of grated Parmigiano-Reggiano and small chunks of fresh, water-packed Bocconcini mozzarella were added to the ricotta mixture, and the whole thing was stored in the refrigerator to await its turn at layering. Once the turkey was cooked through, I stirred in the (no longer) peripheral vegetables and added one large chopped beefsteak tomato to the mix. A can of Publix-brand tomato sauce (I know, I know, a real cook would've made the sauce from scratch -- gimme a break, I'm an amateur), a shot of white wine vinegar, and a couple of tablespoonfuls of brown sugar later, my meat sauce was bubbling its way to success. I let the sauce simmer for about 30 minutes while dealing with dirty dishes, unchecked e-mail, and various pending items, and then anxiously returned to put together my lasagna. And this is where the soufflé deflates, as it were.

If I haven't mentioned this before, my boyfriend and I live in a very small studio apartment with a very small -- though thankfully occupying a separate room -- kitchen featuring very limited counter and storage space. It follows, then, that we have precious little room for pots, pans, and, god forbid, cooking tools and gadgets. So for the lasagna, I used an 8" x 5" glass loaf pan inherited from my parents, which proved entirely too small. I sprayed the pan with Pam, a laughable concession to the fat and calories to come, and ladled some of the meat sauce to cover the bottom. I laid four overlapping sheets of wheat pasta over the sauce, ladled some more sauce over those, and spooned a layer of the cheese mixture on top. Layer one, and the pan was filled to the brim! I scanned the back of the pasta box for guidance: sure enough, I should have been getting four layers out of this deal. Oops. It was too late to part the oozy layers and start over, so I ventured bravely forth, placing four new sheets of pasta on the cheese layer and topping them off with the remaining sauce and cheese. I put my volcanic concoction in the oven, which I'd preheated to 400°F, set the time for 45 minutes (mistake number two, I believe), and hoped for the best.

In the meantime, Brad had come home from work, and we left briefly to run an errand at Radio Shack. When we returned a short while later, the ominous smell of burning food greeted us as soon as we'd opened the front door. I ran to the oven and discovered that the volcano had erupted, in the form of cheesy bits and saucy rivulets that had collected and charred at the bottom of the oven. Brad freaked out, worried the dripping cheese would start a fire, so I calmly poured a couple of cupfuls of water on the offenders, which accomplished absolutely nothing but made the both of us feel useful. Minutes later, the timer went off, and I decided it would be too much of a fire hazard to continue cooking the lasagna much longer. It was time to prepare the topper, the triumphant crust of broiled cheese that ultimately makes or breaks the lasagna, and so, after removing my molten pan from the oven, I coated the top of the lasagna with grated Parmigiano-Reggiano, chunks of mozzarella, and pats of butter. Ten minutes of broiling time later, the lasagna was screaming for release, coughing up these alarming yet insanely cool puffs of steam from its inner layers (or, more accurately, inner layer, singular). We let the lasagna sit for a few minutes while we tossed a couple of green salads and grilled some slices of sourdough five-grain bread on the George Foreman grill, also known as the studio-dweller's culinary savior, and hereafter referred to simply as "the George." Finally, and with pathetically subpar serving tools (a knife and spatula), we dug up two pieces of lasagna for our dinner, and got to the anticipated task of eating.

The meat sauce was subtly spicy, dense, and juicy, and the mixture of seasoned cheeses lively to the palate. I was about to declare my photographically-unworthy creation redeemed when Brad asked if the noodles were supposed to be crunchy. Uh oh. Indeed, the top layer of noodles was seriously undercooked towards the middle of the lasagna. The pasta box did instruct not to boil the noodles before layering, so the mistake was obviously mine, probably in undercooking the lasagna, or perhaps in skimping on the top layer of meat sauce. So we ended up having to eat around the undercooked noodles, which was pretty depressing. Still, Brad had a second helping, so noodles aside, it was pretty good. Better luck next time.

Quick sidenote. I'm lucky to work a four-day, forty-hour workweek, and today was my day off, so I went walking around Lincoln Road. Ultimate destination: Williams-Sonoma, where I picked up this adorable mortar and pestle set. I have to say I had my sights on this one, but at $16, my mini was the obvious winner. I will be crushing spices and thereby inaugurating the mini later on this week, so stay tuned if you like.

