Electrifying Butter

So to preface this, I'm going to be very clear that what I'm writing is not based on any real knowledge I have about how microwaves and chemistry works, and it is 99% based on information I read on the internet from sometimes sketchy websites (the 1% was based on conversations I had with Jeff while he was playing Halo).

So here's the story:
When we were in Michigan we were sitting down enjoying dinner when my sister and brother-in-law told us about a butter sparking problem they were having with their microwave. About a year ago (I think) they were trying to soften some butter in the microwave in a Denby (microwave safe) dish. After about 2 seconds there was a spark that shot across the microwave. They took it out and it didn't happen again until several weeks ago when it started happening regularly, that is, every time they tried to microwave butter.

So the facts are:
- only butter sparks
- they used the dish in the microwave with many different foods without any sparks
- the butter is unsalted (salt is an electrolyte)
- it happens well well before the butter melts, generally after 2 seconds or so
- they didn't leave the butter in long enough to know if it would continue to happen after the butter was soft/melted
- they had probably done it with two different types of butter
- I don't know what kind of microwave they have

We sat at the dinner table and peppered them with questions for the rest of the evening, not able to find anything obvious (we had 4 young well educated people: chemistry, engineering and biology majors sitting at the table, so hopefully our minds were at least asking the right questions). No physics majors though.

So we left without any answers, but I promised to blog about it if my sister showed me. So we went back to their house and stuck a piece of butter in. After about 1 second there was a PPPSSSHHHT! noise but no spark, but sister immediately stopped the microwave, although she was sure it would have sparked if she would have left it going.

So, after a bit of research on the web, here's my own personal crazy theory.
Two things are fairly well documented on the web (life lessons according to the interweb are often dangerous, but keeps things exciting, right?):
1. Microwaves spark on a more regular basis than you might imagine. Usually when this happens it is because it is dirty. It sounds like there is some side panel which is what gets dirty and the oil/food on there burns and sparks. I think that can be cleaned or replaced to solve the general sparking problem. But their problem only happened with butter.
2. Others have reported a butter sparking problem or other one-food related sparking problem. To explain this issue, a little background. Microwaves work by heating up the water in food (more specifically, it's a factor of the polarity of the water - at least according to some website). Microwaves are well absorbed by water, but not well absorbed by ice.

So here's my theory, assuming they don't have a dirty panel (which could cause sparking generally), I think when they start the microwave one bit of the cold butter starts to melt, and the liquid absorbs way way way more microwaves than the rest of the "pat" of butter (this was documented, that it can happen within a second). This large absorption of microwaves in relation to the rest of the butter causes the spark or at least the PPPPPPSSSSHHHHT! noise we heard. In addition, butter itself is a dipole and can get very very very hot in the microwave, so it seems reasonable to assume that in one or two seconds one little bit could melt and start absorbing more waves than the surrounding butter.

How's that for an uneducated guess at butter sparking?

There is also the well-documented experiment of grapes sparking in the microwave (actually, flaming), which is due to some very long complicated explanation which I didn't have the patience to read. So it is also possible that whatever causes grapes to flame might also cause their butter to spark. I'm not sure though. I think the mystery still continues.

But if anyone knows why this might be happening, let me know!

(Almost ) burger paradise

I've been a little behind with my postings, ok, well a lot behind. I'd like to blame it on the new apartment, but I think mostly I've just been lazy. Alas, I am back (hopefully, more regularly), so let's see what I can knock out here.

A few weeks ago Jeff's family was coming into town which usually means a uber-fancy dinner (per se, Jean Georges were restaurants visited in previous visits), this time, we were a party of 8 and decided to try a place down in Tribeca, which was known primarily for its low markup on its wine and its steak.

While I am a bonafide steak lover, and don't eat it very often, so usually am overjoyed about an opportunity for filet mignon (I think it's already well established that I have high food tastes and expectations, so does it really seem that surprising that I always go straight for the filet?). However, on this particular evening, I wasn't feeling the filet option. Surprised myself at my lack of interest, I browsed the rest of the menu to try and find something to suit my taste for the evening.

Which is when the hamburger option caught my eye. Generally speaking, if I'm at a restaurant known for some kind of specialty I'll go for it. Since steak was their thing, and I didn't feel like that, the hamburger seemed like the perfect compromise, and I am always in the mood for hamburgers.

So I ordered the burger and as a last minute addition I asked for blue cheese as well. Fast forward several glasses of wine, and the food arrives. So the restaurant is dark, I have had a few glasses of wine and there was this strange (what appeared to be) beige-ish very very thin patty on top of my hamburger. Confused and a little frightened, I gingerly stuck one tine of my fork in the patty-like thing, and to my great surprise it was the blue cheese....not too strong, (because an entire patty of strong blue cheese would have been terrible), but certainly not for those who don't like blue cheese. Like a kid in a candy store, I dug in to my blue cheese burger, and the warm oozy blue cheese melted into the ground beef. I knew I had one delicious burger on my hands.

I tried to savor every bite, but I think I really devoured the whole thing before anyone could even notice my burger. wow, it was one good burger.

Which got me to thinking, is the goodness of a burger (for me) dependent on the toppings? But I thought back to my favorite, the Red Coat burger, and that's just good burger meat. What I also thought about in terms of my burger enjoyment, if I have a burger that is not pink in the middle, I am immediately turned off. it's just too dry, and there's no flavor. So that seemed to lean towards a good meat = good burger theory.

And then, a couple of weekends ago we went to Michigan and went to Red Coat. And I always get blue cheese on my burger there. And there I realized it is clearly a combination of the toppings and the meat. At Red Coat the amazing sauce mixes with the blue cheese and the burger drippings, which is just plain delicious. But they also, ALWAYS cook just as you want it (probably a factor of the sheer number of burgers they cook every day). So many of the supposedly "best burger" places in Manhattan which I have visited in an attempt to find the best burger, do not cook it the way I want it. And that's because they see burgers being the new hot trend and got into this business but they don't actually know how to cook burgers.

However, the most important thing I realized is that it starts with the good burger meat and proper cooking. That can get you to a good burger. But if you have good toppings and sauce, that'll put it over the top into amazing status. Now, if I could only perfect this for home cooking, I'd be all set.

if only...

this sad story begins with a series of "if onlys..." (and by the way, if you get sick when hearing about gory things, then don't read this)

if only I had not been in such a hurry...if only I had used the pre-chopped lettuce...if only we had ordered take-out...if only I had used proper knife skills as I always do, I wouldn't have had to go to the ER on Sunday night.

the story begins around 7 pm on Sunday night when we had the "ooh, take-out is so tempting" conversation. but we decided that since I had already made the tomato sauce and bought everything for dinner, I'd cook.

so you may have guessed the story by now (or heard about it).... I accidentally sliced off part of my finger on Sunday night while cooking. and I ALWAYS curl my fingers up to get them out of the way, like I've watched for hours and hours on end on the food network. I started screaming and screaming and screaming and Jeff ran in (I actually saw a little bit of finger on the cutting board). he grabbed my arm and took me into the bathroom and realized there wasn't anything he could do really. he was holding my arm up in the air but I wouldn't really let him put any pressure on it to stop the bleeding because it hurt so much.

he called his parents and said "she chopped off part of her finger" and I screamed even more. they said "call 911!" which he did. once those calls were finished we sat down and I started to calm down a bit because the blood was no longer pouring down my arm. but then I looked up and Jeff was completely white and there was sweat pouring down his face. he looked up at me and said "I think I'm going to pass out" and his head fell forward. I grab his head and screamed his name. he opened his eyes but he did not look well. after a minute or so, he said that he was alright and got up to change his clothes (we had just gotten back from working out, so on top of it all I was a smelly mess).

shortly thereafter, the police arrived and then the EMS. they reassured me that it wasn't so bad and that I would be fine, but I wouldn't let them run my finger under water. they re-wrapped in it gauze (it was still bleeding), and there wasn't much they could do so we went down to the ambulance and they drove us to the hospital. we arrived and they checked me in and assigned me to a bed. we plopped down and began to wait.

we actually didn't have to wait too long before a set of doctors (I think there were 2 residents and an attending or chief resident or something) came over. they asked me when I'd had my last tetanus shot (I didn't remember) and then took off the gauze. they realized there was really nothing for them to do either (I hadn't cut off "enough" for them to re-attach anything, and it wasn't a cut into my finger that needed to be stitched, I had just taken off most of the nail and part of the side -- I think, I still haven't looked yet). But they did need to stop the bleeding so they needed to go find some blood clotter gel thing or something. so then we waited for awhile more.

they came back and wrapped me up (the gel was incredibly painful because she essentially had to press it into my open wound). we then realized that we didn't have enough cash to take a cab home, so we were going to have to walk. which was unbelievably depressing for me, so I sent Jeff to go find an atm. we waited a bit more for the tetanus shot and then we were ready to head home. all in all it was about a 2 hour visit.

we arrived home, saw all the half cooked food on the stove and immediately ordered a pizza. I think Jeff threw out everything that was sitting out, including the cutting board. I vowed to never cook again.

if only I could really stick to that vow...

oh peaches, where art thou?

So at Jeff's crazy cool workplace, last week there was a Farmer's market in the cafeteria. oh no, I'm sorry, I was just fact checking and apparently, the Farmer's market was on the balcony of the cafeteria. You would think that these things wouldn't surprise me anymore, but they still do. Now, I misunderstood this at first when he told me. I thought he meant that his cafeteria food was all made fresh from Farmer's market ingredients (like the "theme" for the day), but no, there was an actual market in which you shopped (but yes, they had to pay with real money) for produce and what not.

