Plantains and Peppermint: Christmas in Florida

Dear Boo,

Do you realize that the first entries we ever wrote were two letters to each other on the very first Christmas we ever spent apart? That time, I was in Jersey, holding down the buche, as they say. But this year, again at two different celebrations, I was at my very first Christmas away from our childhood home. It was a Christmas of firsts in many ways: my first Christmas away from the family, my first Christmas in a warm climate (Tampa, Florida), my first Christmas with the Boyfriend and his family, my first Christmas cooking the entire meal (with the Boyfriend, of course), and my first Christmas with an (almost entirely) latin menu, which in itself constitutes a number of firsts...

I'm not going to lie--it was hard being away from our family and our traditions (no Alastair Sim's Christmas Carol on Christmas Eve, no lobster dinner the night before, no massive tree with wacked out homemade ornaments, no turkey!). But I decided early on that it was time to let go of the past, and embrace this Christmas as something entirely new. A day which, in spirit, resembled the holiday I knew, but in sights, smells, sounds, and yes, taste, was something all its own. I was, after all, a guest of someone else's family who have their own much-prized traditions, and far be it from me to impose my own esoteric Hart family mumbo jumbo where it doesn't belong and wouldn't quite fit. And I have to say, it was a lovely time, full of newness (for me), festive decorations, tons of kids (who are really what makes Christmas so magical, once the rest of us have gone all disillusioned and jaded. I actually engaged in Santa letter-writing, cookie and milk plating and then eating, and all kinds of fun little white lies in the name of the Jolly one), and feasting like you would not believe. Indeed, said feast went on for DAYS as the Boyfriend and I traveled from house to house to visit siblings, bearing leftovers which we reconstituted in all sorts of creative and delicious ways (Christmas Part 2: Leftover Boogaloo, soon to be posted).

As you may remember from last year's Christmas miracle, the Boyfriend had declared that this year, there would be no ordering food from the Cuban restaurant nearby. Having tackled the Pernil (roast pork leg) the year before, he would now (with my help) be cooking the entire menu. The sisters gasped, some reached for the phone to call in back-up orders in case we really blew it, and others reached for the fire extinguisher. We barely broke a sweat. I don't think I'm ruining the suspense when I tell you we pulled it off like gangbusters. Let's take a post-holiday tour, shall we?

The morning after we arrived, we took the rental car to pick up the pork from a little store that looked like an East Harlem bodega, complete with glass-enclosed, bar-covered corner where lottery tickets and phone cards are sold. The pork leg was handed over, a 26 pounder, and we were on our way. The Boyfriend seasoned it with the secret ingredients and set it to marinate in the fridge, which reeked of garlic every time the door was cracked. On Christmas morning, at 4am, the Boyfriend took it out of the fridge, let it come to room temp and then put it in a 450 degree oven for an hour, letting the top get golden, the onions turn to crisps. He then turned the oven down to 275 and we waited...and basted...and waited...until about 4pm when it came out, perfectly golden, falling off the bone, and soaking in its self-created gravy. Fingers immediately pounced, pulling off tender bits before the oven door was closed.

Here it is, ready for carving. Notice the bald spot where a taste was stolen. Child in background with maracas, natch.

A knife is hardly necessary after twelve hours of slow roasting. I turned the juices into a gravy that would have made grandma proud.

Also on the menu were my Old Bay chicken thighs and legs, for those who don't partake in pork (and those that do), and fried sweet plantains, made by the Sister-in-Law, who unlike us, has actually made them successfully before. Starchy, sweet, crisp, and delicious.

Yucca, tended to like a week-old babe by the Boyfriend who boiled them until tender, and then covered in a mojo of sauteed onions, a TON of garlic (I'm sure you're sensing the theme here), lime juice, orange juice, olive oil, and fresh oregano. Similar to a potato, the Yucca is good for mashing or boiling and absorbs the zingy, acidic sauce like a well-seasoned sponge. You can find a similar recipe here, if you're interested...

Rice and beans were also on hand, though I have hardly a picture to prove it. Sorry, rice and beans, I guess you're just not as visually arresting as a 26 lb hunk of slow-cooked meat. You were delicious, nonetheless, and provided essential leftover ingredients for the days to come.

