Ick

It was bound to happen eventually. Chicken with Potatoes and Olives sounds mundane. I like all the ingredients. It calls for pre-cooked chicken (I went the rotisserie route). I thought it was going to be a fast, unexciting, chicken-saladish dish to pull together. (Everything is bound together with yogurt)

It WAS fast. It was also nasty.

You don't LOOK revolting.

The problem, for me, was the spice blend. You toast fennel, coriander, and mustard seeds, grind them in a coffee grinder, then add to the mix.

1 tablespoon of mustard seeds is a lot of mustard. Like, A LOT. A ton. A mountain of mustard. My optimistic self thought that all the flavors would balance out. Nope. This was sinus-clearing, horseradish-level mustard flavor, with a floral backnote (the coriander?). I couldn't eat it. I picked at it, dumped it, ate and apple and almond butter, and called it a night. Needless to say, I woke up starving.

Oh, yeah--there's the ugly. All of this got tossed. It hurt my "waste not" heart.

Conclusion: Hated it.

A Waste of Expensive Bacon

Brace yourselves for a tale of woe.

When I read through the recipe for Super Porktastic Meatloaf, I thought, "I like pork." My next thought was, "Wow, there are a lot of vegetables in this meatloaf. Mushrooms and onions cooked in ghee? Okay, I'm with you. Defrosted frozen spinach? Weird, but maybe. A puree of celery, parsley, and coconut cream? Um. Um. Ew. Um. Okay. Okay. Let's go with it."

Shouldn't have gone with it.

Stop now, and throw it out.

This meatloaf was N-A-S-T-Y. We couldn't eat it, it was so disgusting. Matt and I will usually power through and not waste food. We couldn't take a second bite of this. I can't even explain the layers of depravity involved in this meatloaf. It was wet, despite my wringing out of the spinach. The flavor was horrible. The texture was mushy. It's in my top 5 most horrible things I've ever eaten, right up there next to tripe.

Bacon can't save you.

Fortunately, there was a little leftover pork loin in the fridge, and leftover pizza for the kids. 

To make matters worse, I cooked this on Wednesday, knowing that my Thursday was going to be insane, so I was planning on eating the leftovers. I had no other food prepped for yesterday. In any healthy eating lifestyle, meal prep is super important. I don't know if it's MORE important with paleo/whole 30, but I do know that, apart from fruit, raw veg, and nuts, there aren't many grab-and-go options. Yesterday was a struggle. Today, I'm roasting every vegetable in my fridge. I will not be left unprepared again!

On Whole30, you can't buy normal bacon. Oh, no. You need sugar-free bacon. Did you know that there's sugar in normal bacon? There is. Sugar free bacon is fricken expensive. I wasted 6 strips of it on this monstrosity.

Conclusion: Hated it. If I had a category that was lower than Hated it, this would be there. Wish me better luck tonight.

Bad and Good

The photo on the cover of The Food52 Cookbook is so well-shot, so accessible, so attractive, that it makes me want to eat Zucchini Pancakes (pg 77) immediately.

I made them for dinner last week. First of all, it broke my little adopted Neapolitan heart to pay $3.60 for 3 zucchini. That's $1.20 per zucchini! In Italy, I could get at least 2 kilo of zucchini for that price. At least. And their zucchini would be so fresh that they'd still have the flowers attached. I have produce problems in the US. (Operation: Learn to Garden goes into effect next week).

Much to my dismay, these pancakes were awful. Universally reviled. I hate when recipes instruct you to generously salt a vegetable to draw out the moisture, but then there is no mechanism by which to remove the salt. I have this same problem with eggplant recipes. I much prefer the Neapolitan method of drawing moisture from an eggplant (and it, presumably, would work for a zucchini, too), which is to put it out in the hot Italian sun for an hour. Or, another method they have is to soak it in salt water, and then squeeze all the water out. I can personally attest to the success of the water-soaking method. Anyway, I followed the instructions provided by the cookbook, and produced salt bombs. Apart from the salt, they were flavorless. We barely touched them. Bummer.

Conclusion: Hated it.

For a quick lunch, I made Yogurt and Spinach Dip "Borani Esfanaaj," In the Persian Manner (pg 304.) Delicious. I ate the whole thing. I gave a few bites to Matt, and when I was done with the rest of it, he licked the bowl clean. He actually licked the bowl. That counts as success.

Conclusion: Loved it.

Food52: Soggy Quiche

I'm a quiche fan. Every time I have one, I say to myself, "Hey! Make more quiche!" The problem, as I've whined every time I ever have to use it, is that I hate making and using pie/quiche dough. I know it's worth the effort, I just really hate doing it. The Leek, Lemon, and Feta Quiche (pg 246 of The Food52 Cookbook) caught my eye, not because of the quiche filling, but because it circumvents the pie crust problem by using storebought puff pastry.

Right off the bat, I thought the ratio of 3 eggs to a full cup of half and half was weird. I also thought it strange to be instructed to just briefly cook the leeks until they're wilted, but before they give off any liquid. This sounds to me like a recipe for wet quiche. I would think you'd want to cook those leeks until all the liquid is out and they've had a chance to sweeten up and take on flavor from cooking. No? Apparently not.

Result? Wet quiche. The eggy part was very soft. It was an odd texture. I didn't like it at all. There was not a lot of flavor. The lemon zest came through, but, as Matt said, "Why do these eggs taste like lemon? Yuck." Basically, lemon was the only flavor that came through. It smelled delicious while it was baking, but that was an illusion.

Yuck, yuck, yuck. I ate one slice, Matt ate as much as we could, and we threw the rest out. This is the first quiche I've ever made that we didn't obliterate.

Looks good, smells good. Tastes bad.

That said, I loved the puff pastry trick. It was so easy, and cooked up really nicely.

Conclusion: Hated it. I'm keeping the puff pastry idea, but filling it with other quiche mixtures.

Catching Up with Pioneer Woman

I haven't cooked from A Year of Holidays in a while, primarily because most of the recipes don't click with my post-holidays detox. However, I do have a few to catch up on.

One day before Christmas, I brought Eight-Layer Dip to a friend's house (pg 43, from the The Big Game section. I like that Ree counts the Super Bowl as a holiday. Ha!) The entire event provided me with a perfect example of my current refrain of "I'M OVER NAPLES!"