Anyway, I was out to lunch (i.e. the gym) when Jeff called me to ask if I wanted him to buy anything. So he took it upon himself to decide what looked good and what we needed. What he ended up with was about 4 pounds of peaches (but it was only $3). That's it. Just peaches. And a whole lot of them. I however, did not know how many peaches he had actually bought. (not that I'm complaining)

So this was last Wednesday. The peaches did not arrive home on Wednesday, because we were going out to dinner and he came straight from work to dinner. Thursday he didn't bring them home because he walked home from work. So on Friday he had to bring them home. However, he also received a 24" monitor from work that he had to bring home as well. Instead of taking a cab (which I understand because we were going to the UES that night and destined to be taking a cab both ways), he took the subway. Just imagine how big a 24" monitor is and then imagine how big the box for it is. HUGE.

To be able to bring the peaches home, he tied the plastic bag onto his computer bag (his computer bag is only big enough for his computer, not even room in there for a power cable). This arrangement was such that the plastic bag hit his side/leg every time he took a step.

So Friday he arrived home with mostly bruised peaches and monitor in tow. That's when I realized how many peaches we were dealing with. This was going to be no small task using them up (especially because I knew the chances were slim to none that he would eat the peaches on their own, the expectation was very clear that something would be made with them).

So here arrived problem #2 ... cooking/baking with peaches. Ugh. Of course pie pops into everyone's head. But peach pie (and every other peach recipe under the sun) calls for peeled peaches. double ugh. what an unnecessary ridiculous step in cooking. removing the skin. triple ugh.

I've also been in this situation before, where I think to myself, it can't be THAT bad if I just leave the skin on. But it's weird and gross every time. I don't know what it is. But when you eat a piece of pie, you don't want extra peach skin hanging out of your mouth attached to the peach piece.

After two days of half-hearted searching (and throwing away about three peaches a day because they were bruised and going bad), I stumbled across a recipe free-form fruit tart, that oddly enough, did not call for peeling the peaches. Especially strange since essentially it was a pie crust in which you mounded up peaches and blueberries in the middle of and folded the sides of the crust over "in a rustic manner."

Before I had to throw out all the peaches, I figured I'd give it a try. My kitchen, of course, is about 600 degrees when I'm making dinner, so I was sure the pie crust would be a disaster. Especially when I was rolling out the dough and there were only three bits of butter visible to the eye (it should be "peppered" so to speak, with bits of butter so that it can rise properly and be flaky).

I piled on the fruit, threw it in the oven and set the timer for an hour. Of course, what I happened to forget was that I had halved the recipe (I'm sure I've written about this problem before that I have with halving recipes). Luckily, however, I was also cooking our chicken for dinner in the oven at the same time. I went in to check in on the chicken when the tart was supposed to be about half way finished (imagine that), and found the peaches lightly charred, the crust golden brown and the blueberries bubbling away. I immediately pulled it out, but I was sure that it was yet more peaches destined for the garbage.

After scarfing down dinner, I turned to dessert. I had Haagen Dazs vanilla ice cream in the freezer, so I knew that dessert would be recoverable if I piled on enough ice cream. To my great surprise, the crust was tender and flaky, the peaches and blueberries perfectly sweetened and no weird peach skin issues. I still managed to pile on the ice cream, but I mostly ate it separately, the free form tart was so tasty!

I got the recipe from Cooks Illustrated, but it was really a basic pie crust in which you piled on fruit (I'm not sure how well really juicy fruits would fare, since there's no thickener or anything), and gave the whole thing a sprinkling of sugar. a perfect way to use up peaches without having to take off the skin. Next time I'm going to advise Jeff to both diversify his purchases and maybe not wait three days to bring the goodies home. either way though, this time it worked out pretty well for us.

Dessert Karma

Last week I went out to dinner to Del Posto with two of my friends to bid adieu to one of them who is moving to San Francisco. We actually selected the enoteca part of Del Posto, which appeared to have a smaller, less expensive menu, but still looked wonderful. We were kind of expecting to be seated in a dungeonous basement or something, but we had a great table, near the front of the restaurant (I guess they consider the dungeon the front).

Our waiter appeared almost immediately to take our drink order, one of my friends (the one moving, I'll call her SF) had a glass of prosecco so my other friend (I'll call her NY) and I ordered one as well. The waiter inquired whether or not we were celebrating something (all the prosecco being ordered I suspect was the reason why he was inquiring), and NY indicated that SF was moving away, so not really a celebration of sorts, but a fun evening nonetheless. The waiter returned with the bottle and filled up a glass for myself, NY, and then topped off SF's glass. At that point we knew that we'd be in for a great evening.

We decided that we would go for the tasting menu, which included five courses: appetizer, two pastas, a secondo plate and dessert. Each individual ordered her own appetizer, secondo and dessert while the table selected two pasta dishes and everyone got the two same pasta courses. I had announced that I was happy to share (it was a special occasion afterall), so we all ordered different things and selected the pastas. We did not, however, have to select the dessert options when we ordered the rest of the food. Which was good because selected the four other options was tough enough at that point.

Our food began arriving at the table, course after course of wonderful morsels of all sorts of things, steak, pork, pasta, fish, calamari, asparagus...it was all wonderful. We wondered why the restaurant wasn't busier, the food was great, and while the selection wasn't as large as the main restaurant, there was still plenty to choose from, and it was cheaper too. The service was impeccable, and we had no trouble making a reservation (they only take same day reservations). Reviews of the main part of the restaurant often indicate overpriced and poor service for what you're paying..clearly this would be the answer to all of those complaints. Perhaps now that I'm writing about it, the word is out...then again, definitely not (as much as I'd like to believe more than 2 people read this, somehow I doubt that enoteca will be mobbed anytime soon because of my post).

Once we started getting closer to dessert, the conversation slowly turned to what our dessert selections were going to be. Both NY and SF are very well aware of both my dessert infatuation and my unwillingness to share. I however, committed to sharing my dessert like a normal nice person would (it was either the alcohol talking at that point or perhaps I'm actually learning to share...maybe I'll graduate to 1st grade at some point soon...we could only hope). Once I had committed to sharing we agreed to all get different things. This was a much tougher negotiation, there were a couple of stand out items, but after a short round table discussion we came away with our dessert agenda:

SF was to get a chocolate almond cake thing
NY was getting a sorbet/prosecco
I was getting the chocolate pudding

I was excited and ready to order (and I'd have to say that I was most excited for the chocolate almond cake). The waiter came back and SF ordered first, and to my great dismay, after she ordered he instructed her to pick something else. but, but, the chocolate almond cake! How could they be out?! After my loud groan of disappointment the waiter replied that he was planning on bring one of those for the table! Happy with our stroke of good luck, SF quickly selected a blueberry cake thing. Next up to order was NY, and once she completed her order, the waiter told her that her selection was more of a palate cleanser, and he recommended that she too pick something else. She actually kind of was interesting in the palate cleansing dessert (we had afterall, just consumed four other courses), so she indicated that was ok with her, and the waiter replied, with what was now becoming a pattern, that he'd bring one for the table and she should pick something else. Shocked yet again, she selected a lemon thing (I don't remember it exactly, whether it was more of a cake/bar type thing or a custard/brulee type thing, or perhaps neither of those). I went to order my pudding, kind of expecting at this point to be ordered to select something different, but at that point we had pretty much everything off the dessert menu ordered for our table, so my chocolate pudding was accepted by the waiter.

And then the flow of desserts started, five in all were delivered to our table. It was dessert heaven for me (just in shear volume of sugar treats covering our table). My friends agreed that I must have dessert karma of some sort, as neither of them had ever been to a restaurant and been offered so many extra free desserts. I think that my experience at per se was perhaps on their mind, but per se wasn't even the first time that I received extra dessert (although the other places I can think of were either very high end, or I had poor service or something and requested a free dessert...like the time I was in Toronto with SF and some of our other friends and I got a MASSIVE banana split with SPARKLERS coming out of it, just to name one other time).

I'd like to believe I have dessert karma, what a great thing! Of course, my mom would tell me, like she always used to, that I'm going to give myself diabetes (which, I didn't actually ever believe was possible, I thought she was just trying to scare me...turns out she was right, you can get diabetes from eating too much sugar). It's really not a bad thing to have going for you, dessert karma, despite the sugar infestation that will most likely one day take over me. I'm going to ride it out as long as I can!

Farmer's Market Salad

I haven't really had the opportunity yet this summer to hit the farmer's market. Last weekend I really started to get the itch to go as all the fruits started appearing en masse at the grocery store. So I planned to devote this Saturday morning to the market. Despite my overwhelming excitement, I slept in (so I probably missed all the good stuff), and only managed to drag myself out of the apartment after downing a cappuccino.

I love the farmer's market. Especially in the summer. Especially when it's 68 degrees and sunny. Especially when it's overflowing with fruits and veggies and flowers and bread and cheeses and jams and honey and everything else under the sun. It's not only that I'm getting fresh delicious things, but I think I also feel a sense of well-being because I'm helping the local farmers. I'm sure that some of the stands are not small farms, but no matter, I always come away from the market with more bags than I can carry, a beautiful bouquet of flowers and a glowing feeling.

Today was a perfect day for the farmers market (you may have guessed that it was 68 and sunny with a light cool breeze). I finally arrived close to 11, a little late by the farmer's market standard, but there was certainly still a ton of fresh goodness to pick from. I started with cherries, which must be in season because every stand had an overflowing amount of them. I grabbed my little pint and went to pay. The gentleman asked me if I wanted the pint basket and I said no and he thanked me and threw in a couple more handfuls of cherries into my bag. This is why I love the farmers market! Everyone is friendly, no pushing or shoving, everyone walks away smiling. I paid $3 for a sizeable bag of cherries, and last weekend I paid a RIDICULOUS $10 for cherries that didn't taste nearly as good.

