Andy Sauce

The official beverage of the holiday season has finally revealed itself!

Recently, when Andy asked me to invent a cocktail that was named after him, he might have been sort of joking, but I took it all quite seriously, as you might imagine. I agreed enthusiastically within seconds (Liquor! Darling boyfriend! Certainly!), and proceeded to develop his magical holiday potion. Since then, we've made many variations of it, depending on what ingredients we have around, but the mainstay ingredients are apple juice and rhubarb bitters. I'd recommend a "good" apple juice -- either a fresh cider, homemade apple juice, or, the easiest choice, Simply Apple brand juice. If you have a juicer and you're feeling like taking this project really seriously, go for it! It will make this cocktail outstanding. (We did this once and it was a complete pain in the ass but easily the most delicious drink I have ever consumed -- no joke.) Otherwise, store bought apple juice will also be delicious and way more reasonable when you're dealing with a crowd.

In terms of liquor, we originally used whiskey, but it also works really well with vodka or gin. The fruit component is also not crucial, but the original had brandied cherries (with juice), which I sometimes have on hand, and they are quite nice. Otherwise, frozen dark sweet cherries work really well -- you can just plunk them in, or defrost them a bit and muddle them into the drink. And, honestly, this is YOUR sauce, so you can do anything you want with it! I'm sure you and the drink would benefit from fruit variations, or any additions of your choice.

Andy Sauce
This is, basically, a recipe for two drinks, to be made in a cocktail shaker. You can multiply the ingredient amounts and prepare this in a pitcher or a punch bowl if you're planning to serve more folks (or if you and your companion are planning on drinking A LOT).

Prepare your cocktail glasses: 
Dip moistened rims in a mixture of cinnamon, coarse sugar, and powdered ginger.

Prepare your cocktail: 
In a shaker, combine ice and equal parts apple juice and whiskey. Add 3 or 4 tablespoons of cherry juice, brandied cherry juice, or just dark sweet frozen cherries. Add a few dashes of bitters -- rhubarb is my favorite for this, although I'm sure other kinds would be lovely as well. Shake. Serve straight up in your adorned cocktail glasses. Top with a bit of seltzer if you're feeling bubbly!

Now then, get on with the new year already, would ya?

Scooby Snacks

Flirt With Me

If you are among the billions of people who agree that potatoes are not at all sexy and couldn't even be remotely sexy if they tried, then this recipe is for you.

On Christmas night, I had the immense pleasure of preparing dinner with my family (my mother and brother in the trenches with me, my father saving our asses all night by standing at the sink in full-on dishwashing mode). In planning the meal, my mom's good idea was to go with some relatively simple dishes that wouldn't exhaust us, seeing as though we would finish cooking the Christmas brunch only several hours prior to dinner preparation (smart, Mama, smart!). I did feel dedicated to trying something new, though, which is how we ended up using this recipe for potatoes Anna.

I had scratched down the details on a piece of paper over the Thanksgiving weekend, and I planned on being thrilled out of my mind if it was actually as simple as it seemed. The dish is, honestly, even easier than I imagined, and, more importantly, it's crazy good. My mom's first comment was "how is this so creamy?!," which is the most crucial thing about this dish that appears so, well, crispy. The inside is, indeed, feathery yet creamy, elegant but comforting. The outside is crunchy and brazen, like the best homemade potato chips. This is the whole point, of course -- for the potatoes to surprise their audience by showing off all their abilities and talents in this one very rustic dish.

As long as you have the patience to slice the potatoes very thinly, and as long as you are steady and precise with the inversion at the end, everything will go swimmingly for you. Even if you don't get the inversion exactly right (I certainly did not, as you'll see from the picture!), it will still taste good, and that is the most important part. It is the perfect accompaniment to a meat-based meal (we paired it with beef tenderloin and prosciutto-wrapped green bean bundles), and a very nice way to impress even your fussiest guests. The thing about potatoes Anna is that, well, it makes potatoes sexy again (assuming, of course, that potatoes ever were sexy).

If you're curious about details, I'll tell you that potatoes Anna was born in 19th century Victorian France during the time of Napoleon III, and was named after one of the grandes cocottes of the time. I love this, because cocotte nowadays means both prostitute and casserole dish, thereby making it the perfect name. In my mind, however, I have made an addendum to the description. I refer to it not only as a grande cocotte of the culinary world, but also the ultimate grande coquette (flirt). Sexy, yet modest. Seductive, yet honest. Anna, I must say: you are a lovely girl. You can come over to my house any time -- I'll have the potatoes ready for you.