Oh look, there you are! Alongside the green salad of onion, tomato, hearts of palm, and traditional noche buena (Christmas Eve) radishes.

And of course, the red cabbage. Did you really think I'd go without it?! The Boyfriend wanted me to add something to the menu that would represent my Christmas flavors, so I picked the cabbage not only because it, like the jello mold, is a ubiquitous part of the Hart holiday meal, but because out of all of our dishes, it seemed to match best with the menu. Cabbage is a natural pairing with pork and the sweet and sour nature of the dish echoed flavors in the plantains, yucca, and salad. Also, it's cheap and can be made on the stove, which with the oven occupied all day, was a plus. In the end, it was quite a hit and blended in with the crowd so well you'd think it was a native spanish speaker.

For dessert, two apple crisps, one with nuts and one without. Topping made with help from three nieces. Crumbling butter and sugar with hands is a great job for little fingers.

And, the chocolate cake made by our Aunt for Chanukah which was so delicious, so light and chocolatey and creamy, that I had to recreate it. It was quite easy as well, and kept perfectly in the fridge. Next time you have to make a birthday cake, use this recipe, from our favorite Contessa.

I have to say, one of my happiest moments was walking into the dining room, the tree glowing in the background, music tinkling and glasses clinking from the kitchen, and seeing nine small heads bent over plates of chocolate and apple sweets, cookies and candies, smiling and munching. Later that night, when all the gifts were opened, leftovers stored, a late night bourbon drunk, a midnight snack snuck from the fridge, shoes cast off, and a brother-in-law sleeping soundly on an armchair in front of the tree, I got into bed, turned down the lights, and with one earphone in my ear and one in the Boyfriend's, lay listening to the melodious tenor of Dylan Thomas' voice, reading A Child's Christmas in Wales, thinking of you and wondering if a few hundred miles away in a colder climate, you were doing the same. Some traditions I'm just not ready to let go of.

Love,

The Mouse

P.S. For pre-dinner bites, I made this guacamole, and this rosemary chickpea dip (which was more like a chunky spread due to the lack of food processor). Both delicious and simple. And to me, rosemary always tastes like Christmas.

Christmas Ubiquitous Braised Red Cabbage

3 strips of bacon (can substitute olive oil if you're anti-pork)
2 heads of red cabbage (2 heads served about 16, for a large party. But prorportions are forgiving if you want to halve or quarter for a smaller meal)
1 large onion, sliced
1 apple, sliced thin (granny smith works great)
6 Tablespoons cider or red wine vinegar
2 Tablespoons honey
1 Tablespoon brown sugar
Salt and pepper to taste

Slice cabbage thinly, removing core, of course. Soak in a pot of cold water for about 30 minutes to soften. Drain and discard water. Cook bacon in the bottom of a large, heavy pot until the fat is rendered. Remove bacon and discard (or eat). Sautee onion and apple (amounts can vary depending on your taste) in the pot with the bacon fat until tender and browned. Add the cabbage, vinegar, honey and sugar and plenty of salt. Turn heat to low, cover and let cook for 60 to 90 minutes, stirring and tasting occasionally. Amounts may vary depending on how you like it. I may have added more vinegar and sugar as I went until it tasted just right. Add black pepper and salt to finish. As mom wrote when she emailed me the recipe, HMMMMMYUMMMISH...GOES GREAT WITH HAM/TURKEY...

Of Mince and Men, 2010

Dear Mouse,

I write to you on the Eve of the Eve of the New Year, from Washington DC! I'm on the top floor of a creaky old house where I'm living with a few other actors and designers all working on a show at this venerated institution, which is directly across the street. From my window I can see the dome of the Capitol Building, lit up against the cold December night. I am looking forward to an exciting and challenging few months here. If the first two days are any indication I believe this project will considerably expand my vocal range, my physical endurance, and my respect for the House of Atreus. Those crazy Greeks...