My morning continued...we lapped the market and took a break in the shade once I had finished. I had bags filled with blueberries, cherries, strawberries, lettuce, eggs, herbs, tomatoes, all sorts of goodies. It's safe to say that I was incredibly content at that point...there are very few things that make me feel as happy as either an incredibly well stocked fridge or having bought all the things to stock my fridge with deliciousness. It's the best feeling to open the door or walk into the kitchen and have all sorts of fresh options to choose from for a snack or to make a meal.

I arrived home ravenous and asked Jeff what he wanted for lunch. To which he replied, with his standard reply, "what d'ya got?" (yes, he was an english major). I realized I didn't actually really have any food for a meal. I bought lots of things to complement a meal (veggies and things), but after thinking for a minute I realized that I could make a pretty darn delicious salad with all the ingredients in my bag. So I offered a salad with fresh berries and goat cheese and pecans. I didn't think he'd bite (literally ... figuratively), but I think he was hungry enough, so he was in.

I went into the kitchen and started making the salad, blueberries, cherries, strawberries, goat cheese and pecans. Easy and simple. I rummaged through my bags to find something else, and I pulled out the basil and chopped that up and threw it in too. But the real breakthrough came when I decided I wanted croutons too, but the only bread I had bought was a cinnamon raisin bread (for french toast tomorrow, yummmmm!). Of course that would work! It's a fruit salad anyway! So I made some cinnamon raisin croutons to top it all off..oh boy, that was good stuff.

I just added olive oil, salt and pepper to dress it with and dug in. Unbelievably fresh and delicious, it's amazing what fresh ingredients can do. The strawberries and cherries were so incredibly juicy and sweet, their juices kind of mixed with the olive oil to make more of a berry vinegrette. oh dear, it was good. The perfect way to top off my morning. This may have to be my new Saturday morning tradition, go to the market, buy a bunch of yummo ingredients and try throwing them all together...hopefully they'll all be as good as this one.

(June) Farmer's Market Salad
I'm just going to list all the stuff I used, obviously you can use as much or as little as you want. Plus the whole idea is to buy whatever's there and make it. But if you happen to have all these ingredients on hand, it's a pretty darn great salad.

Blueberries
Cherries
Strawberries
Goat cheese
Pecans (toasted in a dry pan for a couple of minutes...NOT BURNT!)
Lettuce
Olive oil
Salt and Pepper
Basil (mint would be good too)
Cinnamon raisin croutons (see below)

For the croutons, the best way to do it (I think) is to use the ends of the bread (especially if you're making french toast with the rest of the loaf, because you won't use the ends). Cut up the ends into bite size pieces, and heat up some butter (or olive oil, but I used butter since it's a sweet bread) in a pan over low heat. Add the bread and let cook for a couple of minutes until one side is golden brown. Toss around in the pan and add more butter if necessary until all sides are golden brown. Add to salad. Dig in and enjoy!!

rice three (maybe four?) ways

I've never really been able to make rice. Maybe it's silly, but it's true...I always have all sorts of problems when I try to make regular white rice. I've had better luck with brown rice (except the time when I burnt an entire cup of brown rice to the bottom of a pot). When I was in college I would make (the only thing I actually "cooked") the boil-in-a-bag, which worked fine. But now that I'm all grown up and should make adult white rice, I can't seem to get it right.

So last Saturday, while breaking out a serious sweat playing the Wii with some friends, it quickly approached dinner time (well for Jeff it was WAY past dinner time, being 8:30 pm it was well past his usual early bird special). I had found a red curry recipe that I wanted to try, well, in reality, I found a red curry recipe that I wanted to completely change around and replace most of the ingredients with other ingredients, but I did want the red curry to remain the same. This, however, required making rice. I confinded into my friend that I was village idiot when it came to rice making, but she was no help either, apparently I'm not the only one who has this mental block when it comes to rice making.

So I pulled out the Uncle Ben's (the first time I have even ever bought uncle ben's, I usually get the fancier stuff) box, and to make matters worse, they had instructions for making rice for 2, 4, 6 or 12 people. so I immediately looked at the recipe for 6 naturally (we had 4 people), but this recipe only called for 1.5 cups of uncooked rice, which didn't seem to be like a whole lot. My sous chef (not that I'm a better cook than my sous chef, she just happened to be reading the ingredients to me) agreed, and there was no way to double the recipe for 4 because the water/rice ratio varied for each serving size. Clearly, what made the most sense was to make rice for 12.

When the timer alarm went off, I refused to lift the lid because I was sure there was hard uncooked and mushy grains in the pot. When I finally did open the lid, what awaited me were glorious perfectly cooked rice grains. rice for 12 is clearly the answer!!

So after making our way through a lot of the rice for 12 (and we did eat a lot because the red curry was SPICY), I still had oodles and oodles of rice leftover.

what to do with rice leftovers?

well the first option that I came up with, was rice pudding. I actually thought of it when I decided on making rice for 12 (I think I said "well, I can always make rice pudding with the leftovers"). So last night after dinner (we had hamburgers, nothing at all related to rice), I whipped up a batch of rice pudding. It was tasty and delicious, but only used up a small amount of the leftover rice.

So tonight for dinner I was determined to come up with another use for leftover rice. Again, the choice seemed obvious, fried rice. I threw together a pan of fried rice, which was also delicious, and also did not use up all the rice. never again will I make rice for 12! (one of the funny parts of this whole thing is that the amount of rice that I had in leftovers was probably $1 worth...even funnier if you are reading this after reading the per se entry, in which no single bite of that entire meal probably cost less than $1). It had become a challenge at this point (clearly).

So I e-mailed my friend who got me into this predicament in the first place, and she came back with great ideas! Rice salad, rice stuffing, tomato rice soup (coincidentally that was also the soup in the cafeteria today), stuffed peppers, the list goes on and on. I have, however, been lectured over and over again from my mom and grandma that I must not ever make stuffed peppers with cooked rice. They have only ever made it with uncooked rice and it appears to be the proper polish way. I have yet to make any stuffed peppers because I keep forgetting the recipe (mom, can I get that again from you?). So I won't be making the stuffed peppers, but I will be making yet another rice dish tomorrow for dinner.

anywho. rice for 12. now that I have offered up so many options for leftover rice (well, stole a bunch of ideas and then posted them to my blog as though I came up with them), everyone should be making rice for 12. it may just be the only way to make rice come out at all, unless, of course, you use Toshiba's new $800 rice cooker.

oh god I'm never eating again [dinner at per se]

FYI...I started this post the morning after dinner and I just finished it (a week + later)

It's 9:30 am post per se, and I am overcome with the feeling of never wanting to eat again. Mostly I feel this way because I had a nine course dinner (plus little extras) starting at 10 pm last night. What struck me by dinner last night is that it was the first really fancy dinner that seemed like real american food. No hamburgers or anything, but a salsa/goat cheese course?! Dessert wasn't some fancy french pastry thing, but a heavenly chocolate/hazelnut almost ganache-like thing (but believe me, I will get to dessert in a minute).

When I asked Jeff what he thought of dinner, he paused for a minute and then said "yeah, it was pretty good." Pretty good, huh? Every course was meticulously designed and crafted for flavor and texture combinations. I admit there were some that had me feeling like they were just dressing up some veggies from the corner store. But overall, the meal was incredibly impressive, clearly, if I felt like I never wanted to eat again, I certainly got enough good food to make me want to explode.

So let's start at the beginning...10 pm, Friday night (two Fridays ago). We were seated and quickly ordered a bottle of champagne (it's hard not to when they come up to your table and ask "so will you be starting with champagne?" really impossible to turn that offer down). Then a waitress came up to me with a little stool. Slightly confused (but not wanting to show my confusion), she set it down next to me (I really really really wanted it to be a foot rest so I could stretch out my legs under the table), I quickly realized it was for my purse. A seat for my purse. A seat....for my purse. ha!

We started browsing the menu and were informed that we could "mix and match" off of the vegetarian tasting menu and the regular tasting menu. We put together our dinner selections while they brought us these heavenly cheese balls. Cheese balls raised to the infinite power. I think it was brie, surrounded by a delightful pastry dough, which provided just the right crispiness to match the melty cheese. I could have eaten a hundred, but thankfully I was only given one because I definitely would have thrown up after dinner if I had more.

We ordered our dinner, and shortly after our food descended to our table (we hadn't however, received any bread yet, and were DYING, so we had to ask for some, slight point deduction, but not much). The first course was an oyster/caviar course. Jeff opted for some green soup thing (he REALLY must hate oysters if he opted for the green soup). All I have to say is that the oyster dish was my favorite of the night and the green soup tasted like garbage. Literally, spinach garbage. I was worried for a moment and then I went back to my oysters and melted away to caviar heaven. It was this creamy dish, almost like cream cheese, with the caviar providing little bursts of salty goodness. Amazing. A-maze-ing. Definitely the best course (besides dessert, but we'll get there) of the night.

I'm not sure I remember the order of all the courses (but I did write them all down so I would remember them), but I'll highlight the good stuff.

There was a red mullet fish dish, that was good, for what it was. I'm not a huge fan of red mullet, but the skin was perfectly crispy and had delightful accompaniments. That ended up being story of the meal for many of the courses (except dessert...we'll get there). While the main part of the dish would be good, it was always paired with a bunch of little accent tastes that enhanced the dish to levels not imaginable.