Also, let it be known that tips on lasagna-making and empathy with noodle-overcooking are always welcome, and much appreciated.

A Week In the Life

The story begins on Wednesday of the past week, when I came across and decided to accept the Wine Blogging Wednesday challenge posed by Chocolate and Zucchini. The task was to bake a rich, decadent dark chocolate cake and pair it with a complementary wine. Sounds like a delicious, common-sense combination, doesn't it? Well, apparently, wine and chocolate are notoriously fickle allies. Some people (extremists, I say) even believe a successful pairing can't be had, due to the overwhelming richness of both components.

I wasn't about to be deterred from my purpose, though -- no one's going to tell me two of my favorite edibles, both of which, happily, come in a wide variety of grades and styles, can't somehow be put together agreeably and tastily. So I went on a little Google crusade, and discovered that, as long as the chosen wine isn't overpowered by the chosen chocolate, the combination is likely to work. Thus, boiling it down to its most basic principle, sweet milk chocolate does well with sweet dessert wines (ports, sherries); and dark, bittersweet chocolate works best with dry, biting wines. Several websites made mention of cabernet sauvignons doing especially well with dark chocolates, so I made a mental note to pick up a cab at the liquor store (after, naturally, consulting the owner) later in the week to go with my attempt at her Melt-In-Your-Mouth Dark Chocolate Cake.

On Thursday night, there was a slight change of plans. Faced with the prospect of sharing a home with an entire 8"-diameter baked chocolate sin, and also because I like cooking for people and love my parents, I decided to bake the cake in time for Friday's weekly grocery-shopping trip with my mom so I could give her half for herself and my dad. I also decided to forego the Wine Blogging Wednesday experiment, because 1 bottle of wine + Sylvia + Brad + weekday = certain disaster. (Not to mention the budgetary concerns: like they say, good wine don't come cheap, darnit.)

So in the end, I just baked the following surprisingly quick, easy, and indulgently delicious cake:


Note: If and when baking this cake, make sure you let the butter and chocolate mixture cool sufficiently before you proceed with the sugar and eggs; otherwise, you might find your eggs will begin to cook separately in the warm chocolate. You have been warned.

Post-Script to Cake Anecdote: My parents were so completely taken with this cake, and impressed with my descriptions of its easy preparation, that my mom actually made her own yesterday. My mom, who usually hates getting down and dirty (with food-making, naturally) in the kitchen. Further still, she was determined to make her famous and much-missed meatball stew today. I am so impressed, proud, and, I have to admit, a little puffed up.

Anyway, back to the story. So Friday after work, armed with half a cake and a shopping list featuring the ingredients necessary to make this Franco-American take on chicken nuggets and fries (yes, this lovely website is currently my North star) and a turkey lasagna, I hit good old Publix with my mother. Now, a principal ingredient in the nugget seasoning is herbes de Provence, or herbs from the French region of Provence (here's a basic map), which are usually packaged together, and which were absent from the well-stocked shelves of the condiments & spices aisle. I knew that these herbes are a mixture of usually readily-available spices, including thyme and rosemary, but I didn't know the exact combination, which made me a little sad. So my mom -- did I mention how great my mom is? -- suggested checking out the stock at nearby Epicure, the local gourmet foods market. We piled our groceries in mom's car and headed off to our next culinary stop.

Epicure's luxe, minimal, specialized spice rack did indeed include a spot for "herbs from Provence," but said spot was completely empty. The only sold-out among dozens. Aaahhh! Undeterred, we sought out the help of a wandering employee, who shrugged off the spice vacancy. But as luck will have it, the owner, an elegant middle-aged American lady, happened to be standing an aisle away from us, overheard the conversation, and, after apologizing profusely, offered to photocopy the recipe for herbes out of one of her own books. A couple of minutes later, she emerged from the back offices with a triumphant copy of pages 278-79 in The New Food Lover's Companion, which explains that herbes de Provence is generally composed of basil, fennel seed, lavender, marjoram, rosemary, sage, summer savory, and thyme. I bought a little bottle of lavender, the only spice I didn't already have at home, and we left. I'm actually very happy they were out of the pre-packaged herbes, as I would otherwise have never met the charming owner of Epicure, or made off with a behind-the-scenes recipe. One more stone laid down in my path as a foodie.