Potatoes Anna

5-8 large Yukon Gold potatoes (approx. 1 per person)

2 T butter, melted

olive oil (flavored olive oil works really well for this -- I used a combination of regular extra virgin olive oil and garlic olive oil -- just make sure you use good oils, because you will really taste them in this dish!)

1 or 2 t. kosher salt

ground pepper

fresh rosemary or thyme


Preheat oven to 450.

Generously apply cooking spray to entire interior of a 10" or 12" cast iron skillet (size depends on how many potatoes you are using -- you can also alter this recipe to any other size of skillet).

Using the sharpest knife you have, slice potatoes as thinly as you can without cutting all your fingers off. If you have a mandoline, you can use this, but I went about it the old fashioned way. Aim for at least 1/8" thicknesses, thinner if you can. Reject the end pieces, and don't be too sad if your slices aren't all perfect. As long as they are very thin, it doesn't matter if they aren't all identical. You'll want to reserve the most perfect slices for the bottom layer (as this will, upon inversion, become the top).

Drizzle the melted butter into the skillet on top of the spray oil. Sprinkle salt and pepper over the butter. Place potato slices into the prepared skillet, overlapping slightly and continuing into the middle. Drizzle olive oil and then sprinkle salt, pepper, and herbs on top. Repeat until potatoes are gone, but aim for at least four layers.

Cook potatoes on med-high heat for 6 minutes. Resist all urges to poke, prod, or inspect them! They will be fine without you.

Cover with foil and put in the oven on the bottom rack. Cook for 20 minutes.

Remove foil and cook another 20 minutes on the middle rack. Again, try not to touch them or worry about them!

Remove skillet from oven and let it rest five minutes or so. Slide a knife around the edges. Carefully and quickly invert onto a large plate. If your inversion isn't perfect, try not to be too sad! They will still be delicious. If it looks a little too dark, just reduce the initial stovetop time to 4 or 5 minutes. (My dad loves things burnt and crispy, so I erred on the dark side for him, but feel free to adjust cooking times to suit your guests' preferences.) Slice into wedges and serve.

A Gift of Turnips

I Could Never!

This was a real conversation between two grade-schoolers yesterday:

Child #1: Have you ever tried COCONUT?

Child #2: EEEEEEWWWWWWWWWW!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! GROSS!!!!!!

Learning To Let Go

Question! After 28 months in the freezer, what does strawberry sorbet look like? Um, this. Quite shrunken, very freezer-burny, and not at all delicious, but otherwise as colorful and fragrant as the summer day it rode in on. This heartbreak had to come, though! It is not a science experiment, I reminded myself as I pushed it down the garbage disposal with the end of a wooden spoon. It was merely the representation of a substantial labor (the strawberry picking! the entirely obnoxious straining of the juice from seeds! the hovering over the machine as I anxiously awaited the product!) that needed to stop taking up room in my freezer. And so it has. Actually, my entire freezer is now eerily clean and organized, by the way. I hereby declare this day International Freezer Cleaning Out Day. Unless you are reading this tomorrow, in which case you are allowed to transfer the event to today. Good luck! And please! Let me know what the oldest thing in your freezer is.

Last Ones Standing

Well, it's official. I really can't deny it anymore. My herb garden certainly can't deny it. I mean, for crying out loud! The parsley froze, the thyme froze, the oregano froze, the mint froze. All of the peppers froze, except for these three. Winter, my friends, is walking among us. You know, just like the zombies.

Come now. Band together! We can take it! Here we go! Let us be the puffy-coated, mitten-clad survivors!

The Germans Know

I'm on a German kick, you see. Yesterday, it was kummerspeck, of course. Then, on Thursday, it was a discussion with one of my students, Yannick, about his upcoming trip to Germany, where his family is from (and, no, he knew nothing about it except "Umm, it's big and you go there in an airplane.") Several days prior to that, I considered going downtown to the Christkindlmarket, and then decided not to because crowds make me a wreck. And it's 10 degrees outside. But, see? The German things keep happening!

It all started about a month ago, when I made three amazing new friends. Not just friends, you see, but GERMAN friends. Lovely, kind, hysterically funny boys they are, all from Hamburg, which is apparently the coolest city in the whole universe, because it produced these completely incredible humans. We had the most amazing week, strolling about Navy Pier in the fierce night wind, cramming deep dish pizza into our bodies, pub-hopping with cheap American beer on the agenda, tackling that same fierce night wind on the beach, learning idioms in both our languages, eating an odd mishmash of a meal in my dining room, translating words like mullet and mashed potatoes, and, mainly, laughing maniacally about everything. Laughter, you know, that's the same in every language. But, honestly, it just sounds much cooler with a German accent. Everything sounds cooler with a German accent.