Foi gras was delightful, one of the best I've ever had. Unfortunately, I hate to admit it, but I very much enjoy the fattened duck liver. It's horrible, but it's not like I eat it every day (I've probably eaten it 4 times in my life -- although 3 of those were in the last year). But it was extremely creamy and had a rich wonderful flavor. As we started to eat the foi gras (I actually think it was right before we dug in, the waiters came out and brought us fresh warm brioche toast (we were served brioche toast when they served it to us originally). Apparently the first batch of brioche was no longer warm and therefore needed to be replaced. We postulated that they just did this to really make us feel like we were eating at a fancy place. Maybe it did taste better with warm toast, but they literally had just set it down, so they must have brought it out cold (or cool or whatever). They just wanted to show off their warm toast.

And then came the veal brain. Yup, that's right, little baby cow brains. Jeff opted out of this dish too, which was probably a good idea. In my defense I didn't really know what I was ordering when I ordered it, but I have to admit that I ate the whole thing (it was only one little piece). Jeff remembers it actually looking like a brain (all nobby and such), but my piece looked smooth to me. My mother-in-law, who is a medical examiner (and therefore sees brains on a regular basis) could not finish hers because it hit a little too close to home. But here's the kicker, I bet you're wondering what cow brain tastes like, right? It tastes like sushi. Yeah, that's right, cow brain tastes like sushi. I'm not sure if it was the texture, or there was some kind of salty crust or something on it (wow, that sounds disgusting, a salty crusted cow brain), but all I could think about was how much it tasted like sushi.

The last truly memorable course was the beef course (real, cooked beef). It was perfectly done, perfectly tasty and perfectly accompanied. Yes, it's true, a steak is only a steak, and I agree that they can only be so good, but when put with a perfect little onion and a potato puff thing, it becomes a whole different meal. Bites of onion and potato that are soft and tender but providing just the flavor punches needed for the steak.

There was a "cheese" course, which was goat cheese with a tomatillo salsa, moderately forgettable. It was just as I have described it. Then, blueberry sorbet, which again, was good, but had this crispy caramel thin pancake thing with it that I could stop myself from eating once I started, it was totally addictive.

So let's move quickly onto dessert. So the menu said something about chocolate and hazelnut torte or something. I was excited (because I LOVE LOVE LOVE chocolate and hazelnut), but I was not prepared for how crazy good it was going to be. It was really just a chocolate hazelnut mousse in an egg shape (like reese's easter peanut butter egg size, those big ones). But it was this airy, delightful, chocolately, hazelnutty treat. It melted away into my mouth and I didn't want any bite to end, but I soon came to the end of my dessert. Disappointed, my mother-in-law fended off Jeff's grubby hands and gave me hers. I plowed through her dessert before the waitress came back. When she did, she commented that it looked like I really liked the dessert and noted that I finished two of them. I was a little embarrassed but then she asked if I would like more. I turned a little red, but my father-in-law quickly answered in the affirmative for me, and off she went.

She returned with not one but TWO more chocolate hazelnut mousse dessert delights. oh, how I love thee (both the dessert and the waitress for bringing me more). This time, I didn't even try to savor them, I just devoured them. It probably would have been a good idea if I tried to savor them, then I would have thought about how full I was. But I didn't...I just kept eating. I pushed through. Then they brought out truffles: chocolate, coconut, etc... Well, I had to try those too...until I didn't feel so well anymore.

Just as I was started to feel like I REALLY overdid it, the waitress came back, and I started to get a little nervous (if she had more chocolate hazelnut then I'd HAVE to eat it, but I might have exploded if that were the case). She approached the table and began with an apology. She explained that the kitchen had thrown out the rest of the desserts (although we read that as: chefs and wait staff claimed the rest to take home, which is fine, they deserve it), but they did have some brownies leftover, which she handed to me all wrapped up in an extremely fancy goody bag. Twelve mini brownies all together PLUS they had given us these packages of meringue cookies. oh god. this is when I really started to feel like I OD'd.

I really had wanted to take a taxi home, but when I got up I knew that I had to walk home or I would simply fall over and die. We walked slowly home and each step I took I thought I was going to throw up. It was almost worse than drinking too much, except that I got to enjoy each bite with delight. We got home and I immediately had to go right to bed (I know that probably wasn't the best idea, but I could not stand being awake and feeling that way any longer).

All in all, an amazing dinner. I'm pretty darn lucky to have had the chance to go. Although, if you ever go, do NOT eat four desserts, even if you want to.

A Tale of Two City Chickens

The last time I was home, my mom, aunt, grandmother and I were sitting around the kitchen table discussing cooking and recipes (in classic 50's television show fashion). Somehow we got on the topic of city chicken. I may have brought it up as I had recently been thinking about making it, but had no idea how to make it (nor did I even know what meat was in city chicken). Now, I know it sounds silly, it IS called city CHICKEN. But I was sure that it wasn't actually chicken. And I was right. City chicken is actually pork (which is very deceiving, hopefully no one ever went over to my parents house on city chicken night who didn't eat pork). How a pork product took cover under our poultry friend's name, I'm not actually sure. I think I asked once and the answer was something like, the people on the farm didn't have a lot so they tried to make their pork taste like chicken like the rich city folk.

Now no one in my family has ever lived on a farm, so I'm still not exactly clear on whether or not that was a BS story, but believe it or not, wikipedia has an entry on it. I'm stunned.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/City_chicken
..it says nothing about farm folk, but the idea is the same, so maybe it wasn't entirely a BS story...

So if you're still wondering what is city chicken exactly, essentially it is cut up bits of meat (my mom always made it with pork, but wikipedia seemed to think it could be any meat nugget) skewered on a stick, breaded and pan fried. Sounds simple, easy, and not really high class dining (obviously). But I remembered that it was always one of my favorites, so I really wanted to make it and see if it was really that good.

Which brings us back to my mom's kitchen table discussing how to make city chicken...

My mom and grandmother got into a HEATED debate over this, which was one of the funniest conversations ever, because the differences in their methodologies were very small. My aunt and I giggled about their argument for a good 5 minutes or so when finally my aunt cut them off and said that she thought they were really saying the same thing or something close to the same thing. Unfortunately I mostly remembered that they fought about it and not actually how they said to make it...but I did remember enough to make it tonight.

A few weeks ago I bought the skewers (I needed the shorter ones, although the long ones would work, I wanted it as authentic as possible), so I'd be ready whenever I wanted to make it. Tonight was finally the night. I pulled out the pork tenderloin to cut it up for breading. (yes, I realize this defeats the whole purpose...cheap meat made to taste good, but my mom said she uses tenderloin now) That was when Jeff walked into the kitchen and asked what was for dinner. When I explained to him what was for dinner he had a sad disappointed "what is she doing to my pork tenderloin" face, even when I quickly added that it was a childhood favorite of mine. He was definitely skeptical.

It was at this point that I realized that it would have been helpful if I would have listened to what my grandmother and mother said. Was it milk and then breadcrumbs? eggs and breadcrumbs? milk and eggs? flour first? no flour? all I could remember was that my mother would put them on the skewer first and then egg/milk them and then throw them into a bag with bread crumbs and let them sit, while my grandmother would put them on the skewer after breading and not let them sit. I guess that makes this a tale of three city chickens since I proceeded to do it my own way.

Not having a clue of how to actually make it, I decided to use one egg, a very hefty spash of milk and soak the pieces individually in a bowl (simply because that was easier than pulling out a large pan big enough to soak all of them already skewered) and then skewer them and then into a baggie with breadcrumbs. I didn't have time to let them sit post-breading, so I skipped that step.

I heated up a pan with olive oil and then realized this is probably a recipe that would be better with butter so I threw some of that in the pan too. I knew that my mom always sauteed them in a pan and then put them in the oven, so I cooked them a few minutes on each side and threw them into the oven in the pan. I checked them after a couple of minutes, they felt about medium so I took them out.

We dug hungrily into our dinner (city chicken + roasted sweet potatoes + salad) and I was afraid to try the city chicken (I think Jeff was still pretty skeptical himself) so I ate everything else off my plate. I was sure that it wouldn't be nearly as good as I remembered it. But I took my first bite and it was amazingly just as good as I remembered it. Jeff gave me his "this is good" look as he took a bite of the meat right off the stick. I reiterated "a childhood favorite" as he went for the third and final skewer from the kitchen. He was relieved to hear that this would become a more regular dinner meal for us.

Who would have thought that I could pull it off? So rarely do these kinds of meals taste just like I remember it as a kid, mostly because I think those types of favorite childhood recipes are primarily nostalgic. I'm also guessing that it doesn't actually matter how you make it, as long as there is breading and there is pork (at least if you want it to taste like the way my mom made it)...so mom and grammy: unfortunately, I think your argument was all for naught.

So it's not much of a recipe (clearly, you can do whatever you want to it and it'll taste good), but here's what I've got:
1/2 pound pork tenderloin, cut into ~1 inch cubes
1 egg
somewhere between 2-4 tablespoons of milk
~1/2 cup breadcrumbs
1 T olive oil
1 T butter (or 2 T butter, no oil)

Sprinkle the pork with salt and pepper. Somehow get the pork into the egg and then into the breadcrumbs (put it on a skewer first, then egg, or not, whatever, it doesn't matter). Heat oil and butter in pan and pre-heat oven to about 350 deg. Add the skewers to the pan and brown the pork on all sides (maybe 1-2 min per side) and then put the pan in the oven (make sure it's an oven safe pan) for about 5 - 10 minutes, until the pork gives just a touch for medium or is very firm for well done. I actually prefer it at room temperature (which may have actually been why it tasted so good, because it was the last thing I ate for dinner so it cooled significantly), so you can serve right away or wait until cooled a bit.