My friend lives on a main drag in Pozzuoli (birthplace of Sophia Loren). We foolishly scheduled a date at 1:00 on a Sunday. I can never find parking in Pozzuoli on Sundays, because all the Italians (and I mean ALL of them) go out to lunch, unless they're going to Mama's. I drove three rounds of the area, which took my 45 minutes because of car and pedestrian traffic, and found a spot in a lot just when I was about to give up. In the lot I normally park in, you don't have to pay on Sundays. I couldn't determine if I had to pay based upon the sign in this lot. It said it was free on "festivi and pre-festivi." So that's on holidays. And pre-holidays??? I don't know. I assume that means the day before a holiday? I pretty much decided that I did have to pay, even though no one else was. I carefully formed a question in my head and asked a man who was in the lot, and after quite a bit of me not knowing what he was saying, he did gesture to the ticket machine and say "bigliette", which means "ticket." I took that to mean that I did need a ticket.

I, of course, had no change, because in most lots, you don't have to pay on Sundays. I went to the restaurant next door and asked if they could break my 20. No. I went across the street and bought a bottle of water. The cashier gave me the look of death, exhaled disgustedly, and gave me my change. They're very territorial regarding their coins here, to the point where I've had people refuse to sell things to me if I try to pay with a bill. And yet, the ATMs distribute 50s. And around and around we go...

Back to the ticket machine. Balancing my 8 layer dip on my knee, I bought my ticket for a few hours. The man I'd spoken with earlier walked up to me. I finally figured out he was saying that he was going to watch my car and make sure it wasn't broken in to. That's a thing, here. You really have no choice in the matter. If you don't pay them a few euro, they'll break your windows next time they see your car. Yay, Italy! Standard procedure is that you pay them when you return to your car and see that it's safe and sound. This guy was demanding money from me up front. I was like, "Dude, I just used all my change to get my ticket," except I don't know how to say that, so I just kept saying, "Bigliette!" like an idiot. Also, like an idiot, I still had the 15 euro in bills that the cashier had given me clutched in my hand (which was also gripping my long, heavy Pyrex tray).

Dude plucked a 5 euro bill out of my hand and walked away. Simultaneously, I realize that my legs were wet. I looked down. The tomatoes had watered down the sour cream, and the entire front of my body was splattered with white water. Jacket, legs, and shoes were soaked. I stormed down Via Napoli, cursing Naples under my breath long after I reached my friend's house. It was two months ago, and I still get pissed off when I think about it.

For what it's worth, my car was unharmed when I returned to it.

The dip was tasty, but the memory of it will always be wrapped up in residual aggravation. We ate 3/4 of a tray while watching The Bourne Identity. That's a lot of refried beans for two girls.

Conclusion: Liked it, but I might need therapy before I can make it again. 

Friends invited us over for dinner shortly before Christmas. I made Spreads (pg 312 of the Christmas section) because they looked quick and easy, and don't involve nuts, which one of her sons is allergic to. It's a basic shortbread type cookie that is spread out on a baking sheet. Right before they're ready, sprinkle chocolate chips on top and bake for another minute. These are supposed to get melty, and then you spread them out so they ice the cookies.

These are the best looking ones, and they're not that great. Most were a wreck.

Yeah. Umm. This didn't work. At all. Maybe my chocolate chips were old or something, but they didn't become spreadable. They were grainy and solid. I kept leaving them in longer and longer, hoping that they'd start to melt. Didn't happen. All I accomplished was overcooking the cookie dough, which, frankly, wasn't particularly delicious.

They looked horrendous, and tasted pretty bad, too. I couldn't bring them to dinner. I had to make a quick cake (Nigella's olive oil chocolate cake) to replace them. The cake was delicious.

Conclusion: Hated them.

For dinner one night, I made Grilled Chicken Skewers (pg 358, the New Years Eve section). This is basically chicken satay. I forgot how much I love chicken satay. This sauce was sweeter than I prefer, but it definitely satisfied the satay craving. I'd cut back on the honey next time. I was sure Charlie would like this. Nope.

Conclusion: Liked it.

FFwD: Butternut Squash and Chestnut Soup

This week's French Fridays with Dorie recipe is Beatrix's Red Kuri Soup. I had to google red kuri squash, because I had no idea what it was. After seeing pictures of it, I knew I was going to have to come up with an alternate plan, because I'd never seen that squash here in Napoli. They have other squashes, but nothing that looks like red kuri.

Fortunately, Dorie provides a bonne idee in the sidebar that butternut squash and chestnuts can mimic the flavor of red kuri. Weird. Weird, and convenient. I already had a butternut squash in the house, and I currently own more roasted, peeled chestnuts than I will ever know what to do with. I still have to catch up on the Pear and Chestnut Soup, so I ordered the vacuum-sealed chestnuts on amazon. I could only get a 4-pack, and I didn't realize that 20 oz bags are huge.

This would be a good spot for me to request all of your favorite chestnut recipes. Really. What am I going to do with all of these???

Unfortunately, my digital scale ran out of batteries. I eyeballed what I thought 7 ounces might be. I think I added way too many chestnuts.

No, grazie.

I wanted to like this soup, so that I could use up the rest of my chestnut supply on it, but I really don't. There's no strong flavor, apart from the sort of muddy taste of the chestnuts. If you blindfolded me, I'd never guess there was butternut squash in there.

Not much else to say. It's better with the chopped apples that she suggests as a topping, but that's only because the apples provide a bit of texture and much-needed flavor.

I'm not a fan.

I'm posting this early, because we're heading to Vienna on Thursday. Yahooo! 

Calabrese

Although I've been plugging along and enjoying recipes from My Calabria, I've (once again) been a delinquent blogger. Thanks for putting up with me.

Lo, these many days ago, on June 11, I cooked Tonno alla Menta (Fresh Tuna Pizzo Style with Wine Vinegar, Garlic, and Mint). Coat sliced tuna in flour, then fry briefly in some olive oil before removing it to a plate. Garlic, vinegar, salt, and mint leaves are whisked into the remaining oil, then poured over the tuna. Easy, fast, unusual, and it's meant to be served at room temp. The tuna should marinate in the sauce for at least 30 minutes, and supposedly improves the longer you leave it.

I don't think I've ever cooked a vinegar + mint combo. It was unusual, tangy, and very delicious. I'm a fan.

Conclusion: Loved it.

Unfortunately, that meal wasn't all grand. I'd also prepared Melanzane all'Insalata (Eggplant Salad with Garlic, Mint, and Hot Peppers). I was never much of an eggplant fan before moving to Italy, but I lo-o-ove them here. The eggplants are smaller, thinner, and much more flavorful than the hulking behemoths we get back home.  Not to mention that the Italian nonna's generous, extravagant use of olive oil works wonders when dealing with melanzane. I've often had an eggplant salad as part of an antipasti course in restaurants, and it's always good. I'd hoped that this recipe would turn out similar to those.