We talked a lot about food and cooking. We did a lot of eating, as you can imagine, and I was pretty excited to learn that they each can consume more food in one sitting than I can eat in one year. I was impressed and happy, because this meant that we spent a lot of our time on a food tour of Chicago, and having an excuse to do that is nothing short of delightful for a girl like me. I learned that all three of them -- Ludwig, Francesco, and Lennart -- like to cook, and, apparently, are quite adept in the kitchen. Ah, lovely. Boys who cook! Bring it on!

I had the honor of cooking for them one night and, of course, because I am a perfectionist who is rarely impressed with my own creations, ended up feeling like I completely botched it. They were so appreciative and so happy with the food, but you know how it goes -- I had one chance to impress my new friends who, possibly, will never again be convened around my dining room table, and I chose (naturally) to cook something extremely ordinary. Supremely ordinary. Like, work-night-supper-easy. Why! Why! Why!  Why do I do this to myself? Why can't I choose to make something fancy? Something inventive! Something exciting! Why can't I use this as an opportunity for challenge and discovery?

Well, it's because, first of all, I'm a crazy person, but, second of all, it's because, I suppose, I trust myself in the kitchen. It is perhaps a flaw, or perhaps a blessing, but for some reason I feel all too confident serving incredibly ordinary things when there are guests at stake. Nevertheless, I started to kick myself as soon as the dishes were cleared. I thought, why didn't I make a beef Wellington? I moaned, why didn't I do something even remotely big and impressive? WHY the burgers? Why ANY kind of burger for a DINNER PARTY? Is that ALL I can do? I slumped into myself and thought, why on earth did I serve something as banal as corn? And potatoes! Who on earth makes dumb potatoes for COMPANY?

But here's what it comes down to. I always think these things. It's never good enough, you see. I cook nearly every day, and, naturally, the very best, most impressive things that roll out of my kitchen are when I am cooking for just myself or for Andy and myself. But when company rolls in, I pull the oddest, most mundane things out of the oven. I might as well serve rocks to the guests! And every single time, I moan to myself, Why didn't I make beef Wellington? Yep. Every time. And the hysterical thing is that I have never actually MADE beef Wellington.

Somehow, it stands in my mind as the ultimate impress-your-guests sort of dish. It's not like a rock, it's like a geode! Crack it open and shield your eyes from the beauty! But instead, when the Germans came, I made the most typical meal -- something I would eat on an ordinary day. I beat myself up over it for days, but then! Then Anthony Bourdain saved me, as he tends to do. He opined the beauty of homecooked meals, as he is want to do, and I watched him in the home of a family far, far away. He had been invited to dinner, and the family was preparing traditional dishes. They served with mismatched plates atop a plastic tablecloth on a makeshift table with rickety legs. There was a dozen of them at least, crowded around, elbows touching, dishes clanking, traffic noises coming in through the open windows, the summer's steam wetting everyone's brow -- and, well, it was good. It was amazing, he said. And I believed him.

It was perfect, he thought, because it showed him what this new country was, what family was in this unfamiliar place, and, most importantly, it showed him what real food was. Not restaurant food, not show-offy food, not expensive food, and certainly not beef Wellington. And then, well, then I felt better. The next day, I came across a recipe in the new Saveur for a homestyle German soup. You know, the kind every German grandma makes. The traditional thing, the real deal. I read about it, and I loved learning that it's the kind of soup that you might have when you swing by someone's house, or as an after school snack, or for supper. The thought of serving this extremely simple soup to guests made me smile. It was bare bones, this soup recipe, and I leapt at it. It is, I think, a very nice ode to my new German friends, my German heritage, and all these German puzzle pieces that are settling into my life these days.

Try this soup. I think you will be impressed. And so will your guests.


Graupensuppe (Barley Soup)
based on the recipe from Saveur in, I believe, the October 2011 issue


4 T unsalted butter
1 small yellow onion, finely chopped
1/2 cup pearl barley
4 cups vegetable or chicken stock
1/2 cup finely chopped potato (russet or new potatoes work well)
1/4 cup finely chopped carrot
1/4 cup finely chopped leek
1/2 t dried marjoram
1 German sausage, like bockwurst or bratwurst (optional)
1 piece of bacon (optional)
salt and black pepper to taste

Heat butter in a stockpot or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. When it is melted and bubbly, add the onion, and cook, stirring, until translucent and a little bit caramelized, about 5 minutes. Add the barley, and cook, stirring, until lightly toasted, about 5 minutes. Add stock, potato, carrot, leek, marjoram, sausages, and bacon, and cook, stirring occasionally, until barley is softened, about 30 minutes. Remove sausages and bacon from saucepan, thinly slice sausages, and discard bacon. Season soup with nutmeg, salt, and pepper.

See! That's it! So easy!


Notes:
Many versions of the recipe call for celery root, which I didn't use, simply because I didn't have any! So feel free to add that, although I'm not sure it would change the soup drastically. Additionally,  the original Graupensuppe calls for sausage and bacon, which I'm sure would be super-delicious and highly approved by all the German grandmothers. I had the sausage and bacon on hand, but there was an upset belly at my kitchen table when I was making this soup, and I thought a milder, non-greasy version of this soup would be more appropriate for the occasion. Last, there's the nutmeg issue. This soup traditionally has nutmeg, which is added at the end, but I just wasn't feelin' it, so I held off. So. There you have it. I will now sit here patiently, waiting for those aforementioned German grandmothers to call me up and tell me to get my hintern back into the kitchen and add that meat to the suppe before I'm disqualified from the cooking club.

Learning School

Hi, everyone! It's time to learn a new word!
Kummerspeck (German): excess weight gained from emotional overeating
The actual translation: grief bacon


Germans, thank you for being brilliant.

All the Morning Dreams

I consider myself on an endless quest for the perfect breakfast food. I am terribly picky, as far as breakfast goes, and this basically stems from the fact that I'm simply not hungry when I first wake up. (Just like my dad! Hi Dad!) And, with rare exception, I can't stand to eat anything until I've had coffee. So, the basic routine is like this: wake up, not hungry, have coffee, still not hungry, drive to work, still not hungry, arrive at work, suddenly starving. Agh, I know, I know -- first world problems. Sheesh.

My ultimate favorite thing to do is hunt down an egg sandwich as soon as I get to work, from either here or here, but I can't with good conscience spend six dollars on breakfast more than, oh, say, once a week. Right?! So this leaves me unfed and cranky for four days out of the week. So, here's the deal. (Forgive me for re-addressing this issue. Remember when I said many of these same words when I told you all about breakfast cookies?)

I do love a convenient breakfast food, but I don't want to get sugared up, and I don't want processed foods or chemicals to be a part of my morning, which leaves me, ultimately, fending for myself, which is a perfect punishment for someone as picky as me. I've tried many a muffin, many a granola, many a cereal bar, and many an oatmeal, but I recently found something new that is the perfect combination of all four, and it's just so nice.

Nice...nice...nice. What does that mean, again? I forget. Well, let's see! It's versatile, first of all, since you get to pick your jam flavor. It also has oatmeal AND cereal in it, it has nuts for protein and fiber, and you can add all sorts of other nutritious bits, like flax seed or wheat germ. The thing that's also so good is that it can double as a lunch dessert, or an after school snack, or even a dessert if need be. So, really, what are we waiting for? Let's do this!

Oatmeal Breakfast Bars

1 C flour
1 C oats
1 C puffed rice cereal (you can use Rice Krispies, but I prefer puffed brown rice)
1 C chopped pecans or walnuts
1 or 2 t cinnamon (you decide!)
1/2 t baking powder
1/2 t salt
1/4 C butter, softened
1/4 C vegetable oil
1/3 C packed brown sugar (or less, if you'd like)
1 t vanilla extract or paste
1 (10-ounce) jar all-fruit spread (I've tried cherry, strawberry, apricot and they were all good!)
wheat germ, opt.
ground flax seed, opt.

Preheat oven to 350F. Lightly coat a 9" square baking pan with cooking spray.

Combine first 7 ingredients in a medium bowl. At this time, also add the flax or wheat germ, if you're using it.

Beat butter, oil, sugar, and vanilla in a large bowl until well-blended and creamy. (You can use an electric mixer or a wooden spoon -- whatever you feel like.)

Add dry ingredients and mix until moistened and a crumbly dough forms. Reserve 1 1/2 cups of the dough for the topping. Press remaining dough into bottom of pan.

Spread fruit over dough in pan. Sprinkle the reserved dough on top and gently press to adhere topping to fruit layer.

Bake 30-35 minutes or until deep golden. Cool and slice into bars. It's breakfast! You're happy!

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