...and enjoy the chickenless city chicken!

Can I have a bite?

NO!

For those who know me and my eating habits well, know that I do NOT share my food. ESPECIALLY if it's a dessert. Good luck getting a fork in there. Not going to happen. Actually, that's not true, the ritual goes something like this:

1. Everyone's food arrives
2. I survey everyone's food and see what I'm missing and then dig in to my own, sometimes asking for a bite of others
3. Someone will ask to have some of my food (before I'm done)
4. I respond in the negative, and indicate that I'm perfectly willing to share when I've eaten as much as I want and if there is still some leftover (if it's a dessert, there won't be any leftover).
5. The questioner doesn't believe me and tries to eat some of my food. It never ends well when this happens.

I have begun to tell others this fact when I'm eating with them. Often to the point that they think I'm moderately crazy. Someone will say "wow, that looks good" and I'll respond "I'm sorry, I don't share." Or, someone will offer me their food and I'll say, "I'd love to try some, but I won't share mine"

There are certain circumstances in which I am perfectly willing to share, as long as I know ahead of time when I'm getting into. Fondue, for instance, definitely a share food. Ethiopian, Thai, Indian, pizza (obviously)...all foods that I actually like to share. But I must know before I begin eating my meal that there will be sharing involved.

So I have speculated this crazy behavior stems from my childhood (what doesn't, really?) when my sister would take usurp my food from under my fork. AAAAAHHH! it was SO annoying. And my parents wouldn't do anything about it (the issue was that everyone knew I wouldn't finish my food, but still..) We finally worked out a ritual in which she was allowed to partake in my meal only after I had finished (which, I admit is kind of annoying, because if you just want a french fry, you do not want to wait until I'm done and then they're cold and gross). This is the ritual that I continue to this day. Jeff knows the deal, and has lovingly accepted my non-food sharing idiosyncrasy. And he will even share his food with me knowing that I won't share until the bitter end. That is, until this weekend.

We went out to brunch Sunday morning and agonized over our decisions on what to eat. We finally decided and I went for an Eggs Benedict of sorts: the base was a popover, (we were eating at a restaurant called "Popover Cafe"), with smoked salmon, eggs and a lemon hollandaise. It was everything I love in a breakfast, runny eggs, smoked salmon and saucy goodness...and, as it turns out, everything Jeff dislikes. He ordered a "flopover" (I told you the name of this place was Popover Cafe), a pancake like thing with some sweet yummy fruit filling.

So our food arrived and mine looked and tasted DELICIOUS. The lemon in the hollandaise was a perfect match for the smoked salmon. But Jeff's too, looked very very yummy. Recently, I have fallen into a weekend breakfast routine in which I crave both sweet and savory things. So, I clearly had the savory covered, but I really felt like I needed some sweet to round out my brunch. I obviously turned to Jeff's breakfast and very politely and sweetly asked for a bite of his breakfast. He looked up at me with my outstretched fork with a pained look on his face. And then, all of a sudden the pain in his face melted away to a smile and he responded "No."

What?!
And he then said "See? it comes back to bite you in the [expletive]"

What?!
My friend that we were eating with got a good chuckle while Jeff continued to clean his plate. I quickly offered some of my food, which he took a look at and nearly threw up all over. He then started a discussion of how runny eggs are the most disgusting thing ever.

Needless to say, I was shocked. I began to understand how it feels to be rejected at the food request. However, it was definitely not enough for me to change my ways. I definitely will never ever learn to share desserts. I tell myself that no one could possibly enjoy the dessert as much as I, so I would really be doing a dis-service to the dessert if I shared.

I am hopeful that this wasn't a sign that Jeff is going to share his food less, that would just simply, not be fair!

pre-party cinco de mayo style

I'm not exactly sure what Cinco de Mayo is all about (last year it was about me drinking WAY too many apple-tinis and "soiling" my sister and brother-in-law's neighbor's lawn on Seis de Mayo), but it's certainly a superb excuse to overdose on Mexican food. Plus, it happens to fall about 4 months after I get back from Mexico (where I eat Mexican food morning, noon, and night), which is right about the time when I'm craving it again.

Regarding the history of May 5th, Wikipedia says: It commemorates the victory of Mexican forces led by General Ignacio Zaragoza Seguin over the French occupational forces in the Battle of Puebla on May 5, 1862. It also says that it is NOT Mexico's independence day. It also sounded like it is celebrated more in the US than Mexico (not sure about that one)...clearly everyone else wants an excuse to eat Mexican food too.

Miraculously, this year I forgot that this Saturday was Cinco de Mayo, and planned for tacos one night this week (actually, I mostly just felt like tacos tonight so I made them). Somewhere between deciding to make tacos tonight and actually making them, I remembered that Saturday was the national celebration of Mexican food and drink, and thought for a brief moment that I might not want to have tacos three nights before I most definitely will be eating Mexican food again. I re-assured myself that I love Mexican food enough to have it twice in one week, after all, I eat it every day for 10 straight days every year (although that's real Mexican food, not the fake stuff I make).

So I got home late (went to the gym first) and went straight to the kitchen for taco night preparations. I chopped tomatoes, onions, garlic (for beans) and lettuce; I got out beans, tortillas and the meat. All of which took about 10-15 minutes. Jeff got home and I threw the meat in one pan and onion, garlic and beans in another pan. In about 5 minutes the meat was done, I mashed the beans and dinner was ready! I definitely surprised myself on this one, we don't have taco night very often, but we definitely should. Dinner is ready in 20 minutes! That's crazy! Why isn't every night taco night? It's SO good, and SO fast! I know that my "tacos" are not even close to those tacos we get at the taco party every year in Mexico, wow, those are great, but still it's a delicious meal that is super quick and super easy. Plus, we have no good real Mexican places around us, so we can't even get delivery that easily.

Tonight's taco "pre-party" merely wet my appetite for Saturday's feast. I'm not sure what I'm going to make yet, but there will definitely be margaritas (NO apple-tinis). I think every year I should do a pre-party for Cinco de Mayo, just to get excited for the food I'm going to eat. Or, maybe I should just eat Mexican food more often and I won't have these silly epiphanies anymore.

I'd put a recipe in here, but really, who needs a recipe? Tacos are as easy as pie (actually much easier than pie, infinitely easier than pie). hmmm...what about a taco pie?! That would be great! But for the regular (non-pie) tacos, all you have to do is throw some meat in a pan, add some seasonings (I used cumin, chili powder, oregano and salt and pepper or you can just use those silly packets, if you must) and it's ready. Although, you really don't need me to tell you that...you just need me to remind you to make tacos often (actually, you probably don't even need me to tell you that, you just need me to entertain you for a few minutes while you're bored at work).

For the beans, I added garlic and onion and red pepper flakes and sauteed those together for a few minutes before adding black beans, about 1/4 cup of broth (depends on how dry you like them) and salt and pepper. After a few minutes I used my potato masher and mashed it all together. Delicioso.

Egg House

During my weeks of very exciting travel, I made my way south of the Mason-Dixon line for a week. It was much better than the weeks I spent far north staring across the border at foreign lands (well, just one not so foreign land). While I was south of the Mason-Dixon line, I was in the midst of yet another real estate nightmare crises, and I did not manage to explore the town much. I was able to explore the room service menu (good selection, reasonable prices, but they get you every time with the delivery fee plus the standard included 20% tip). Although, I was only there a couple of nights thanks to the monsoon that hit NY the night I was supposed to go down there.

So really, my only food experience in the southern lands was the Apple Bee's in the airport (BARF). HOWEVER, while in the taxi on the way to the airport I passed a Waffle House, followed immediately by a Pancake House. Which left me wondering, why no Egg House?

It's true, you always see waffle and pancake houses, but never an egg house. I confirmed my suspicion with Jeff who agreed he'd never seen an Egg House (perhaps he was agreeable because we were running through the park and he wanted me to stop talking). Realizing Jeff may not be the expert on the existence of egg houses, I did a search on google. No egg houses. But the 2nd result was "How to wash egg off a house" - good to know.

So, then, why no egg houses? One assumes that you'd be able to get eggs at a pancake or waffle house, plus you can do a million billion different things with eggs. WAY more than you can do with pancakes or waffles. Let's see..omelets (obviously), regular eggs (any way you want 'em), fancy frittatas with smoked salmon and goat cheese, or perhaps chorizo and avocado, baked egg casseroles, plus technically, eggs are in waffles and pancakes, so you'd have those. And crepes, those are actually mostly eggs, and french toast. Not to mention the egg sandwich, the best thing since sliced bread (get it? ha! sliced bread is needed for the egg sandwich...so it wasn't invented until...never mind, if I have to spell it out for you it's not going to be funny anymore). You can serve cake and cookies and meringues and any breaded meat dish; you can have lots of challah, and ice cream...seriously, the possibilities are endless.

Perhaps the issue is that no one has been able to narrow down the options and that's why there are no egg houses. Maybe it's just the simple fact that "Pancake House" sounds a bit more appealing than "Egg House" - it does kind of sound like you're going to egg a house (like google suggests).

If I ran an "Egg House" I would definitely have the egg sandwich as the center piece of my menu. It celebrates the egg but enhances its goodness with a porky accent (any good egg sandwich has ham or bacon). Plus, again, the possibilities are endless...you can do the standard BLT&E or an egg wrap with ham and cheddar, or for something fancier, fried eggs with prosciutto and pesto and goat cheese, or if you're in the mood for an egg sandwich with mexican or spanish flair, chorizo and manchego with roasted red peppers. Plus, you can vary the bread options tremendously, bagels, rye, wraps, you name it, you can do it. Wow, I could go on and on...this may be my hidden talent, discovering new egg sandwiches...I bet I can't sleep tonight while I am discovering all the new possibilities.