It didn't.

This was disgusting.

There's nothing appealing about that.

First of all, the eggplant are left whole, with slits down the sides, and boiled. Once cooked, they dry in a colander for an hour. Then, pour a mixture of vinegar, oil, garlic, hot pepper, mint and salt over the eggplant, and leave at room temp to marinate for 24 hours.

There was nothing good about this. The temperature, slimy texture, and hyper-vinegarized flavor were all totally gross. Neither one of us ate more than a bite. I wasted a lot of eggplant on this one. Not happy.

Conclusion: Hated it.

Another day, I made Pollo con Melanzane (Braised Chicken with Eggplant, Tomatoes, and Pancetta). I could do without the chicken in this recipe. The thighs didn't absorb any flavor. They just turned out as your standard chicken thigh. The sauce, on the other hand, was amaze-balls. It reminded me of an easy recipe that an Italian woman that I know here taught me, in which cubes of eggplant are fried in peanut oil, then mixed into tomato sauce, except (shh! Don't tell!) this was even more delicious.

This recipe has you fry the eggplant in olive oil, but I stuck with my Italian's peanut oil. I hate wasting so much delicious olive oil just to fry something.

Cooking pancetta and garlic in olive oil, browning the chicken thighs, pouring in some white wine and letting it evaporate, then adding tomato puree and cooking it down until the chicken is finished takes this sauce over the edge. I want to try this without the chicken. I'm sure the chicken fat adds some flavor to the sauce, but the chicken itself couldn't compete with the sauce. I served mine on cannelini beans, but this would be equally great on rice, pasta, or just on a plate.

Conclusion: Loved it (sans chicken).

Last, but definitely not least, I brought Polpette di Melanzane (Crispy Eggplant Meatballs) to a friend's bbq yesterday. (Can you tell that it's eggplant season?) This is an appetizer that I've had at restaurants, and it's one of my favorite new foods that I've eaten since moving to Napoli. I knew I was going to try this recipe before leaving this book, and this seemed like a prime opportunity.

I was surprised at how easy this was. Boil diced eggplant for 10 minutes. Drain, cool, and squeeze out the water. Then, you just chop it up (it's already pretty mushy), mix it up with breadcrumbs, grated cheese, parsley, garlic, and an egg, roll small balls in more breadcrumbs, and fry in olive oil.

Homina homina homina. FEED MY FACE.

They were so good fresh out of the oil that they almost didn't make it to the BBQ. They were still wonderful at room temp. Two people separately asked me for the recipe. Even Charlie ate one. If my kid will eat eggplant in this form, it'll be a new staple in my house. I had to call them meatballs, but he didn't notice foul play.

It's a pet peeve of mine when I follow the measurements and sizing instructions in a recipe and end up with a drastically different number of items. I am delighted to report that this recipe says it will make 32 1-inch meatballs, and that is exactly the number I got. Bonus points!

Conclusion: LOVED it.

FFwD: Christine's Simple Party Soups

This week's French Fridays with Dorie recipe is basically one recipe that applies to a trio of soups: asparagus, red pepper, and broccoli. I only made the broccoli, because I'm too lazy to make three bland-sounding soups that no one but me will eat. In general, I love Dorie's soups. These just sounded so uninteresting. The recipe, in its entirety is: boil broth. Cut veg into small bits. Add salt and pepper. Boil until it's soft enough to puree.

The one interesting note is that each is topped with a different flavored whipped cream. The broccoli is paired with a curry whipped cream.

Against my better judgment, I bought broccoli at the commissary, because I was there and didn't want to make a trip out in town just for broccoli. The produce at the commissary is abysmal. For some mysterious reason, they chop heads of broccoli into pieces and saran wrap them together instead of simply selling heads of lettuce. I guess it stretches each head farther this way, because I'd need to buy 3 to constitute a normal head of broccoli. I find their broccoli repulsive and unappetizing, because it's often moldy in parts that you couldn't see when you bought it, and it's always dried out and brownish where it's been cut.

I didn't cut this. This is how it came. This is two packs of broccoli.

Anyway, I made the soup. It's disgusting and bitter. I'm guessing that's some funky flavor from my funky broccoli. The curry cream sort of improved things, but not enough to make me eat more than two spoonfuls. Even if it weren't bitter, it would still be B-O-R-I-N-G.

Now what can I have for lunch?

This week, I also made up one of the group's early recipes: Michel Rostang's Double Chocolate Mousse Cake. Our Italian friends invited us over for dinner, and this was a perfect dessert to bring. They loved it. Me? Knowing the number of steps involved (make chocolate mousse. Bake a portion of it in a springform pan. Let cool. Layer on the remainder, and bake that), I'd rather just have an easier and more luscious brownie. Don't get me wrong. This was good. It just wasn't worth the amount of work involved for me.

Rome: Cacio e Pepe

My #1 favorite, can't-resist-ordering-it, when-it's-done-well-it's-the-best-thing-ever pasta dish that I've fallen for since moving to Napoli is cacio e pepe. I know damn well that this dish is "simple" and that it hardly costs anything to prepare, as the list of ingredients looks a little something like this: pasta, peppercorns, salt, olive oil, pecorino romano cheese. Cheap, cheap, cheap. Good, good, good.

My favorite restaurant in Rome adds truffles to their version. Mother of God.

I must learn to make cacio e pepe, or else I'll be plunged into a tastebud depression when I move back stateside. It was a no-brainer that I would test out the recipe in Rome (pg 109).

Rome's version taught me that a simple list of ingredients does not mean that it's a simple recipe to get right. My cacio e pepe was a mess.

First, toast the peppercorns, then bash them with a rolling pin until they're coarsely ground. Straightforward enough.

Boil pasta until nearly done. Easy.

Add a ladle of the pasta's cooking water and some olive oil to a pan, add a handful of cheese, and mix vigorously. Add the pasta, then add the rest of the cheese, the crushed pepper, and as much water as is necessary to make a sauce.

Sounds simple, right? Wrong.

Mix as I might, the cheese refused to combine with the water and oil. It clung to the pan, and the oil kept separating from the water. Adding the pasta did not spread things out. I added the remaining cheese, which also, once mixed, stuck to the pan, the spoon--everything but the pasta. Adding water did not help.

Disgracing the name Cacio e Pepe.

Ever eat pasta with globs of intensely peppered, re-solidified cheese scraped on top? Unpleasant. Very unpleasant. 

I refuse to believe that cacio e pepe must be prepared by professionals. I will figure this out. (Amy, back me up if I ask Vera to teach us!)

