Farfalle with Sage, Peas and Bacon

MG is sick and I’m depressed about it. I know I’m depressed because I’m exhibiting my #1 symptom… I become super-productive on the weekends.

This is an improvement over what I did in my twenties when I was depressed, which was smoke grass, drink martinis and watch television until I either fell asleep or threw up.

Ah, the glamour of the twenties!

So I don’t plan too many structured events on the weekends anymore because they’ve become mostly about me and MG making fattening breakfasts, having coffee at The Big Fixx on Sunset (formerly Abbot’s Habit), watching television together and seeing who can win in the categories of “Snarkiest Comment,” “Best Impression of a Loser Celebrity.” and “Most Accurate Representation of What the Cat in the Cat Food Commercial would Sound Like if It Could Speak Human.”

Then we separate for a few hours in the middle of the day so he can get some work done, I’ll get together everything I need to make the night’s dinner, and we reconvene for more television, snarky comments and cocktails.

But none of that happened this past weekend, and by noon on Saturday I’d done all my grocery shopping, all my laundry, hit the post office and the dry cleaner, worked out, erased said workout by stopping at Carl’s Jr., tried to get my cat to eat a french fry and took a nap.

I had absolutely nothing else on my “to do” list for the entire weekend, so of course I spent it in the kitchen, making this meal, along with some other goodies that are being banked away for later postings. But MG wasn’t there to admire my kitchen technique, or rave about the finished meal after snaring his usual lion-sized portion, so it wasn’t nearly as gratifying and I have WAY TOO MUCH left over.

With each passing kitchen attempt I’m becoming more and more fascinated with perfecting the process than I am with actually feasting on the finished result. I’d much prefer to give the food itself over to someone else for them to enjoy, and just stay in the kitchen and tackle the next recipe on my long long list. Anyone else feel that way?

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Tomato and Goat Cheese Tarts

If I understand every bit of instruction in a recipe the very first time I read it, chances are I’m going to have little or no interest in making it.

This week, I stuck my baby toe into the puff pastry pool and learned two new terms: scoring and docking.  As usual, I assumed because these two tasks have been assigned terms all their own, they were going to be much too hard for me to manage, and as usual, I was wrong.

And of course, because I still get kitchen jitters, I bought double the ingredients necessary so that I could first make “rehearsal pastries,”  which turned out alright, but not as good as the pictures you see here, which feature Tomato and Goat Cheese Tarts V2.0.  The rehearsal pastries came out flakey, tangy, buttery and all-over delicious, but I didn’t like the ratio of pastry to filling dictated by the recipe, so I adjusted it in V2.0

Tomato and Goat Cheese Tarts from Barefoot Contessa

• 1 package (17.3 ounces/2 sheets) puff pastry, defrosted
• 3 tablespoons olive oil, plus extra for brushing
• 4 cups thinly sliced yellow onions (2 large onions)
• 3 large garlic cloves, cut into thin slivers
• Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 3 tablespoons dry white wine
• 2 teaspoons minced fresh thyme leaves
• 4 tablespoons freshly grated Parmesan
• 4 ounces garlic-and-herb goat cheese
• 1 large tomato, cut into 4 (1/4-inch-thick) slices
• 3 tablespoons julienned basil leaves

Click below for more…

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Ultimate Sausage Pizza

Me to MG: “You and I… we were pigs last night!”

MG (confused) to Me: “We were? We only ate one pizza.”

If I had made a second one of these, there still would not have been any left over. If we had had to share this single pizza with a third party, MG and I would have gone to bed with little pouty frowns on our faces. MG and I are pure-blooded pizza pigs.

I will admit right here and now that aside from being a pure-blooded pizza pig, I am also a closet Boboli pre-made pizza crust purchaser. For the amount of homemade pizza we consume, it’s just the way it has to be. I have made pizza dough from scratch to moderately successful results, and even experimented with the pre-made dough from Trader Joes. I don’t bother anymore. The crust is just the delivery device for everything on top of it as far as I’m concerned. Protest me if you want. Or, better yet, send me some kick-ass pizza crust recipe that you think is divine enough to change my mind by clicking right here. I always welcome suggestions.