While I never discovered why no Egg Houses exist, I certainly found a way to pass the time while I waited on the airplane for 3 hours to take off.

...italian sausage and mozzarella...chives and cream cheese and smoked salmon (hey, there's one without pork)...feta and tomato (there's another)...grilled onion and peppers with prosciutto and parmesan...

the babbo post

I've gotten many requests for the babbo post and for a variety of reasons (mostly that I was in Buffalo) it's been delayed and delayed. But here it is in all of its glory. It's long too (good thing it's Friday so no one wants to work anyway, so you have plenty of time to read it).

First of all...the reservation getting. As everyone knows, you must call one month (to the day) at 10 am to attempt to get a reservation. I have tried this approach before and called for 4 straight hours before I got through and then, of course, they were booked. Jeff did a little investigating, anticipating the difficulty in getting a reservation and found out that if you call like a minute in advance and get the recording "it's too early, blah, blah, blah" then you hit '0' (I think, maybe it's #) and you'll cycle through the menu and then when it's 10 you'll be fed right through to the reservation lady.

So armed with this information (I didn't actually know Jeff had a secret for getting through at the time), at 9:50 on March 4th, Jeff was busy talking on the phone with his brother when he looked up at me and said "we need to call!" - which TYPICALLY means, "you need to call" (plus, Jeff was already talking on the phone, so I assumed he wanted me to do it) So being the selfish birthday person I am, I said "I'm not calling, it's my birthday." In this case, he actually did, in fact, mean "we" since it's so hard to get through, so he thought, we both should try calling. So we worked that out and both started dialing in. Of course, Jeff dialed in a minute early and was able to get through by his secret button pushing plan and got us a 7:30 reservation! Still kind of annoyed at the whole "we" confusion, I was outwardly not jumping for joy, but my heart MAY have skipped a beat with excitement (after all, one of my New Year's resolutions for this year was "Have dinner at Babbo").

I immediately got online and started checking out the menu; they have an a la carte menu, a pasta tasting menu, and a regular tasting menu. I knew immediately that we MUST get the pasta tasting menu. Now I only had to wait a month.

So I waited, and waited and waited. Then the week before my birthday I went on a "no pasta" diet so I would be extra super duper excited for the pasta tasting menu. Jeff made fun, but no matter, I wanted to be as ready as I could be. I also began to think that there was no way that it could possibly be as good as everyone says, I mean really, how good can pasta really get?

So Wednesday night Jeff and I both finished earlier than we thought and decided to meet at the restaurant about a half hour early and get a bottle of wine at the bar. Of course we didn't anticipate that the restaurant would be full to the gills on a Wednesday night (clearly, not using our head, since we both knew how hard it was to get reservation, DUH). It was packed, but we checked in and squeezed our way into a spot that was almost out of the way of all the waiters walking by and almost close enough to the bar to actually attempt to order something. Clearly, getting a bottle of wine was not going to happen. But I still managed to order a glass of Prosecco, which was delicious (there was no getting between me and some birthday celebratory bubbles).

We were seated a bit before our reservation, and to our horror, when the maitre d' (who happened to be one of the guys that's always on Molto Mario) took us to our table, we found that the place settings were on the SAME SIDE of the table. GASP! But we always make FUN of the people that sit on the same side of the table! But there was no way anyone could sit on one of the sides of the table, because it was too close to a set of stairs and on the way to the kitchen (even though that description makes the table sound like it was in a horrible location, it wasn't actually, the table location was actually good, we could see the whole restaurant). So we gave each other nervous looks and slid into our seats.

They gave us our menus, but I had already decided for us (that's what I get to do on my birthday, decide what Jeff's going to eat too, well maybe I don't always do that on my birthday). So I instructed Jeff we were getting the pasta tasting menu and asked him if he wanted to do the wine pairing too (which was an additional $50 per person, which probably ends up being a bottle of wine per person). We agreed to just get a single bottle for about $50-60 and that would certainly be enough alcohol for us (especially since I had already done a shot and had a glass of prosecco).

We ordered and sat back and waited for the pasta to start flowing. The pasta tasting menu consisted of 5 pasta dishes and 3 dessert dishes, so we were in for a marathon dinner.

Course 1: Black Tagliatelle with Peas and Pecorino
Jeff's reaction, "I don't even like peas, and I love this!" and I finally understood what "perfectly al dente" meant. There was a bright burst of fresh peas with the sharpness of the pecorino. I don't remember exactly, but I think there was just a light drizzle of a pea puree for a "sauce." Definitely two thumbs up.

Course 2: Asparagus and Ricotta "Mezzalune" with Spring Onion Butter
My reaction, "I don't even like ricotta and this is fabulous!" This dish was essentially a ravioli stuffed with the ricotta cheese with a butter sauce. There were a couple of small pieces of whole asparagus and then some shaved pieces of asparagus stem. The ricotta wasn't strong (which is why I liked it), but creamy and wonderful and the light crunch of the asparagus complimented the richness of the butter.

Course 3: Garganelli with "Funghi Trifolati"
This was a basic pasta with a mushroom sauce. There were shaved mushrooms and it was light and delicious. The mushroom flavor wasn't overwhelming, and again the pasta was perfectly al dente. I was actually surprised at how light a mushroom dish could be, and creamy (I hate that word, but it's really true in this case).

It was probably at this point that Jeff and I sheepishly admitted to each other that we very much enjoyed sitting next to each other while dining. At least in this situation. We were able to hear each other well (it was kind of loud in there) and we could point out funny people or other things more easily because neither one of us had to turn around to look. Plus, we didn't have to stare at each other for 3 hours (not that we don't like looking at each other, but it can be weird to stare at a person for that extended period of time). But, we concluded we will never request to sit next to each other (and NEVER do so in a diner), but you know, if it's more convenient then maybe we could do it again.

Course 4: Fernando's Pyramids with Passato di Pomodoro
Essentially this was little "pyramids" of pasta (just what it sounds like) with a basic tomato sauce. The tomato sauce was so fresh tasting, and yet still had a depth to it that is inexplicable. However, it was at this dish that we took a sip of our red wine and both understood how important good wine pairings can be. None of our previous dishes had a tomato sauce, they were all butter based (or essentially non-existent). It actually really surprised me that our red wine didn't go (at ALL) with the tomato sauce. I think the wine was maybe too dry for the tomatoes? I don't know, clearly I know nothing about wine and even less about wine pairings, but now I completely understand the importance of good ones.

Course 5 (last pasta course!): Pappardelle Bolognese
Bolognese is one of my most favorite sauces, so I was pretty darn excited about this course. But I was also wondering (yet again), how good could it really be? I should have learned from the previous four AMAZING courses, that, of course, it would blow any other bolognese out of the water. Which it did. The meat was SO tender I couldn't believe it. I slowly savored each and every morsel on my plate. I should have asked for more (I bet they would have given it to me...at a price, of course), but after 5 pasta courses and with 3 pending dessert dishes, I knew better.

Course 6: Toasted Sesame "Sabbiosa" with Blood Orange "Marmellata"
I honestly don't really remember this course (clearly, not a good idea to wait 10 days to write about it). I think it was mousse-like; I remember a light sesame flavor in the background.

Course 7: "Fiore di Latte" with Figs and Vin Santo
This course was a delightful sort of "intermezzo" it was like a panna cotta, very very light with a touch of fig on top of it. I was really mostly looking forward to the next course, which was chocolately, so I didn't pay too much attention to the first two dessert courses. I think actually, in my head I combined the first two desserts into one.

Course 8: Chocolate Polenta Cake with Espresso Gelato
YUM. yum yum yum yum (to be read in the tune of the organ played at a baseball game). They actually brought each of us a different dessert, and we couldn't hear what they said, so we never really knew what the second one was. Like an apple cake almost with (I think) cinammon gelato. I was just glad I didn't get that one (I would have made Jeff switch with me even if I did get that one). The chocolate polenta cake sounded weird, but it had wonderful chocolate flavor and a very very slight crunch from the polenta (still sounds weird, I know, but trust me, it was great).

I finished off the meal with a cappuccino, and sighed in delight. The meal took somewhere between 2.5 and 3 hours, which was perfect. The courses were spaced just right; once we had finished one course we had just enough time to digest a little, chat a little and get ready for the next one. I was full at the end but didn't feel like I wanted to vomit, which is very important after finishing dinner.

So we wrapped up and headed out, and on our way out I wanted to check with the maitre d' on a rumor that I had heard. I heard that if you have dinner there one night, you could make a reservation for a month from that day. (which I really couldn't understand, would they reserve tables for this? didn't seem very efficient). But as it turns out, you can make a reservation, but you don't get any priority, you can make a reservation only if there are tables still available (since the phone lines opened at 10 am). So all they had left was an 11:30 pm reservation for May 4, which seems like a horrible time to start a 3 hour dinner, so I passed on the reservation. But that did allow me to speak to the guy that's always on Molto Mario!

So in the end we spent about $240 (including tip) on the dinner. But there was mucho money spent on alcohol (the pasta tasting menu was, I think, $59 per person). It was definitely definitely money well spent. A wonderful birthday present, I'd have to say. I really didn't think that a "pasta dinner" could ever be that expensive, that I wouldn't mind paying it, and that I would enjoy it so much (even after it had built up so much). Although I really had convinced myself that it couldn't be as good as everyone said (just like I convinced myself they would never really call my name on TPIR), clearly once I convince myself that things aren't going to be as good as I think then things turn out better than I thought.