Conclusion: Hated it. Disaster.

Never Had A Potato I Didn't Like

Grilled Potatoes with Garlic-Herb Oil (pg 313) were simple to prepare (despite the two-part cooking process) and mighty tasty. First, parboil the potatoes, then grill them for two minutes per side, until charred. If you're already planning to grill some meat for dinner, this hardly counts as an extra step. Once cooked, toss them with oil, garlic, and, according to Martha, parsley. According to me, rosemary, because that's what I had.

Conclusion: Liked it. Smokey, charred, grilled flavor makes everything better, right?

Sorry about the ghastly photo.

Unfortunately, I paired this with Mashed Carrots with Honey and Chili Powder (pg 355). Nasty. I couldn't get the carrots to mash into a nice smooth texture, despite the fact that they'd been cut up small and steamed for 25 minutes. They were watery, in flavor and mouth-feel, and the honey and chili powder only enhanced how flavorless the carrots were. No me gusta.

Conclusion: Hated it. The tiny glob you see in the picture was portioned as such because I'd already tasted it. I couldn't even make myself eat that little bit. Yick.

Indianish

Perhaps I should have known better, but I didn't.

Last night I made two dishes from Meatless that seemed like they'd go together: Spiced Tofu with Wilted Spinach and Yogurt (aka Saag Paneer, pg 97) and Stewed Lentils (without yogurt and cucumbers) (aka daal, pg 114). Two of my absolute favorite thinks in the world are saag and daal.

Martha's version of saag includes tofu. I've never had any luck preparing tofu, and this dish was especially horrid. First of all, the tofu is not spiced, as the title would have you believe. Your fry it in a bit of oil, then sprinkle it with salt. I guess technically, salt is a spice, but not really. The tofu is added to the spinach and yogurt mixture, which is grossly underspiced. I ate my serving, but I didn't like it. Matt took one bite, spit it out, and reheated a 4 day old burger patty. That's how bad it was, even after I dumped extra spice in an attempt to rescue it.

Conclusion: Hated it.

Awful. So awful.

The daal was better, but not much. As written, this, too, was unbelievably bland. I added some ghee, because ghee makes everything better, and then dumped in a butt-load of extra spices. In the end, the daal turned out to be edible, and I'll probably work through the copious leftovers, but I will never make this recipe again.

Conclusion: Hated it (as written).

I'm sorry, Madhur Jaffrey. Next time I want Indian, I'll take the time to do it the right way. Your way.

This Burger Has No Integrity

In Jerusalem, the photo of Turkey & Zucchini Burgers with Green Onion & Cumin (recipe on 200) is gorgeous. Bright green shreds of zucchini contrast against the reddish browning on the patties. Irresistible.

They didn't turn out at all as I expected.  The outcome may have been different if there was a step in which you drained the shredded zucchini for a half hour, but there wasn't, so these burgers were wet. I don't mean that they were moist and delicious. I mean that they were wet. I found it unpleasant to eat, and they were hard to cook. Because they were so wet, the patties lacked integrity and were falling apart in the pan. Very difficult to flip. The zucchini released so much water that the oil was spitting all over my stovetop. It aggravated me, because it felt like a poorly written recipe. Something must have been missing, because I can't imagine they're meant to be so difficult to work with. I did not make the yogurt dressing for the burgers, because I'm not supposed to eat dairy on my diet. I'm sure the sauce would have jazzed it up a bit, but the burgers themselves weren't very flavorful, despite all the mint, cilantro, garlic, cumin, cayenne, and sumac (which wasn't technically part of the burger recipe, but it was part of the sauce, so I added it to my meat). If I had to describe these burgers in one word, I'd stick with "wet."

They looked much more fetching in the book.

Conclusion: Disliked. I didn't even keep the leftovers. Charlie did eat half a patty, but I disliked these enough that I will not be making them again.

I also made Spicy Carrot Salad (pg 65). I was excited to try out my new tube of harissa paste. Holy mother of God. A tablespoon of harissa is WAY TOO MUCH spice for 3 stinkin' carrots. I'm just glad I'd halved the recipe, because this salad was inedible. Even Matt, who enjoys much hotter food than I do, stopped at one carrot slice. These went right into the garbage.

MOLTEN LAVA.

Conclusion: Hated it.

I'm beginning to suspect that Ottolenghi and I have very different food preferences. Too many of these recipes are too much--too salty, too spicy--for my taste. However, the ones that are good are great, and there are lots more I want to try. It's unsettling to me that the recipes yield such unreliable results, though.

By Jove, It's Working!

I hesitate to even say this, for fear of jinxing it, but Charlie has been more cooperative and put up less of a fight in terms of trying dinner for the past few days. We've even had some bonafide successes! Vegetables are still a hurdle, but he's doing much better in the meat department. Yesterday, for lunch, he ate an entire tuna fish sandwich. WHAAAAT??? Maybe it's foolish, but I don't stress about the veg. This kid eats his weight in fruit. I'll keep presenting him with vegetables, but meat was a much bigger concern for me than vegetables were.

The Basic Dry Rub (pg 26 of Weight Watchers New Complete Cookbook) is a sweet mix of brown sugar, chili powder, cumin, paprica, oregano, garlic and onion powder, and salt. I rubbed it into a london broil, let it sit for a bit, then grilled that baby up to juicy perfection. Even Matt, the steak-master, was pleased. The biggest surprise, though, is that Charlie sat down without a fuss and promptly ate several chunks of steak. He has never--I repeat, never--eaten any type of steak. Word!

Conclusion: Loved it. The recipe makes enough rub for 2 meals, so I happily have some stored away in a jar.

Wild Rice Salad with Pecans and Cranberries (pg 94) seemed like a good idea. It originally caught my eye because it would use up the wee cup of wild rice that moved here from Texas with my pantry items. Then, I thought it might stand a chance with Charlie, because it includes red grapes and dry cranberries, which are two of his favorite things. It also has toasted pecans, celery, parsley, and a vinaigrette mixed in. Sounds like it could be good, but it wasn't really. It was missing pizzazz. I couldn't figure out how to brighten it up.

Conclusion: Disliked. A waste of a variety of tasty ingredients.

Like the rice salad, Sweet and Sour Grilled Fennel (pg 270) sounded good, and failed. Perhaps I sliced it too thick, but it there was no way to cook it through without burning it. The recipe also suffered from poor instructions. After grilling it for four minutes per side, you are instructed to brush it with a balsamic vinegar/brown sugar mixture, then grill for another minute. I couldn't figure out whether this was supposed to be grilled face up or face down for this extra minute. I opted for face-down, but I'm still not sure it was correct. Anyway, these turned out burned (not caramelized. Burned) on the outside and crunchy on the inside. The balsamic dressing totally overwhelmed the subtler fennel flavor. No me gusta.