The fun of pizza-making is striking that perfect balance between vegetables, sauce, cheeses and meat, and I’m happy to say that I’ve run this recipe through the oven two weeks in a row and it’s pretty damn solid.  It will certainly put any local delivery spot you may have pinned up on your refrigerator to shame.  Please click on the pics below for big-screen full-res images.

Any tips or hints on my never-ending quest to perfect the pizza pie? E-mail me or leave a comment below. Have a great weekend!

Ultimate Sausage Pizza

• pizza dough or store-bought crust of your choice
• 1 can (15 oz) canned tomatoes, diced
• 1/2 white onion chopped
• 1 jalapeno pepper, chopped
• 1/2 red bell pepper, chopped
• 1/2 yellow bell pepper, chopped
• 1/2 green bell pepper. chopped
• 1 small Roma tomato
• 1 – 1 1/2 mild Italian sausages, uncooked
• 1 cup shredded sharp cheddar cheese
• 1 cup shredded Havarti cheese with dill
• 1/2 cup shredded Reggianito cheese
• 1-2 large basil leaves
• oregano
• pepper
• olive oil
• cornmeal (optional)

Spread cornmeal over your pizza pan to keep your crust from sticking.  This also helps to keep the crust from getting overly-crunchy.  Lay out your dough or pre-bought crust and coat lightly with the olive oil.  Add the diced tomatoes and spread evenly, then the vegetables and 75% of your cheeses.  Break apart your uncooked sausage into pieces and spread across the top.  Slice your Roma tomato and then halve each slice and place. Tear basil leaves into small pieces and spread across the top.  Add oregano and pepper to taste, and spread the remaining cheese over the top. Cook for 13-17 minutes.

American Idol – Los Angeles Auditions

I never thought this blog would include the words “Avril” or “Lavigne,” but here she is, guest-judging in L.A., fresh from entertaining the kiddies at the Maurice Sendak family park. Thanks for that, Avril!

And we’re starting off right away with useless filler coated in a slight psychotic glaze. They make up more than half the population here, you know.

Wait! Is that Mrs. Garrett? Oh. It’s just Neil Goldstein. First, he sucks. Next, he takes up the obligatory cry of the quasi-determined by crying out, “This is MY dream. I’m not going ANYWHERE.” And then… he leaves.

Thanks for that, Neal. And yes… this was the entire first segment of the show. Thanks for that, Fox!

Click below to see the rest of the pack!

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Cherry Butter Bars and the Milli Vanilli Connection

As I write this entry, I’m listening to the song Blame it on the Rain by Milli Vanilli.

You remember those guys… Rob and Fab.

I’m at a loss for a fun story to go along with this recipe. Here’s the dull reality: cherries were on sale at my Rock and Roll Ralphs and I bought way more than I’ll ever be able to nibble away before they go bad. I went looking for a recipe, found the only one that interested me at Smitten Kitchen, made it while burning What’s My Line? episodes off my DVR, had a bourbon and went to bed.

Not much to really sink your teeth into, is there?

Would it help if I mentioned the mystery celebrity guests on WML? were Robert Wagner and Anna Maria Alberghetti? Anyone else remember Anna’s delightful Good Seasons salad dressing tv commercials from the 1970s? Anyone?

Didn’t think so.

Perhaps the most exciting part of this entry is that I’m actually listening to Milli Vanilli. Probably shouldn’t have led with my best. But I can still manage to tie it all together becasue I have found a mystery link that connects the disgraced foot-stomping braid-heads to the sweet, lovely, industrious cherry itself.

But you’ll have to read the rest of the entry to learn it.

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Listening to: I’m a Woman – Peggy Lee

I was well into my thirties before I realized that the music and lyrics for I’m a Woman were originally written as a mainstream pop song by famed songwriting duo Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller (Hound Dog, Jailhouse Rock, Love Potion #9) and not written expressly for a certain perfume commercial jingle that became a mini-sensation in the late seventies and early eighties (which is included after the jump below).

I didn’t figure it out until I randomly snagged up a Peggy Lee Greatest Hits compilation simply because I knew her as the voice of the Siamese cat duo in the film Lady and the Tramp, and remembered a famous mini-documentary shown on The Wonderful World of Disney where Miss Lee demonstrates how she recorded the voices of both “Si” and “Am.” It’s genius, you see!