So when I got home I e-mailed my mom giving her a quick de-brief of the meal. And at the end I indicated "we spent more than $100 per person on dinner, so don't tell dad" - we had recently had a conversation with my parents about spending $100 per person on dinner. So guess who called me the next day? My dad. Guess what the first thing out of his mouth was? "How was your expensive dinner?" Clearly, my mom is not to be trusted with secrets.

But anyway, now that I have revealed the secret for getting a reservation, YOU ALL MUST GO! Call tomorrow (or today, is it still before 10?)! HURRY TO THE PHONE LINES! It really is as good as they say.

Hangin' on

So last Tuesday I was having a pretty good day, it was warm out and I was enjoying the spring weather. Plus, I was still 28 (clearly, I have learned to appreciate the small things). While it was my last day as a 28 year old, I wasn't really thinking about it too much, it was too nice out! That is until everyone had to keep reminding me I was no longer going to be 28 for long.

I had a doctor's appointment that day, and the first thing they asked me when I walked in the room was "how old are you?" which is weird, because I can't ever remember that they have asked me this before. I mean, my birthdate IS in my chart, is my age REALLY the thing that needs to be on the top of the piece of paper, perhaps more important information should be there, like my blood pressure or something? So I emphatically answered "twenty-eight" and then whispered under my breath "twenty-nine tomorrow" (wow, that still sounds old, even though I've had a whole six days to get used to it). The nurse smiled and laughed (at me, I'm sure), but wrote 28. I felt relieved that I still had one more day and walked happily home. On my way home I saw the girl from Little Miss Sunshine, which was nifty too as I hadn't had a celebrity sighting in awhile.

I continued walking home, enjoying the city, the weather, and trying to think on the bright side. After a 20 minute walk, I again became content with becoming older, mostly because I forgot about it. Later that night, however, we went to the gym and the damn elliptical machine asked me for my age. First the nurse, now the workout equipment, WHY IS EVERYONE SO CURIOUS? Can't I slip into 29 without anyone noticing? Why, oh why, does everyone need to know so badly? I love birthdays, I always have, but I do not love getting older. Getting older is stupid. So now at this point, I was annoyed because I was at the gym, and I was annoyed because of the nosy workout equipment. Usually, what happens at this point, is that I get mad and then have a good workout and forget about it.

But on this particular Tuesday evening I did not forget about it. STUPID machine. At the end of my workout I slowly climbed off the machine and met Jeff at the stretching area. I cooled off and was standing up to get ready to go when I noticed a poster on the far wall, not wearing my glasses or contacts I couldn't actually see it, so I walked over to it. The poster had information on it like what your optimal heartrate is, etc... It also had the optimum number of push-ups given your age, well, given your age group. And the groups were by decade (20 - 29, 30 - 39, etc..), which I didn't notice at first, but Jeff did (since he was no longer in the same age grouping as I). So as we looked more closely we realized that the optimum number of push-ups for him and me were the same! ha! Given that he was male, his optimum number was naturally higher than mine, except that he was now in the "thirty" age range so his body is presumed to be on the decline. poor guy. Good for me though, I'm not thirty! Of course now that means I need to practice my push-ups so that I could actually do as many as Jeff, but no matter, it reminded me that I'm still in my twenties! For one more short year!! even if I wasn't going to be 28 anymore like everyone had reminded me, it didn't matter, I have one more year! one more year!

details to come on the big birthday dinner...I promise!

fresh, give or take

Today I was waiting in the gargantuan line at Whole Foods that forms every day at dinner time. They are very smart with their marketing and placement and I'm always tempted with cupcakes and rice pudding and fancy chocolates and two-bite blueberry scones (which I have succumbed to the temptation before) and all sorts of other goodies. It's quite difficult to wait in that line without buying anything. Who wouldn't want a cupcake in its very own plastic cupcake carrying case?

While I was waiting in line today, my wandering eyes fell upon the parmesano reggiano display. Nothing exciting going on there (no chocolates exploding out of the display or anything) and just as my eyes were going to wander to something more interesting I saw the sign: "freshly grated parmesan."

Huh. That's funny, I had the impression that freshly grated cheese meant that it needed to be grated as needed. Like, for instance, if a recipe called for "freshly grated parmesan cheese" they meant, that you stop cooking, you pull out the block of cheese and the grater and you grate it. It does not mean GO TO THE STORE AND BUY PRE-GRATED CHEESE. Even if the sign on the cheese display says "freshly grated." At some point this must be false advertising, but I'm guessing the FDA does not regulate the time between cheese grating and putting it on display. Even if there was someone actually standing there grating the cheese, it would NOT be fresh by the time you used it. Even if you somehow managed to breeze through the Whole Foods line and ran out the front door. Hmmm...unless I guess you lived in Columbus Circle, then you're essentially home already, so it would be fresh (but you'd also have so much money that you probably also have a chef that would freshly grate your cheese for you). But that's only if there was a guy/gal standing there grating it. I can guarantee it was at the very least HOURS since it was grated.

So I went to the dictionary to see if maybe there was another definition for fresh that would explain this sign. Let's see...
"retaining the original properties unimpaired; not stale or spoiled" - no, definitely not. it's definitely been "impaired" in the grating process (fresh or not fresh).
"looking youthful and healthy" - nah, don't think so
"not tired or fatigued; brisk; vigorous" - hmm... maybe, but how can I tell if cheese is "not tired"?
"forward or presumptuous" - ha! maybe this is it. at the very least it's presumptuous to advertise the cheese as being freshly grated.

Anyway, all I really have to say is that the point of freshly grated cheese is that it actually tastes better. Plus it's just a big fat lie if they say that it is freshly grated, when clearly it is not. But I have to hand it to them, they are definitely capitalizing on people's stupidity.

Uncorned corned beef

I am a big fan of the corned beef, Jeff, well, not so much. Not that he doesn't like it, per se, more that he doesn't like to eat it. And one of the meals that I very much look forward to every year, next to Thanksgiving of course, is corned beef and cabbage on St. Patrick's day. Now last year I was an ambitious, do-it-yourselfer and made the whole thing start to finish. It was fantastic, but we ended up with about 4 pounds of leftover corned beef. So this year, I decided that perhaps it wasn't the best idea to spend a week corning beef and $30 (or whatever it is) for the meat, only to eat a half a pound of it.

So this year, I decided on Shepherd's Pie for St. Patrick's Day, much easier and quicker and simpler, and I didn't have to be on top of my game a week before I wanted to actually eat (to start the preparations). But somewhere between Monday and Friday I was watching a Food Network show, Everyday Italian, and she made an Italian pot roast that looked so delicious that I had to make it as soon as possible. I figured that I could make Shepherd's pie with the leftovers and that pot roast was kind of like corned beef in that it was slow cooked meat that was tender and delicious. It's almost the same, right? So what if it's a different cut of beef, not actually brined, and that we didn't actually eat it on St. Patrick's Day.

So I headed to the store for a four pound block of chuck roast, an unfamiliar cut of beef to me. Jeff asked me where it came from (to which I replied "the cow"), and all I knew was that it is a tough cut...that is, best cooked for a very long time. Which usually means it's from the shoulder area or some other part that gets a lot of exercise. I found this terrible diagram which lays it out, and as it turns out, it is from the shoulder (I sang a little "I am so smart, s-m-r-t" song in my head ... Simpson's anyone??). The diagram is terrible because it has things on it like "ground beef" and "stew" as if those cuts of meat come off the cow directly in their ground or chopped form. Anywho, back to the pot roast.

So I'm not exactly sure what a "normal" pot roast consists of, apparently because according to my mom "you didn't eat used to eat pot roast" - so not ever have really eaten it, I wasn't sure what to put in it. The one I saw on Everyday Italian was obviously Italian-ized and I wanted something a little more traditional. In typical fashion I found a few recipes and then made up my own. I think, however, the real success of this dish (those who tasted it feel free to contradict) was the sauce. And this was pretty much my own pure genius (not to toot my own horn or anything). After the pot roast finished it's 3 hour marathon braise, I took out the meat and surveyed the surviving ingredients left in the pot. It didn't look terribly appetizing, mostly mashed up vegetables and herbs floating in fat (I told you it didn't sound appetizing). Determined to make this into a sauce, I skimmed the fat and then surveyed the fridge. Wine and broth. Perfect.

I added some wine and some broth until it had enough liquid that I could use my handy-dandy immersion blender. I whizzed it up and gave it a taste...dee-freakin'-licious. So it wasn't corned beef, but it certainly hit the spot for my longing of tender slow cooked meat, plus I didn't have to do it a week in advance. Of course, we ate almost all of it and there was no hope of Shepherd's pie with the leftovers...maybe next year.