Conclusion: Hated it.

The next night, I made Chicken with Olives and Dates (pg 184). The title is a bit disingenuous. The recipe calls for two dates. TWO DATES. With 1/4 chopped apricot, it should be called Chicken with Olives and Apricots. I digress.

Once again, this sounded better than it was. Chicken is marinated for at least an hour with oil, garlic, fresh ginger, cumin, paprika, turmeric, cinnamon, and salt. Cook the chicken, covered, with a bit of broth (I needed to add more several times, because 1/4 cup of broth evaporates very quickly). After 15 minutes, flip the chicken and add apricots, your two stupid dates, chopped olives, and lemon zest. This is supposed to cook for another 15 minutes. Again, I added a good bit more broth to keep all these sugary dried fruits from burning to the pan.

I like the idea of this dish. The sweet to savory balance was off. It was very sweet, but with a strong enough garlic flavor that it made the fruit taste weird. In a bad way. Matt said he couldn't taste anything but the sweetness. Charlie ate all the chicken I put on his plate. Even though we weren't big fans of this dish, I may make it again, just because Charlie seemed to like it. He didn't eat any of the fruity part--just the chicken, so maybe I'll like it better if I just marinate the chicken, and cook as-is.

Conclusion: Just okay. The fact that Charlie ate it tips the scale in its favor, from dislike.

Most of the time, Matt is pretty indifferent to this cookbook exploration of mine. But then there are nights like last night, when he probably wishes I would just stop trying new things and stick to some foolproof recipes. With dishes like Tofu Stir-Fry (pg 228), I can't blame him.

This is the first recipe I've cooked from this book that screamed "diet food." The only reason I tried this is because I'm trying to be extra-good this week, to mitigate the damage when I eat with abandon at our Italian friends' house this coming weekend (which also happens to be our 6th anniversary, so I'm bringing a chocolate cheesecake, dammit! Diet? What diet?)

I like stir fry. Sometimes, I even like tofu. However, to like tofu, it needs to be browned and a little crispy on the outside, and to have absorbed a lot of flavor. In this dish, tofu is tossed in with all the cooked vegetables during the last four minutes. The only flavoring in this stir fry is a small amount of soy sauce, a small amount of sesame oil, and a pinch of red pepper flakes. I added chili and ginger powder and extra salt to even make it edible. Matt and I were both starving, so we ate two bowls of this, with brown rice. By the second bowl, we were both gagging on the now-cold, mushy textured tofu. Our stomachs were growling again by the time we went to bed.

This was my first time cooking tofu. If I didn't know it could be done better, it would be my last. Martha Stewart's book, Meatless, arrived yesterday. Because of the night's dinner disappointment, her recipe for tofu stir fry jumped out at me. Step one: Brown the tofu. Thought so!


Conclusion: Hated it. Oh, how I hated it. I gave some to Charlie, but opted against pushing him on it, for fear of undoing our progress. He did eat his brown rice.

One of the disadvantages of sending your kid to bed without a full belly is that they wake up hungry. Shocker, right? On Sunday, Charlie marched into my room at 630 am, poked my face, and barked, "GET UP. BREAKFAST." Not the most pleasant way to start the day (and certainly less pleasant than his normal, cheerful, "Good moooooorning!") I made the mistake of asking him what he wanted instead of just putting a bowl of cereal in front of him. He wanted pancakes. I'm not a big fan of making pancakes pre-coffee, but I sucked it up. I hesitate to count this as a distinct recipe, since I already did the buckwheat variation, but this time I made the Whole Wheat Pancakes (pg 39). I noticed, in my uncaffeinated haze, that the WW pancake recipe includes a lot of sugar. 1/3 of a cup. I asked Matt how much sugar he usually puts in pancake batter (he's the from-scratch pancake guy. I usually just open a box of Krusteaz.) His normal recipe, based off of How to Cook Everything, only uses 2 tablespoons. Hmmm. Something stinks in the land of Weight Watchers.

Like with the buckwheat, these pancakes were not exceptionally whole wheatey, and all that sugar calls the nutritional value into question. I'll probably just stick with Bittman, and toss some whole wheat flour in.

Conclusion: Just okay.

In Ascending Order of Greatness

It's been drizzly and cold for the past week. Not blizzard-cold, but damp and stormy, in the 40-50 degree range. Fortunately, Nigella Kitchen is packed with comfort food recipes that sound just right on a blustery day. I assume this has to do with Nigella's ingrained Englishness, because it's certainly not something that can be said for every cookbook out there.

I've covered quite a few recipes in the past week, so I'll start with the bad news, and work my way up to the glory that was last night's dinner.

Italian Tomato and Pasta Soup (pg 470-471) is a simple enough recipe. All you do is cook sauteed onion and "6 large, ripe, fabulous tomatoes" (peeled and chopped) in water, salt, pepper, and sugar for 40 minutes. Puree. Boil again. Cook pasta in the soup.

"Fabulous tomatoes" is the most important part of this recipe. My tomatoes were not fabulous. They were average. I'll give the recipe the benefit of the doubt that this was the cause of the soup's downfall. This was vile. It tasted like slightly-sweet water. I didn't even serve this. I didn't bother adding (ie, wasting) the pasta after I tasted it. It was not salvageable. We ate leftovers for dinner.

That is one sad soup.

Conclusion: Hated it, but with the disclaimer that perfectly ripe tomatoes may make a huge difference. I doubt I'll try it again in peak season, though.

I've never been a big gnocchi fan. It's entirely possible that I've never had "good" gnocchi, but every time I have had it, it's just a plate of heavy dumpling bombs that make my stomach hurt. Every supermarket here has packs of nice looking gnocchi in the refrigerator, though, so I thought I'd give Nigella's Rapid Roastini (pg 68) a try. No boiling involved. All you do here is fry the gnocchi in oil for four minutes per side. Mine browned up in a lot less time than that. If I left them for four minutes per side, they'd have burned. I don't recommend taking your eyes off of them. I kept rolling them around so all the sides browned nicely.

Nigella says that these taste like roasted potatoes. That's not true. They are tasty, though. I couldn't eat very many, because, like all gnocchi dishes, they felt too heavy in my tum. Matt finished mine.