“All you need is a home tape recorder, and another one you can borrow from a neighbor.”

Of course… because who would ever need TWO home tape recorders? (Peggy also explains in person after the jump below)

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Pike Place Market – Seattle

For my last birthday, MG and I ditched L.A. and flew up to Seattle for our very first visit. We had three days to cram in a lot of sight-seeing, but we managed to hit everything on our lists, including the top of the Space Needle, the aquarium, a harbor cruise, and yes… a gay piano bar, an insect museum and a bad-ass Henry the VIII puppet show featuring bloody beheadings, puppet blowjobs, and talking vaginas… in case you were wondering.

And of course, we spent a large chunk of a day exploring the Pike Place Market.  It’s probably the biggest tourist attraction in the city, but one that’s actually worth every bit of accidental elbowing you may encounter.  It’s been in operation since 1907 and sits on the corner of a very steep hill facing out to the Elliot Bay waterfront.  Built into the Market are several lower levels with antique dealers, toy shops and eateries, but the star attraction is the street level itself.  Endless food!  Beautiful, aromatic, enticing food!  I could have easily wandered around there from sun up to sun down.  Plus, the day brought us just enough drizzle and ominous cloud cover to enhance the vibe without washing it away completely.

Here are some of the highlights from the day. I encourage you to click on the images below for hi-res versions where you can really soak up the color.

I Love Lucy: Rare Color Footage from 1951

Even in the early fifties, television producers routinely banned studio audience members from bringing cameras of any kind onto the set.  Luckily, every so often there are one or two attendees who are smarter than their “schmuck off the street” appearance might suggest.  If you’ve ever wondered what the Ricardo apartment looked like in color, you’re curiosity is about the be satisfied.
Click below to see the vid.

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Scrambled Egg Towers

Breakfast can be served 24 hours a day as far as I’m concerned so long as it’s my MG doing the cooking.  He’s a master at creating spectacular morning dishes that are so impossible to resist and so totally satisfying, I usually want to crawl right back into bed when I’m done with them and hibernate for a week.

MG can create gold from any ingredients (and more importantly, any lack of ingredients) lying around.  I’ll catch him surveying the contents of my cabinets and fridge and ask, “what are you looking for?” and without even glancing over at me, he’ll simply reply, “I’m just looking.”

Akin to the thrill of returning from a restaurant bathroom to find your food awaiting you at the table is the thrill I get from returning from picking up our morning coffees to find the most eye-popping breakfast coming together in the kitchen. This morning, he really outdid himself. I helped by having nearly every ingredient he went searching for on hand. Together, we are the perfect breakfast-making machine. All we need to do is throw in mimosas, Bloody Marys and maybe hire a Celtic harpist and we could open for business tomorrow!

Follow the link for more pics and the recipe.
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Mushroom Marsala with Artichoke Hearts

I have not eaten a mushroom since I was nine and my mom tricked me into eating one, telling me it was simply “a bean.” Standing in the kitchen near the stove where she was making dinner, chewing with an intesne curiosity, I was actually enjoying the damn thing (somewhat). Then, she revealed to me that “the bean” was actually a cremini mushroom at which point, I lept to the sink, spit it out and declared my sense of disgust and betrayal in the most dramatic way I could possibly fashion.

Were these NOT the same things that occasionally grew on the corners of our front lawn? Were these NOT the same things dad warned me away from because of their possibly poisonous nature?

Was my mother out to kill me?

Well no, in fact, they were NOT the same things as the possibly toxic (but probably not) varieties making homes out front the house. And I quickly understood that. But divorcing myself from a distatse, an almost irrational fear of the mushroom, has taken me decades.

I pick them off pizza. I fish them out of salads. And pack anything you damn well want into the caps, heat them up and drop them in front of me. I’ll suck on my sneaker instead.

And yet… I could not get this recipe out of my head. Maybe a mushroom on its own didn’t sound all that hot, but mushrooms with wine, pasta, cheese, and onions? This is something a spore-bearing fungus hater might be able to get behind.

Mom has often told me I was missing the boat on mushrooms. This patsa dish looked and sounded so rewarding that maybe, I thought to myself, just maybe, this would be the meal that could lead me to welcoming mushrooms into my kitchen on a regular basis.

And it was! Moms always know. Click below for more!

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