Pot Roast
1 3-4 pound chuck roast
2 T of olive oil
1 large onion, sliced
3-4 stalks of celery, chopped into big chunks
6-8 cloves of garlic, chopped fine
1 cup of mushrooms
2 sprigs of rosemary
4 sprigs of thyme
1 cup of chicken or beef broth
1 cup of the juice from canned tomatoes and a couple of the tomatoes too (or you could probably use 1 15 oz can of diced tomatoes)
1/2 cup red wine
broth as needed

Heat the olive oil in a dutch oven over medium-high heat until hot (not smoking). Liberally salt and pepper the meat on all sides and put into the pan. Brown the meat on all sides, and as tempting as it is to either a) move the meat a lot or b) not let it brown for very long, resist the temptation! The total browning time should take about 15 minutes, about 4 or so minutes on each side. Remove meat from pan and add onions and garlic and saute for 3-4 minutes and then add the celery. Cook until vegetables begin to soften, a couple more minutes. Add the 2 cups of liquids - broth and tomato juice, and scrape down the pan, getting all the luscious bits off the bottom. Add the herbs (whole, on the stem), the mushrooms and the meat and bring to a boil. Season with salt and pepper and turn the heat down and cover and simmer over low heat for about 3 hours until tender (knife should go in easily). Remove the meat, stems from the rosemary and thyme (all of the leaves should have fallen off) and the mushrooms and set aside. Skim fat off the top and turn the heat up. Add the wine and let it reduce for a couple of minutes and then add enough broth to be able to use the immersion blender (or alternatively, if you're putting it in a blender, add enough to make a thick gravy-like sauce). Taste it and add salt and pepper (or more broth or more wine) as needed. Let the meat rest for 15 minutes, cut, smother with sauce, and enjoy!

First outdoor run of the year...

...SUCKS. But you don't think it's going to suck, and that's why it sucks even more. This is how it goes.

You're at work, it's nearly 60 degrees outside and it's sunny. Daylight savings time came early, so it's light later. You think to yourself, "wow, it's so warm out and it'll be light for many hours after I get home from work. It's a perfect day for a run in the park. I'm so smart." All afternoon you check the weather and it looks like perfect running weather, not a lot of wind, cool, but still warm enough. You fly out the doors like a school kid leaving for summer break, nearly dancing in the street.

You get home, pet the kitty and pull out your fancy new shorts that you got at the trendy new workout/yoga apparel store down the street (thanks to a fantastically smart Santa who got you a gift certificate). You put them on and wonder for a moment whether or not your legs are in appropriate summer shape (especially in the new shorts that are on the short side). Who cares! It's running outside time! You grab your keys and your iPod and head down the stairs.

You get to the park and realize everyone has the same idea as you, it's crowded and they all appear to have been running all winter long. You, alas, have not, but you have good music and you're in the park! Then you start running and things feel creaky. And then the memories of running begin to trickle back, the pain, the misery. But by now you're rounding the bottom of the park, but that's when the horse sh*t smell starts, and it's not even that warm out. You start to think you're not actually going to make it home again.

And that's when the hills start, and your chest feels like it's the size of a pea, afterall it's not THAT warm out. And you realize that only your right earbud is working. But you press on, running slower than some are walking. Finally you make it up to the reservoir loop, taking a moment to stop running and trudge despairingly up the stairs. It's packed...with tourists...taking pictures, oh and couples that are walking slower than a snail in their "workout" clothes, carrying a water bottle and holding hands. Well, just one of those couples, but STILL! That does not a workout make, you do not need a water bottle if your workout involves holding someone's hand.

Finally you make it around the reservoir and head back out to the main road of the park, so close, so close! And just as you come down the very last hill you see four teenagers/college kids walking in a line shoulder to shoulder across the entire walking/running lane and the bike lane. You don't make a move, because to avoid them you would have to run in the middle of the street, so you keep running straight...now it's a game of chicken, they're not moving, you're not moving until, WHAM! Just kidding, you don't actually hit them but you have to STOP while they decide to make a 6 inch space between their shoulder so you can get by. But it's over, and you go home and the kitty is excited because you're stretching on the floor and she gets lots of pets. At least someone felt good after the first outdoor run of the season.

Gravy, Alfredo and Ranch Dressing

So this past weekend we made an unexpected trip back to Michigan for my great-aunt's funeral. I actually prefer to think of it not as a sad funeral but more of a celebration of her life, seeing as she lived to be 101 years old. Aunt Stel was a rockin' lady and a fantabulous cook and baker. World reknowned for her paczkis (or at least reknown in our family). She also made sure to tell Grammy that I needed to use fresh poppy seeds for my poppy bread, so I will try the bread again with new fresh poppy seeds and see how it turns out. I therefore made it a point to at least get some new recipes when I was back in Michigan celebrating her life. Of course I managed to forget them all at my parents house (mom, can you bring those with you next week?). But none of this has to do with gravy, alfredo and ranch dressing.

In typical fashion, after the ceremony we go for lunch at a hall type place. It was a buffet lunch and we were informed (immediately after grace) that we would be having roast chicken, salad, penne pasta in a cream sauce, mashed potatoes, meatballs and "chef's extras" (which mostly included random salads: bean salad, potato salad, lots of pickles and olives and things). Seeing as I never make real meatballs, I was uber-excited for those.

Our turn FINALLY came when our table got excused to go up to the buffet and I made a bee-line for the meatballs...well, after filling my plate with salad (with ranch dressing), about 2 cups of mashed potatoes and a pile of penne alfredo. I balanced the meatballs on top of my mashed potatoes, poured on the gravy and headed back to the table. My mouth was watering like Water Works as I dug in to my lunch, and in typical fashion I started with the salad. I made my way around the plate ending up with the pile of meatballs on the mashed potatoes. I went to town on those bad-boys and found myself left with nothing left on my plate except all the remaining saucy juices. And since the food was so good I knew I needed to get every last nugget of fatty goodness. Luckily, I was thinking ahead and saved half of my roll (that was oozing butter), for just this occasion. I wiped my plate clean, pulling a "kurt" as we call it (or I guess, as I call it), for my brother-in-law who notoriously cleans his plate such that it doesn't even need to be washed.

Just as I finished wiping my plate with my roll my aunt looked up from her plate and commented how well all of the various sauce components of the dishes went together. I couldn't have agreed more. The beef gravy, the ranch dressing and the alfredo sauce mixed in perfect harmony on my butter oozing bread (although we agreed it would be better without the pickle juice). And I'm not even being sarcastic, I'm 100% serious. It was delicious! It's funny how well some of the most unexpected things come together. I'm not sure I'll ever make a dish with a beef gravy, alfredo and ranch dressing sauce on top, but it's a good lesson, you never know what combination of things is going to work well together!

Another lesson learned thanks to Aunt Stel.

The answer is Kosher

I have recently discovered the delight in roasting whole chickens (well, maybe about 2-3 years ago). It started with just the chicken breasts, I'd roast one or two at a time, which was great, but you definitely don't get the same rush pulling two measly breasts out of the oven as you do with a whole chicken. I pretty much mastered the chicken breast (bone-in, skin-on, the only way to go if you're roasting it), producing moist tender chicken every time. I mixed it up, adding different herbs, stuffing different cheeses under the skin, etc... I'd roast a whole chicken every once in awhile, but not that often.

I had a bit more trouble with the whole chicken. Although it seemed it should be so simple, I mean really, how much harder could it be than just the chicken breast? Not that it didn't taste good, it was just inconsistent. Which kind of infuriated me because roast chicken is really a very simple meal that you can dress up or dress down depending on your mood (kind of like a great pair of jeans, which I am still searching for as well). I love that it has very little prep and you just throw it in the oven. You can make for lots of people or, like for us, have lots of chicken leftovers for things like chicken pot pie or chicken enchiladas (my favorites with leftover chicken). The inconsistency drove me a little crazy, I can't deal with things like that. So I started making it less and less often, until tonight, when I had my break-through moment.

Actually I think it was probably a couple months ago when one of my friends mentioned to me that you must must (I do believe she actually did use two musts) use a kosher chicken because it's salted. At least I think that was the reason, but I could definitely be wrong. So yesterday when we went to the grocery store and I was staring blankly at the meat department trying to come up with something for dinner tonight, chicken caught my eye. And I almost forgot about the kosher chicken rule, but I was having trouble finding a good looking chicken so I thought I'd try the kosher section and then I remembered that I was supposed to get a kosher one anyway.

So as you can imagine, I made roast chicken (from a kosher chicken) for dinner tonight. And, if I do say so myself, it was AWESOME. So, yes, the first argument one might make is that perhaps this was just an "on" night for me and my roast chicken. Since my issue in the past wasn't that the chicken was always bad, just inconsistent, perhaps tonight was just one of those good nights. BUT, if you were to make that argument, then clearly you've never had a kosher chicken.

It was more tender, more juicy and more flavorful than any roast chicken I have ever made. By far. By hundreds of miles. Well, ok, maybe that's a stretch, but it was really good if I haven't mentioned that already. Perhaps it was made better by the sweet potatoes that I roasted along side the chicken that also had the chickeny goodness. A total overload of awesome chicken flavor. Holy cow. I had to stop myself from picking up the carcass and gnawing the remnant chicken bits left on the bone.

Even Lola wanted to get in on the chicken action. She is pretty much the pickiest eater in the household, often times not even eating salmon. She rarely, if ever, eats my chicken (even when I think it tastes good). She too, wanted to attack the chicken carcass, I had to wrestle it out of her little paws (she's strong!).

So, I'd love to give you a recipe, but it doesn't matter what recipe you use, just use kosher chicken! Also important though to cook it to the right temperature...I did 170 deg taken in the thigh at the thickest part. And let it rest for 15 minutes after you take it out of the oven.

I think what I did was cook it at 375 for about an hour (I was aiming for 400 but well, my oven sucks) and then at 400 for about 15-20 minutes for maybe a four pound chicken (maybe it was more, or less, I really don't remember). I also brushed the skin with about 1-2 tablespoons of butter, added salt and pepper and stuffed the inside with onions and lemons. But seriously, pay no attention to the cooking temperature or the other extras, just make sure that you get the chicken temperature right and make it kosher! I'd also highly recommend roasting some veggies or potatoes or something inside the pan with the chicken, because it tastes so darn good (you just have to monitor it a little more closely and pull out the veggies if they are done before the chicken). Don't forget like I almost did, buy kosher!