Conclusion: Liked them. A nice, easy side dish that I can see myself making again, just because it takes so little effort. I'm sure Charlie would have liked them if he'd been willing to try them. It is so frustrating to have a kid who won't even try new food. I wouldn't care if he tasted it and didn't like it. It drives me crazy that he won't even put it in his mouth, though. I had no idea a child could survive on nothing but English Muffins with cream cheese, and fruit. Doesn't that get boring?? Ugh.

Irish Oaten Rolls (pg 87) are quick little soda breads made out of whole wheat flour and oats. Guinness and honey give the rolls a sweet backnote, but the main flavor is of the whole wheat. The crumb is moist and delicate (I wish my butter was softer, because it ripped up my roll). These are a really nice vessel for a smear of butter and a glob of marmalade.

Nom nom nom

Conclusion: Liked them. Charlie kept singing about cookies while I was taking them out of the oven, so he was mighty disappointed when he bit into his roll. The look on his face was priceless.

How have I lived 32 years without ever putting cheddar cheese in my mashed potatoes? Nigella's method for making mashed potatoes strikes me as overly complicated. Do people really boil whole potatoes for 40 minutes?? I cut those babies up and cooked them in half the time. I just made the potatoes as I normally do, then mixed in the cheddar cheese.

Conclusion: Cheddar Mashed Potatoes (pg 407) are genius. Love them. Am certain Charlie would have liked them if he were open to tasting it. I smeared some on his tongue while he was trying to avoid the fork, and he promptly licked my shoulder to get it off. I can't win. He better get used to them, though, because I'm going to be making these every day for the rest of his life.

We had spinach, too, lest you think I never eat a vegetable

And now, the coup de grace. Ed's Mother's Meatloaf (pg 458). I wish my mother cooked like Ed's mother. My mom's meatloaf was ground beef, mixed with raw onions, slathered with tomato sauce, and baked until gray and dry. Gross.

Matt's mom makes a good meatloaf, involving multiple types of ground meat, and covered in bacon. Even I like it. It's Matt's favorite thing that his mom cooks, and it's what he asks for when we go back for visits.

Matt took one bite of Nigella's recipe and announced, "This destroys my mom's meatloaf." 

I wasn't sure it was going to turn out so great as I was putting it together. For one thing, There are hard boiled eggs in the center. Huh? That's weird. Matt says it's not that weird--that German's are always sticking hard boiled eggs into assorted loafed meat recipes. After eating it, I have to agree that it works. It's weird, but it works.

The only other flavoring agents are onions and worcestershire sauce. This worried me, because it struck a little too close to home, regarding my own mother's "recipe." The difference is that these onions are cooked until soft and sweet for 25 minutes in a heap of butter before being mixed with the meat. The loaf is covered in bacon, which crisped nicely in the oven, and the bottom of the loaf was caramelized in salty bacony greasy goodness.

Don't make this if you're on a diet.

Do make this if you want a delicious meatloaf.

Me: I think the slow-cooked onions are what make this so good.
Matt: I think the everything about it is what makes it so good.

He then asked me if I can cook this regularly. I'm going to need to start eating more salads.

Conclusion: Loved it so much.

FFwD: David's Seaweed Sables

Right off the bat, David's Seaweed Sables sounded awful to me. Seaweed does not seem like the type of flavor that lends itself to a sweet/salty mashup of deliciousness. However, this recipe comes to Dorie via David Lebovitz, who I love and adore, and whose book, Ready for Dessert, is the most reliably knock-my-socks-off book I've ever cooked from, so I decided to withhold judgment until I tasted one.

Yeah. Well. Apparently I'm not sophisticated enough to hang with Dorie and David. Wish David had given her a recipe for bacon sables, as mentioned in the intro. I'd be all over those.

I'm not 100% sure that I bought the right nori. The recipe calls for toasted nori. All I found was roasted nori. Same thing? Beats me. I think it's right.

Everything came together very easily in the food processor, so the recipe has that going for it. Once blitzed, and then while baking, they smelled like the South Street Seaport, circa 1989. Not good.

Thanks for the sea salt, Pauline!

My favorite thing about this recipe was he contrast of the pretty salmon colored Alaea Sea Salt that my friend sent me from Hawaii against the light olive-toned sables. Looking at them was all they were good for. Couldn't eat them. Fishy + sweet = unpleasant. I poured a glass of wine, which did nothing to enhance the flavor of the cookie, but did help to burn the terrible aftertaste out of my mouth. I hated them. Matt took one whiff and didn't bother tasting one.

I also made last week's Lime Honey Beet Salad. Another dud. My problem was with the dressing, not the beets. It tasted like detergent to me. I threw it out. June is not being good to me, as far as these recipes go.

I'm off for NY tomorrow, and, from there, on to Naples in August. I've decided to bring Around My French Table with me in my luggage, so I'll do my best to keep up with the recipes for the next few months, until I'm reunited with all of my belongings, which I anticipate to be around October. It'll all depend on whether or not I can make the recipe without a well-stocked pantry or special equipment. Anyway, so I may go missing for a while, but I'll still be reading everyone's posts on Fridays! Wish me luck, and have a great summer!

FFwD: Almond Flounder (ahem, Tilapia) Meuniere

Matt had to go to a conference in DC for the week, so, in the name of pantry-and-freezer-emptying, I seized the masochistic opportunity to eat a stockpile of Nutrisystem meals that have been sitting around for over a year. I look at those boxes and see dollar signs, and I just can't bring myself to throw them out. They're nasty, though. Really nasty.

I don't mean to come down too hard on Nutrisystem. For some reason--desperation? a less-refined palate?--I didn't gag on them in the past. NS served me well both times I used it, and helped me lose 20+ pounds pre-wedding, then post-baby. Also, it always slaps me in the face with how few fruits and vegetables I eat in a day, when left to my own devices. Maybe it's because I'm just eating the meals to eat them, rather than as a means to an end, but I'm having a really hard time swallowing them. They may start accidentally falling in the trash can. hehe. Anyway. What this all leads up to is that, after a few of these wretched meals, I was really, really looking forward to this week's French Fridays with Dorie recipe: Almond Flounder Meuniere (pg 290 of Around My French Table.) I couldn't get my hands on flounder, so I used tilapia, for no reason other than that the cutlets were fairly flat, and I have it in my head, with no proof, that flounder is, too.

This fish couldn't be easier to prepare. Brush some egg yolk on one side of the fish, then dredge it in a mixture of ground almonds, flour, salt, pepper, and lemon zest. I had no lemons, so I took a chance and used orange zest. It was a delicious impulse. The fish is then cooked for a few minutes on each side in browned butter. YUM. I'm just sad that I haven't made this dish sooner. It's so easy and so tasty.

Conclusion: Loved it.

Unfortunately, I can't say the same for a catch-up recipe that I made last week. My freezer-purge finally prompted me to cook Short Ribs in Red Wine and Port (pg 254). Months ago, I bought frozen short ribs from the grass-fed beef guy at my farmer's market. I came home, threw them in my freezer, and haven't touched them since.

Who wants a fat sandwich?

I won't get too involved with the preparation, since it's so far in the past for everyone else, but I hated the outcome. I must have skimmed six inches of grease off the surface of the broth, and there were still great globules of fat on the bones. My stomach lurched just looking at them, and then when they turned out to just taste like stew beef (my most loathed enemy), I gave up and ate a bowl of Cheerios for dinner instead. For the record, Matt liked it. I hope the memory stands by him, because he's never having it again. ha!

Conclusion: Hated it.

FFwD: I'm here! I'm here!

I haven't forgotten Dorie. We took a trip to New Orleans (I'm now in love with NO), and though I completed both Asparagus and Bits of Bacon (pg 330 of Around My French Table) and the Sardine Rillettes (pg 25) before we left, I never managed to post about it. Whattaya gonna do?

As far as the asparagus goes, there were no surprises. It's a fairly familiar flavor combo, so I have no strong response or dramatic stories to tell regarding it. Will it replace my standard preference of just grilling the asparagus with a bit of oil, salt, and pepper? Nah, probably not. It's nice to have a recipe every now and then that is exactly what you expect and want it to be.

Conclusion: Liked it.

Now. I don't even know where to start with the sardine rillettes. I, like the few Doristas whose posts I've caught up on, bought the most expensive sardines in the store, just to give myself a fighting chance, not that they were really that pricey. Didn't realize I'd have to de-bone them. Honestly, I started out being okay with that idea. I thought it would be self-explanatory once I got in there, because Dorie didn't really provide much by way of instruction besides "lift away the bones" and cut the tail off. I thought the fish's spine (if that's what it was) was pretty cool, and I confess to studying the teeny tiny little vertebrae. While I had my face that close, I noticed almost-invisible slivers of bone in the meat. I attempted to remove those, too, and that's when everything started downhill. I destroyed the first sardine and came to the conclusion that the splintery bones were meant to stay in. I scraped the spine out of the next fish, and then started to get skeeved out that my hands were covered in sloughed-off scales and skin. I decided to scrape the skin off. Mistake. My stomach lurched on the second fish, and between the mess and the smell, I'd had enough after three fish. There wasn't a chance in hell that I was going to muck about with two entire tins of sardines. Nuh-uh. No way.

I mashed my three sardines up with my cream cheese, shallot, scallion, chive, and lemon mixture, then stuck it in the fridge for two hours.

Proof.

I've read that a few folks thought this tasted like tuna. I thought it tasted like tuna's aftertaste, which is a very different thing than tasting like tuna itself. Maybe if I'd used the whole tin, it would have tasted more tuna-ey, but I can't even imagine that adding more fish would have fixed it. One bite was enough for me. That cream cheese mixture, minus the sardines, would have been kick-ass on an Everything bagel, though. Matt thought he liked it after one bite, but by the third, he decided that he didn't like it. This one was a big old bust, and I'm glad it's out of the way so I never have to eat it again.

Conclusion: Hated it.

Going Out With a Bang...

...and not the good kind. More like the gruesome, I just got someone's brains in my mouth kind. Okay, that may be a bit extreme. The meal I made for dinner tonight was bad. Really bad.

Once again, my kitchen has exploded. This time, the results were not worth it. Definitely. Not. Worth. It. Oh, Ellie, no one is going to believe me that there are good recipes in your book. This one was especially foul, despite it's delicious title: Beef Tenderloin with Rosemary and Chocolate (pg 180). I used eye round instead of tenderloin, because tenderloin was too expensive, post-Santa. I'm glad I swapped meats, because I would have been furious if I had a tenderloin and cooked it to 140, which was her recommendation for medium-rare. I removed this at 115, and it was medium. For a roast beef, I can accept that. For a tenderloin, I would have flipped out.

I didn't defile the meat with sauce. You'll have to use your imagination.

I'm straying from the point. The meat is only seasoned with salt and pepper, so the interest of this dish is in the sauce. The horrible, horrible sauce. Standard broth vegetables are cooked for a few minutes, then wine, beef broth, and tomato paste are added. It boils for 40 minutes, then is strained, at which point you stir in rosemary and cocoa powder. It tasted like dirt. Literally.

Conclusion: Hated it, obviously. 

To accompany this travesty, I made something I'd had my eye on that I didn't get around to from Perfect Vegetables: Sauteed Tender Greens with Caramelized Onions and Dried Apricots (pg 141). I picked up irresistably beautiful swiss chard at the farmer's market today, and instantly thought of this dish. I also picked up these radishes at the market, because my sense of humor is that of a 12 year old boy, and I could not stop laughing when I saw this...

In case you can't read the sticker, it says "Red Rocket Radishes." Hee. Heehee.

 Anyone know what to do with radishes? Ellie has a few salads with them, which I probably would never try if not for this impulse purchase. I don't even like radishes. What was I thinking? HA!

As far as the swiss chard goes, all I'm going to say is that dried apricots, garlic onion, and anchovy paste are not flavors that mesh. Hated it.

Fortunately, we ended the night with my not-quite-on-Christmas-Plum-Pudding. This was not all that different from my Mom's fruit cake, which is not a complaint. I love my Mom's fruit cake. Fruit cake gets a bad rap. If it's made with real dried fruit, as opposed to that citron crap, and it's brandy-soaked and moist, it's awesome. I like that the pudding is served warm, with boozy hard sauce melting all over it, but otherwise, I'm not sure it's worth the difference in effort between baking a fruit cake vs. steaming a plum pudding for four hours, and then steaming it again for 1.5 hours before serving.

I may not make this again, but I'm glad I made it once, especially because I had no clue what a plum pudding really was until now. The problem now is that there is SO much left.

A little of this stuff goes a long way. If anyone wants to hop a flight to Corpus Christi to try some, I can guarantee you it'll still be here when you arrive.

The other night, with Dorie's cauliflower, I made Ellie's Roasted Pork Loin (pg 198 of The Food You Crave). Full confession: I've made this recipe many, many times before. Make paste out of garlic and salt, then mix in olive oil, sage, rosemary, thyme, and pepper, then rub into the meat and cook. Easy and delicious. 

Conclusion: Love it, time and again.

I hope you all had a wonderful New Years, and that your 2012 is full of adventurous cooking and satisfying eating.

The Vegetables are Outrunning Me

I have quite a few recipes from Perfect Vegetables that I haven't posted about, so I'll jump right in.

I love fennel. Anything licorice-ey, really. Fennel and Tangerine Slaw (pg 125) caught my eye after I'd bought some tangerines at the farmer's market. This slaw had too much mustard in it for my taste. It overpowered every other flavor. If someone told me I was eating cabbage, I'd have believed them.

Conclusion: Disliked.

Slaw and sweet  potatoes.

Despite how horrible the baked oven fries were, I tried Master Recipe for Oven-Fried Sweet Potatoes (pg 290), because I would love to find a decent, un-fried french fry substitute. The method for cooking these was different. For the sweet potatoes, you just toss the sliced sweet potatoes with peanut oil, salt, and pepper, then bake. My ideal fry is crisp on the outside and moist/mushy on the inside. These just came out like roasted sweet potatoes, which, I guess is what they are. I need to stop looking for fries in my oven. I think it's a lost cause.

Conclusion: Liked them, if I think of them as roasted sweet potatoes. They're not a fry replacement, though.

Perfect Vegetables' recipe for Sauteed Zucchini (pg 315) says that if you salt the zucchini and let it sit for a half hour, it will brown when you sautee it. I don't think enough liquid came out of mine. They said 1/3rd of a cup would drain. After cooking the zucchini for ten minutes, as instructed, every last slice was mushy. It was brownish, but I expected a nice, flavorful, caramelized brown. I'd rather just lightly sautee it with garlic, like I usually do.

Conclusion: Hated it. I didn't eat mine.

The good and the bad.

On a much happier note, Mashed Rutabagas with Apples, Sage, and Bacon (pg 279) was great. It had me at "add the shallot and apple to the bacon drippings in the pan." Don't mind if I do. I made the recipe as written this time--cream, butter, bacon and all. I think that replacing the cream with milk and cutting back (or maybe omitting) the butter would still be good. Maybe not as good, but good enough. Matt said that this was the first time in his life he liked rutabaga.

Conclusion: Loved it. Yum yum.

All my life, I thought artichokes were some fancy-shmance food that people only ate on special occasions. Imagine my disappointment the first time I ate one. I built them up too much in my imagination. They don't taste like a whole lot. I've had them stuffed, I've had them dipped in butter. I've never been impressed. Figured I'd try Master Recipe for Steamed Artichokes (pg 4). I have to say, I don't understand why they call so many things that have no variations a "master recipe." They provide no other way to make a steamed artichoke, or season a steamed artichoke. Shouldn't it just be called "Steamed artichokes"? I digress.

Why bother?

These were easy enough to make. Clip the tips of the leaves, cut the top and the stem off, and then place the artichoke on an onion ring settled in water. Then you just boil it for a half hour. I melted some butter to dip the leaves in. Easy as they were, they still didn't impress me. Oh well. No harm done.

Conclusion: Just okay.

Okay, that's it for now.

Their Problem is Hyperbolic Labeling

I think part of what bugs me with the ATK/CI crew is their over-inflated sense of self. They don't just publish a book of International Recipes. It has to be "Best International Recipes." They don't just publish a book of vegetables. It has to be "Perfect Vegetables." I judge them more harshly because of this than I would if the book were simply called "Vegetables," or even "Great Vegetables." If you promise me perfection, you better produce perfection. Anyway.

This'll be quick as I can make it, though I do have a number of things to catch up on. Things have slowed down on the nanowrimo front, about which I'm not happy, but it felt like things were running away from me over here, so I just want to catch up real quick, while Charlie is babbling in his crib instead of napping.

The Master Recipe for Oven Fries (pg 229) produced dried out, thin-cut fries. It was a promising concept. Their technique is to steam, then oil, then bake. I like my fries crispy on the outside and mushy on the inside. A baked potato has more moisture in it than these bad boys. Bad.

Conclusion: As far as fries go, hated them. I mean, I still ate them, but this is a terrible oven fry recipe.

Those fries look better than they were.

However, with it, I served Sauteed Shredded Zucchini with Sweet Corn and Chives (pg 315). Sweet, a little buttery, with a nice, mild oniony flavor from the chives and shallot. Yum. Seems like a good way to get zucchini into a kid, because it's sort of just in the background to the corn. Assuming your kid will eat corn, that is, which mine will not. I'll keep trying this one on Charlie. Someday, he's bound to taste it.

Conclusion: Liked it.

However you imagine Orecchiette (Penne, for me) with Broccoli, Sausage, and Roasted Peppers (pg 44) to taste is, I'm sure, accurate. I made this because it was easy. It was fine, but nothing that I'd ever crave.

I was starving. No time for a glamor shot.

Conclusion: Just okay.

Last night, I made Roasted Winter Squash with Soy and Maple (pg 309). Personally, I loved this. In the last five minutes of roasting, the cut side of the squash is smeared with a combo of soy sauce, maple syrup, and grated ginger. The result seems to amplify the butternut squash's natural flavor and sweetness, without actually tasting like soy or maple or ginger. However, Charlie spit it out and Matt hated it (hehe, that one's for you, Stacy.) From the odd motion Matt was making with his mouth, I think his problem was one of texture, not taste. He can neither confirm nor deny if he's ever had butternut squash in anything but soup form. I doubt he'd like any roasted version.

Conclusion: I loved it, and that's what counts. This can be my Matt's-out-of-town vegetable.

Lastly, when I saw all the bundt cakes that bloggers baked for Mary the Food Librarian's National Bundt Day, I wanted to play too. It was after the fact, but I baked Polenta Cake with Olive Oil and Rosemary (pg 58) from David Lebovitz's Ready For Dessert. The recipe calls for six teaspoons of minced rosemary. I used a substantial amount less, because my poor, pathetic little plant just didn't have that much to offer. The rosemary flavor in mine was there, and you'd be able to identify it, but it was nice and subtle. I may have found the flavor overwhelming if I'd used the required amount. I very much enjoyed the match-up of almond extract with rosemary. I never would have thought to put those two flavors together, but it worked nicely.

Matt insists on calling it corn bread. I think the almond throws it, so you wouldn't want to eat it with a bowl of chili, but otherwise, yeah. It's a nicer-crumbed corn bread. Like Lebovitz's Pistachio Cardamom Cake, this seems like more of a breakfast or tea sweet to me. It's not the type of thing that I want when I'm craving dessert. Still tastes good, though.

Conclusion: Liked it.