OK, so this is what happens when you leave several days' worth of entries for one marathon post on Sunday night. Luckily for all involved, I'm almost finished. The rest of the weekend was more or less culinarily uneventful. Let's see: A versatile Publix whole rotisserie chicken provided dinner on Saturday night and tonight, and was served with (I have to admit) pre-packaged but righteous sour cream and chive mashed potatoes, steamed broccoli sprinkled with salt and olive oil, and slices of fresh-baked sourdough five-grain loaf patted with butter. This afternoon, I binged on cooking magazines at Books & Books, and also finally picked up a copy of Jeffrey Steingarten's The Man Who Ate Everything. Tomorrow I'll attempt my first-ever lasagna, which I am terribly excited about. -- But I'll reserve further details of books and lasagna preparation for other entries; wouldn't want to run out of material already!

La Ruta del Gazpacho

The New York Times structures a pilgrimage of sorts around the typical cold soups of Andalucía, Spain's southern region, in this article. Warning: expect your notions of gazpacho, and cold soups in general, to be battered about. Variations on the theme include the use of almonds, cherries, and pine nuts as main ingredients. Fierce.

Also, this week's New Yorker, dated September 5, 2005, is the annual Food Issue. Not to be missed. And speaking of soups, the magazine features an article on their Latin American counterparts in Ecuador; so, when you read these articles in conjunction, you get a nice bi-continental perspective on the dish. I like tying up my loose ends.

Banana Blueberry Bread
with apologies to The Best-Ever Vegetarian Cookbook's banana pecan bread recipe

• 1 stick sweet butter, melted or softened
• 1 cup light brown sugar
• 2 eggs, beaten
• 3 ripe bananas
• 2 cups self-rising flour
• about 4.5 or 5 ounces blueberries
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 350°F. In a large mixing bowl, combine the butter and brown sugar until creamy. Beat the eggs and incorporate them gradually into the mixture of butter and sugar. Add the hint of vanilla extract. Mash the bananas -- chunky banana bits work best with this loaf, so leave them in -- and pour them into the mixture. Fold in the flour, preferably sifting it with a sieve first (or, if restricted by the constraints of a tiny, understocked kitchen and matching budget, with a bowl and a fork). Once you have a nice consistent mixture, sprinkle in the blueberries and stir them in slowly, taking care not to squash them. Now take a nice loaf pan, like the disposable 8" by 4" I selected, and grease it up with a fearless chunk of butter, which will completely prevent the bread from sticking to its container. (This last step comes in handy for photo-ops.) Tuck away your bread in the oven and let it bake for about an hour and 15 minutes. Stick a knife or skewer into the bread when its time is up: if the utensil comes out clean, the bread is ready to go. Let it cool for a few minutes. Serve with blueberries, a dollop of fresh or whipped cream, and a cup of coffee. Feel free to substitute cranberries, pecans, or any other fruits or nuts for the blueberries as the mood strikes.

~ ~ ~

I've decided that food is probably the best framework around which to structure this blog. Cooking has always been a minor hobby for me, and since I've been doing quite a bit of it lately -- sandwiches get old, and going out to eat every day gets expensive, -- I thought I would document my culinary progress and subject people to it. You do get a recipe for your trouble, though, and the chance to comment on it or anything else in the process, which is a relatively fair trade, no?

Although I intend for this blog, in part, to be about food for food's sake, it also gives me the opportunity to rant about completely unrelated stuff, such as, but not limited to:

1. What I've been listening to recently
(The Cure,
Crosby, Stills and Nash,
TV On the Radio)

2. What I've been reading recently
(the New Yorker,
The Coast of Akron by Adrienne Miller,
Dwell magazine)

3. What I've been thinking about
(the devastated Gulf Coast,
a business plan)

4. What games I've been playing
(ROSE Online BETA,
Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas,
The Kingdom of Loathing )

5. and What games I'm anticipating
(Sims 2: Nightlife expansion,
Black and White 2,
The Movies,
Civilization IV)

6. What I've been doing
(bicycling,
redecorating,
sketching)

Oh, and every now and then, there is a pose with the results: