Take Two

If it's 6 pm and I'm drinking coffee, then something must be wrong.

It's similar, I'd reckon, to a regular person having a cocktail at 10 am. In my case, though, I'm currently drinking to try and find myself, not to try and lose myself. And, sadly, it's decaf. And there's a good chance it'll be followed by a cocktail. But still, you're welcome to feel a little sorry for me if you'd like.

First of all, my coffee was terrible this morning. Something in the preparation went completely awry. I made it the exact same way I always do, and yet it was horrible: thin, weak, and with basically no redeeming qualities at all. I drank half of it and then gave up, too frustrated and too hurried to try again. I contemplated getting my hands on another coffee once I was at work, but I convinced myself that water was a better choice. I was wrong.

I was obsessed with my mistake all day. My morning's broken ritual caused me to feel like my day hadn't ever really begun, and as a result, I felt like I was spinning myself around in a hamster wheel for hours. I thought obsessively about everything I would do right when I made coffee next, everything I would do to avoid another cup of coffee that was not only reminiscent of diner coffee, but also a complete embarrassment and a day-wrecker. Once I was home, and we had gone for our out-of-sorts walk on the beach, and I had cleaned up the out-of-sorts kitchen and given Murray his out-of-sorts supper, I just couldn't take it anymore. The espresso pot taunted me and the coffee beans smelled like a miracle. And I had to have coffee. I had to try again. I had to prove that I could make a decent cup of coffee and I had to re-start my day. And I did.

So here I am now, having consumed a very civilized cup of coffee, ready to start my day. It's 6:24 pm, so I'll have to make it quick, but it can be done. I'm feeling a great deal better, more equipped then I've been for the past ten hours. I'm thinking about what Abraham Lincoln said when presented one day with a beverage by a hotel waiter: If this is coffee, please bring me some tea, but if this is tea, please bring me some coffee. 

I get that Abe, I really do. I have such little tolerance for food and drink that isn't up to par. The thing, though, is this. I really don't want the beluga sturgeon caviar and the foie gras from the fanciest goose. I just want the thing I order to be a good version of the thing it's supposed to be. And in the case of this morning, I needed to kindly ask the server (um, that would be me) to go back to the kitchen and fix the mistake. This isn't a free-for-all, I told her. This isn't a small matter. This is the tool that carves my day! This is important. This is coffee. So let's start fresh, because it's never too late for a second take. And considering the way things are going, there might even be pancakes for dinner.

Peas On Earth

Let's talk about that pea under your mattress. You know, that one that's there to determine whether or not you're a princess. The one that was so unbearably painful to sleep on last night. While it's been useful for its intended purpose, I recommend we put it to even better use! I recommend to you an incredibly comforting, yet wildly unsexy dish: peas & peanuts.

I'm so anxious to know all sorts of things: have you had peas & peanuts before? Do you love it? Do you hate it? Did you grow up eating it? Do you live in Michigan? Tell me everything!

I'll tell you what I know about peas & peanuts. It's remarkable, I think. And yet I totally understand how someone might think it's too strange to fully embrace. Many things are like this, I think. Egg salad, bulldogs, Devendra Banhart, unagi, children, dollar stores. You know.

Peas & peanuts is definitely a salad, I'd say. I'm unsure as to its origin, although it seems to be pretty popular in Michigan, and its pure quirkiness (as well as its unapologetic mayonnaise base) tells me that its been around for many decades. I first had peas & peanuts at Bluebird in Leland, Michigan, and theirs is still the best I've had. Even though this recipe has very few ingredients, I've found that it's tricky to get it perfectly balanced. I've seen recipes that call for a myriad of other ingredients, like Miracle Whip, bacon, or raw onion, and I've gotta say I'd recommend keeping it a bit simpler than that. Experiment with the base and then, after that, feel free to go crazy. I've been working in the perfect balance of salt and sweet with this recipe, and I feel confident that this is a good starter pack for the peas & peanuts novice.

Peas & peanuts. It's crunchy, it's smooth, it has snap and it has flair. It's not necessarily sophisticated, but who on earth needs sophisticated when you've got something so remarkably satisfying and delicious in front of you? It's good in moderation, but it also can be addictive enough to warrant eating an entire bowlful. I have come to love it as the start to a meal, but it's also excellent with pizza for some reason. I love peas & peanuts because it's extremely unlikely. It's somewhat ridiculous, this salad, but it's comforting and incredibly good. It's just the thing you need, whether you're a princess or not.

Peas and Peanuts For One

1/3 C frozen peas, thawed
1/3 C Spanish peanuts
2 T sour cream
1 t mayonnaise
1 t sugar
1/4 t garlic powder
drizzle of Worcestershire
squeeze of lemon
dashes of salt and pepper

Whisk together sour cream, mayo, sugar, garlic powder, Worcestershire, lemon, salt, and pepper. Add peas and peanuts and stir to combine. Season to taste. Serve with a terrible romantic comedy on the couch.

Kale For President

If only the universe would shut up about kale. I mean, even kale wants everyone to shut up about kale. It's exhausting! Completely, utterly exhausting. 

Yes, we know it's healthy. Supremely healthy. Yes, we know that it is a miraculous gift given to the world by some sort of magical creature (who thinks it's absolutely HYSTERICAL to watch us angrily wrestle those giant, obtrusive ribs out of the kale before we eat it). And, yes, we know that everyone who is anyone is eating a giant vat of kale right this very second. Pretty people eat kale. Smart people eat kale. Good people eat kale. I know, I know! We get it!

I suppose this is the best time to admit, then, that I actually do like kale. But, wait! I'm not one of them! I promise! Here's the thing. I definitely didn't always like it, and there are still times when I wonder if I would still eat kale if it wouldn't have gotten so famous. I wonder this about most of the foods that I eat, actually.

And my relationship with kale has been a bit of a rough and unusual road. But here's the thing. First of all, lacinato kale is the only way to go. Do NOT make me prepare curly kale, or I will stab your eyeballs out with a kale rib. I do not like finding small creatures in my vegetables, and curly kale practically pays insects to roost in its fancy curls. Lacinato kale, though, is flatter, easier to manage, and has lots of cool nicknames, like dinosaur kale, Tuscan cabbage, and palm tree kale. Yes, it has massive ribs that, when removed from an entire bunch, leave approximately one tablespoon worth of kale. And, yes, many a bunch of lacinato kale has rotted in my refrigerator, the rot initiated no doubt by the icy, guilt-ridden stares I give it when I see it lurking in the drawer. But, still, it's the best kind of kale.

As I've mentioned in the past, I make a mean kale salad, and that's what really got me started on this obnoxious vegetable that insisted on making its way into my life. I also had an incredible encounter with kale a few weeks ago, and it's really gotten me thinking. So, here's the dish: grits and kale tacos at Bullhead Cantina, this terrific, albeit severely understaffed, new restaurant in my neighborhood. They're perfect, these tacos. A dollop of smooth white grits, a pile of garlicky sauteed kale, and this endearingly sweet harissa-pineapple-bourbon reduction. I will eat these things until the cows come home. They sound awful. But they're truly life-altering.

I've taken this recipe into my own kitchen, and so far it has become a really hearty, lovely breakfast of grits and kale, minus the tortillas. Garlic, yes. Fried onions, yes. Cheese in those grits? Of course. I'm working on the perfect tomato-pineapple chutney to serve with this dish, but I'm not quite there yet. I love the purity of this dish, and I love that it's suitable for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. I love that I could put it into a tortilla, or not. I love that it's simple and beautiful. And, yes, it's healthy. It might even be hip. And no, I am not collecting a million dollar prize for admitting that. Watch out kale! You're fancy and important, but I've got my eye on you. Don't you dare try to pull a quick one on me! I'm watching you. 

(No need for an actual recipe! Sauté chopped kale in olive oil and garlic. Prepare grits with water, a splash of cream, butter, salt, pepper, hot sauce, and cheese. Top with something crunchy or put it in a tortilla. That's all!)