Since I've only been in DC two days working 9AM to 530PM (and, ok, basically in bed by, kind of, now) I havent yet even begun to explore this town, culinarily or otherwise. I'm told there's a lot to write home about, but those "in the field" posts will come later.

It's been a while since I posted, for all sorts of happy reasons involving a) an actual food journalism assignment that had to be completed (!more on that later) and b) of course, The Holidays.

So, let me just cut to the chase, which in this case looks like this:

Oh yes.

When I say "Mincemeat" you say "Pie"!

"Mincemeat" -

?

I'm waiting.

(I made this.)

I missed you ! (And the Boyfriend) over Xmas. It was both weird and wonderful to do this Big Holiday in such a new way this year. At first I was afraid. How will this work? You'll be in Florida, I'll be at Helena's place in Irvington... we won't be in NJ sharing the time-honored rituals of lost cognac balls, forgotten Buches, and enormous hams. It was new. And though tinged with nostalgia and some sadness, it was also ... kind of awesome.

I will not even attempt the full story of the delights that were packed into this beautiful little Yuletide-on-Hudson celebration. Helena and I had a 'production meeting' a full two weeks in advance to confirm the small guest list, plan the menus, and schedule activities. (The Date, by phone on Christmas Night: "It's like you bought an all-inclusive Irvington Christmas Package". Wearing my newly acquired Wolf Hat and sipping a hot toddy while preparing to watch Its A Wonderful Life, I solemnly nodded in agreement.)

All-inclusive indeed! It was a great hodge podge of everyone's nostalgic Must-Haves (Helena's grandmother's Divinity recipe, HBF's traditional viewing of "Home Alone"), plus bold steps all our own. To be sure, I made everyone listen to Dylan Thomas reading A Child's Christmas In Wales (a la Hart), but I also seized the opportunity to make a dessert I knew no one in our family would ever go for: the mince pie, which as you know I discovered in Ireland over Xmas 2007.

Going to bed on the Eve covered in flour and butter, I heard HBF on the phone downstairs to his family, expressing exactly the emotions I was feeling. On the one hand, he missed them, and was reminiscing about Christmas Past. On the other, he was suffused with joy and excitement at 'Christmas of the Future'. There's a significant moment in a person's life when a holiday turns from something that you Get to something that you are able to Give. And fact that The Mother was able to come up to Irvington!! to eat our food, open presents under our cracked-out tree, and sing "Grandma got run over by a reindeer" with us was ... well, I think I've said it all.

personalized, bedazzled stockings and songbooks

And you know what? The Mother ate a whole piece of mince pie after all. God Bless Us, Every One. And Happy New Year!!!

Love,

The Boo

PS I also made these cookies which were a big hit and you can eat the leftover lemon curd on your Christmas Morning gingerbread pancakes (we suggest one egg and a lot more milk)

Name that Object.

Dear Boo,

WHAT IS THIS?

Top view. The text reads: La Cotta-Made in Italy. -LA SALUTE E NELLA COTTA-MARCHIO DEPOSITATO-

Inside is a hollow bowl of sorts, about an inch deep

side view, a little more than a foot from end to end.

I found this...this...er--item... some years ago when I lived in the old building on 17th street. There was a wicker table in the lobby that people used as sort of a trade post of sorts, leaving things they couldn't bear to throw out but didn't want any longer. A paperback, a small lamp, the vase that came with that flower delivery, and on one occasion when I was returning home from work, this...um....contrap--object. I snagged it, thinking it looked quaint and imagining it lending a certain rustic-y, shabby chic flair to the kitchen I fantasized about having one day--the kind of kitchen where there's room for hanging copper pots, a collection of colorful teapots, and enough counter space for something like this...thing.

Realizing quickly that I had no idea what to do with it, I put it away, and shortly thereafter, forgot about it. Then when I moved, I rediscovered it, decided I'd take it with me and figure out its purpose once I got settled. Of course it shortly got relegated to a cupboard over the fridge that I can't reach and I went back to forgetting all about it. Until fairly recently, when a certain tall person in my apartment discovered the underused cabinet and pulled out this...thing. He agreed it was way too cool to get rid of, and it must do SOMETHING, right?

We did some online research, and asked our Italian-speaking cousin if he had any clues. So far I've come up with:

~ a terra cotta steak cooker (I find this very doubtful, but you'd be surprized how many people claim this) ~ an omlette pan of sorts ~ a grilled cheese sandwich press ~ a device by which one makes some sort of Italian flat bread
~ some sort of fireplace tool ~ a bed warmer, sort of hard stone hot water bottle.

Mostly, no one has any idea what it's for. Maybe it's not even a kitchen item. There's no brand or company name anywhere on it, and the only text on it says something about it not being patented...or something.

Right now it's sort of an objet d'art, displayed with the hopes that some day, some how, someone will walk into our apartment, spot it and cry, "Oh my god! You have a _________ !!" And then we'll know.

Maybe I'll have to take it on antiques roadshow.

Any ideas???

Love,
(A bewildered) Mouse

Fu Me? FuYu!! (Persimmons)

Dear Mouse,

Happy Winter! I give you... The Persimmon.

It's easy to think cold weather means saying goodbye to fresh fruit entirely. Oh sure there's the early-fall love affair with apples, and the Cranberry, the Gem of Thanksgiving, but in December one often finds oneself sighing, "Well, see you in July. Bring me some roots and tubers." And in a sense I support this.. no enormous, tasteless, genetically engineered, flown-from-far-away carbon footprint style berries for me. And don't get me started on bananas. I WILL get all Barbara Kingsolver on your A**.

But did you know... that there are fruits that dont find their footing (I just saw a pear with socks) UNTIL it's winter? IN SEASON NOW: beautiful, winey options like pomegranate or quince, tart citrus like clementine and grapefruit, chewy-candy dates and kumquats, and these lovely sunset-colored freaks that are the focus of this post.

Important to note: Fuyu Persimmons (squat and round) are more user-friendly - edible and sweet right when you buy them. Hachiya Persimmons (pictured above) are more quirky and apparently taste like sandpaper dipped in sherry unless they are perfectly ripe.

Saturday morning, I arose bleary-eyed and hungry after Joe's Pub to meet Mr. and Mrs. Poet for brunch at the Brooklyn Star, which I duly adored despite the lack of Bloody Marys on the menu. (Mm, warm apple griddle cakes). We then spent a cold, rainy afternoon in the kitchen, where we often find ourselves. Mrs. Poet, who is going to kill me for giving her that name, is a Fierce Foodie (AND backup singer, as it turns out). We sorted through Hanukkah and Solstice recipes for upcoming feasts while Mr. Poet hovered over his manuscript in the next room. Umbrellas dripped in the stairway, the sky turned white, and the first snow of the season came hurtling down outside.

This was not a setting in which I expected to make a new Fruit Friend-- a sunny, vibrant, orange one, at that. But somewhere between "What kind of cupcake goes with whipped brandy butter?" and "Do you want me to bring the bacon-wrapped dates?", she laid it on me. On a white plate between us and our coffee cups were a few clementine slices, and this:

"It's like a tomato and a mango had a baby. You'll like it."
I told you she was a poet.

Pushing aside the thought of eating something's baby (which, for real, we do all the time), I bit into it. And I have to say that description is pretty spot-on, except it's more harmonious than it sounds. It's not the bursting lushness of berry or the sunshine sweetness of mango or even the tart/bitterness you expect from winter fruit. (Here's where I wrote a whole "Up in the Air"-inspired analysis comparing a persimmon to Vera Farmiga's character and then deleted it - you're welcome.) The texture really is tomato - soft but sturdy - but with a subtle, barely-sweet flavor and a wistful, modest perfume. ("Wistful"?) By the last piece on the plate, I was all, "I'm gonna make me some salsa out of these things."

Or this chutney, which will be dressing our Winter Solstice Pork Chops. You can thank me later.

Love,

The Boo

With Thanks to Squanto, Who Taught Us How to Cut and Peel Fish*

That's me, in the metal hat.

Dear Boo,

I know Thanksgiving is at this point old news, and we're full swing into the Christmas/Solstice/Winter wonderland season (though the weather doesn't quite seem to have gotten the memo), but I have to take a moment to revisit since you and I (for the first time ever?? Is that possible?) didn't partake in the same feast this year and I feel I must catch you up.

It is at this point that I have to hang my head and cower in the corner for a moment to confess that I have no pictures to share. I know, I know! Quel horreur! Let me tell you, in a small attempt at defense, that a) the fact that the Boyfriend and I managed to get out of our apartment, with at least one pair of underwear and an acceptable shirt, on time, without missing our plane or getting into a taxi accident on the FDR (remember that?), after handing in midterms and closing my show and tying up loose work ends and and and, is a minor miracle. Thus, the fact that I realized on our pre-dawn walk to the subway that I had forgotten my camera is a tragedy, but not entirely unexpected. And b) when you're spending the holiday with your Boyfriend's family and meeting some of said family for the first time, constantly aiming your camera at your plate each time a meal is set out, or following your host around snapping pictures whenever the fridge is opened might not be the first impression you want to make. That said, for you, I would have done it gladly had my brain not turned to mush in the packing process.

So, I will be brief and say that my first Thanksgiving away from our family, at the Boyfriend's oldest sister's home in Virginia, was fun, relaxing, and fattening beyond belief. The whole family had warned me multiple times to bring loose waisted pants and resign myself to gaining about 5 lbs over the weekend. Added to the fact that the Oldest Sister and her Husband both love to cook, is the inherent nurturing role that goes with being the oldest and usually translates to comforting, welcoming, and caring behaviors including constantly feeding ones guests and relatives, as well as the Southern influence of the Husband whose cooking often involved a tremendous amount of butter, and let's not forget meat. The Oldest Sister put the kibosh on allowing us to count the pounds of butter consumed over the course of the weekend (about 50% of which was used on Thanksgiving day). A wise move.

(Food) Highlights would have to include:

1) The look of horror on the faces of the Boyfriend's three nephews when told I had never had a breakfast of biscuits and gravy before.

2) Of course, the actual eating of this dish, which, for the uninitiated, consists of a fresh baked buttery biscuit split open and smothered--absolutely annihilated, by a rich white gravy studded with crumbled sausage and chopped bacon. A side of home fries is a given, of course. My stomach literally didn't know what hit it, while my mouth slapped me upside the head for waiting 29 years to indulge.

3) Cocktail/appetizer hour around the island in the gorgeous and enormous kitchen that the Boyfriend warned me I would covet, and which included such tastiness as warm crab and artichoke dip, enormous shrimp grilled with old bay, and pita chips with tzaziki (we snuck in a few carrot sticks under the radar, possibly the lone raw vegetable I had all weekend. why bother, really?)

4) The iron chefesque cookoff replete with silent voting procedures judged impartially by Papa in which the Boyfriend and Oldest Sister represented Team Leftover Turkey Potpie and the Oldest Sister's Husband and I represented Team Leftover Steak Potpie, the latter of which I can proudly say was victorious (there were au gratin potatoes under the top crust. I mean, come ON.).

5) On the morning of our departure at 6am for the airport, we tiptoed downstairs to find individual egg and cheese on biscuits warming in the oven for our homemade breakfast on the road. FYI, If you're planning a trip to Richmond, I've got the perfect little bed and breakfast for you....

6) The O.S.H.'s Thanksgiving teriyaki green beans. In a banquet of the traditional stuffing, garlic mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes with pecan topping, turkey, gravy, and cranberry sauce, the green beans stuck out like a sore, asian-flavored thumb. Or so I thought. In reality they were the perfect addition, their salty/sweetness complementing a forkful of mellow mashed spuds and moist turkey. It perked up the triptophan-laden meat, went surprisingly well with the sourness of the cranberry, matched the garlic in the potatoes and balanced the sweetness of the yams. When I went back for seconds, I surprised even myself by going straight for the beans. And don't worry, there was still plenty of butter in them, so it wasn't just out of virtue.

I asked the O.S.H. for the recipe on I think three different occasions, in three different ways, and emerged each time with a list of ingredients but still really no concept of how to make it. I could attribute this to the plague of the home cook making their traditional holiday dishes which can now only be described as "some of this and some of that and you sort of taste it til it tastes right and then you add some more if it needs it." Or it could have been the gravy-addled fog I am only just emerging from.

Here's what I gathered: Maybe a cup of soy sauce and a cup of teriyaki (or was it less soy?), some sugar, maybe it was also a cup though that doesn't seem possible, boiled and reduced down. At some point corn starch gets added to thicken the sauce, and a couple of cloves of roasted garlic mashed and added in. I THINK softened butter gets added to create a thick sort of paste at some point. The beans are blanched--this I know for sure--and then tossed in a baking dish with the sauce and reheated through. Sorry, I know this isn't very helpful. Sometime soon, when I'm done with finals (will that ever happen??) I will experiment and come up with something more quantifiable for you. Or if you're drooling already (as I am as I write this), try it and let me know what you come up with.

Do YOU have pictures?? I want a recipe for the pomegranate martinis I heard rumor of....

On to figgy pudding!

Love,
The Mouse

*"I am thankful for Squanto, who taught us how to cut and peel fish" --The Youngest Cousin, circa age 8? in a book of thanksgiving made by his school, in which most youngsters mentioned their siblings, parents, puppies, homes, and favorite toys.

Failed Kale (What a Difference a Minute Makes)

photo courtesy of worldcommunitycookbook.com

Dear Mouse,


I learned something. I couldn't decide how to sum it up, so here's 5 versions:

It's the little things. In cooking just as much if not more as anything else.

It is possible to ruin kale.

It is possible to ruin a tested, well-received, simple!! recipe by missing one tiny important step.

God is in the details.

The harder you try to be impressive with your dinner the more likely it is you will fall on your face.

But now wait a minute, actually, in my defense: This was NOT a trying-hard dinner. I know better than that! I wasn't going to bone a duck or make tapenade. The Date was coming over, and I was going for graceful, effortless, 'so-what-if-my-kitchen-must-be-viewed-through-a-microscope' sexiness. No stress. I chose a very very easy and tasty menu: Pasta Puttanesca (as endorsed in your Valentines post), and the Kale with Bacon and Vinegar that everybody loved at Fall Equinox. (Duh - it has BACON and VINEGAR). Fast, simple, AND impressive, right? FYI I based my version of 'Whore's Pasta' on the Amateur Gourmet's version ... though I just couldn't do the 8 cloves of garlic!!! (Sorry Adam!) and stopped at 5, as The Date's eyes were already bugging out at the pile on the cutting board.

The Kale is a breeze - into the boiling water for 5, into the pan with the fried-up bacon for 10, into a bowl, splash with vinegar, serve. I was way more focused on the Pasta of Ill Repute, having never made it before. And while flitting around trying to appear gorgeous and not sweaty, I blithely splashed the vinegar into the saute pan during phase 2. As in, I cooked with it, instead of finishing with it. But so what, big deal.

The Puttanesca - salty, savory, garlicky, sour - was a big hit. "This is great", the Date (who had claimed to hate anchovies) enthused, piling on the grated parmesan White American Man-style.

The kale, however, got this response:

"Tastes kinda weird."

And, Mouse, it did. Oh, my bruised FoodBlogger Ego. It was, like, musty, or kind of fruit-gone-bad. No denying it. And I was all, "but it has BACON and VINEGAR..." I couldn't figure it out. I'd made it before!

There was but one thing to do. Go upstairs, visit The Neighbors, and eat most of their cake. And, while there, learn a few things. Firstly, that Puttanesca was the first thing that Mrs. Neighbor had ever cooked for Mr. Neighbor, and secondly, that she had also screwed up a perfectly good vegetable recipe by doing guess what: putting the vinegar into the pan while cooking instead of using it to finish the dish. She likened the taste to a bottle of wine that had turned. Yep.

I tested out this theory a couple of days later with a whole new bunch of kale and I have to say it holds up. Delicious once again, bacon and all. photo courtesy myrecipes.com and Boo's laziness

So, while most of my posts are of the "Just get in there! Make it up!" variety, the moral of this one is: Attention Must Be Paid. Stick to the G-D recipe and stop worrying about your waterproof mascara.

Love,

The Boo

On Paper Delivery and Pork Chop Braising

Dear Boo,

yum.

Recently, the Mother did a lovely thing for the Boyfriend and me, by ordering the NY Times to be delivered to our door. Daily. I think she's got this idea that we can help save the printed word, one hard copy at a time. I don't want to burst her bubble, and frankly I do enjoy sitting down with the paper instead of my laptop on a Sunday afternoon. Not to mention what daily consumption of the Times has done for my moral superiority. However, one can only imagine what it's done to my organizational inferiority. I mean, this thing arrives at our doorstep. EVERY DAY. I'm sure you can picture what that much accumulated paper does to a one bedroom apartment, inhabited by one (and maybe a half) die-hard packrat.

The other day, the Boyfriend and I were totally fed up and decided to dig ourselves out from under the piles and toss things with ruthless abandon. Of course, because he's The Boyfriend and by his very title must be kind, sweet, and endlessly in touch with my needs, amidst the purge, he pulled out a dining section and cried, "Wait! Did you see this? Don't you want it? It's got all kinds of recipes..." What a sweetheart. Of course I kept it.

And lucky for him that I did. In it was a recipe by Melissa Clark for a quick braise of pork chops that has all the flavor of a day-long event. It's a simple sauce of tomatoes, garlic, onion and rosemary, with anchovies added for that hard to identify briny/funkiness. After our massive newspaper toss of 09, the Boyfriend and I took a stroll through Chelsea Market where we were lucky to get a grand tour of the newly opened Dickson's Farmstand Meats, the glorious creation by my high school friend, and now go to meat-expert, Jake Dickson. (You may remember him from the days of Hamlet the pig.) The store is amazing, and once the kitchen is fully up and running, I'm sure will be totally overrun with customers. He's already had a visit (and tweet) from Ruth Reichl, and a ton of press, and will soon have an even greater honor bestowed upon him (if accepted), that of A Mouse Bouche's Baker's Dozen interviewee! Lo and behold, Jake had some gorgeous thick pork chops, perfect for my trash-bin rescued recipe. We grabbed the rest of the ingredients (what I could remember of them after a quick glance at the paper) and headed home to cook.

Apologies for the messy plate and the fact that you can't get a good look at Jake's beautiful chops. Trust me, they were beauties.

The result? Quick, simple, comforting, and delicious. I served them with roasted fingerlings from the farmer's market, and a salad of arugula with leftover roast acorn squash, gorgonzola, and caramelized onions. The leftover sauce from the chops turned into a great pasta the next day with wilted arugula, this delicious olive oil, and generous amounts of cheese.

The salad was delicious. I roasted the squash with maple syrup, chili powder, olive oil s&p.

The next day's dinner. Delicious.

If you're planning on cooking for someone (just anyone, no one in particular, not that I have anyone in mind :)), may I recommend this meal. It's very autumnal (love that word), very tasty, manly enough if your guest happens to be of the male persuasion, still elegant, and when you get down to it, you can do like the Boyfriend and eat the last bits with your hands. tres sexy. Well, maybe not, but tres tres tasty.

Melissa Clark's Braised Pork Chops (adapted only slightly by the Mouse)

2 1 1/2-inch-thick bone-in pork loin chops (about 1 1/2 pounds total)

3/4 teaspoon kosher salt, more for seasoning pork

1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, more for seasoning pork

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

1 red onion, halved and thinly sliced (the Mouse used 2 large shallots and some leftover caramelized yellow onions)

3 large rosemary sprigs

2 garlic cloves, minced

1 large can of plum tomatoes, reserving some of the juice so the sauce doesn't get too soupy (Clark calls for a mix of yellow and red fresh tomatoes)

6 anchovy fillets

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Rinse pork chops and pat dry with a paper towel. Season generously with salt and pepper. In a large, ovenproof skillet over medium-high heat, place 1 tablespoon oil. Sear chops until well browned, 3 to 4 minutes a side. Transfer to a plate.

2. Add remaining tablespoon oil to skillet and sauté onion and rosemary until onions are golden, about 5 minutes. Add garlic and cook for another minute.

3. Add tomatoes, anchovies and remaining salt and pepper and cook, stirring occasionally, until tomatoes begin to break down, about 8 minutes.

4. Add pork chops to skillet, spooning sauce over chops. Cover skillet and transfer to oven to bake until a thermometer inserted into center of meat reads 145 degrees, about 15 minutes. For me it took much longer but that may be because I was raised by our mother and am terrified of undercooking pork. Allow chops to rest for 5 minutes in pan. Serve with some sort of starch. Polenta would be good, or crusty bread. The potatoes were also delicious.

Yield: 2 servings.

Love,
The Mouse

Baker's Dozen #1: Danielle diVecchio

Dear Mouse,

I did it! Our first interview! I feel soo journalistic. Two nights ago at this Union Squarea bistro, I got to take down 1) a bowl of (excellent, minimalist) french onion soup and 2) a series of scholarly notes on a yellow pad while wearing my Sexy Librarian glasses and sitting across the table from one Danielle diVecchio, NYC-based actress AND owner of "Biscotti diVecchio".

First I'll just say that I know Danielle from our work together on the play LILA CANTE, in which she played the hardass-who-just-wants-to-be-loved record exec and during which she fed me and our castmates bags of the hard-but-still-can-be-chewed-best biscotti I've ever had. Fact. And THEN she was all, "Oh, I made these." Danielle is a prime example of a MouseBouche personality -- a working artist who knows her way around a kitchen -- which is why I was excited to make her our first Baker's Dozen interview.

Here's the thing: I don't like biscotti. Let's start there. As anyone who's been to a Starbucks knows, biscotti are oblong, bland, vaguely anise cookies roughly the texture of a brick and impossible to eat without breaking your molars. Right? Well, often. And now I know why. As Danielle informed me, biscotti ("twice baked") are traditionally made with flour, sugar, eggs, and anise/almond flavor (liqueur or extract, never real almonds). That's it. No butter. No wonder no teeth. Apparently the original audience were Italian sailors, heading to sea for months and thinking only of the longevity of their snacks.

Well, like many of our favorite artists, Danielle has found success through a combination of adherence to tradition and respectful tweakage thereof. Her cookies are a sly blend of traditional biscotti and a simple "soft butter cookie" recipe she remembers learning at her (2nd-generation Italian) grandmother's side.

As I heard this story, Mouse, I smiled as it brought back memories of our own grandma's famous cooking and equally famous recipe caginess ("oh, you know... a little of this, a little of that...") Danielle recalled herself at 13 or 14, standing in the kitchen as her grandmother spread flour on the counter ("everything was on a counter, no bowls") and made a well for the eggs. There was no recipe ( "I don't know, did you see, Danielle? Did you see?") and the lessons were all hands-on ("Do it til it feels like this"). The rogue ingredient, communicated in a conspiratorial whisper, was a good dose of whiskey... which of course burned off in the cooking, leaving only the flavor.

Fast forward to 2001 where Danielle is living and acting in a shell-shocked NYC. A friend is organizing a 9/11 benefit at a local church and wants to give party favor bags to those attending. Danielle offers to bake, specifically pistachio chocolate chunk biscotti. Why biscotti? She shakes her head now - "I don't know!" - and points out that no one seemed to think of them as biscotti, just as good cookies. By now, Danielle had already put her own stamp on the family recipe; she laughs, thinking how her grandmother would be "horrified" by the inclusion of chocolate. Or cayenne pepper (but I get ahead of myself).

Business began in earnest in winter 2003, when an upcoming 'sure thing' acting job had fallen through (that never happens) and Danielle was, in a word, broke. A friend said "You'll think of something", and she did. The cookies! She drew up an order form on a Word document, got a free fax number, send 300 emails letting people know she'd be selling biscotti for the holidays, and left the house to calm down. An hour later she had her first 25 orders, and the rest is crunchy, unorthodox history.

Between Janis and Carmela!

As I slurped my soup and scratched down notes we of course got to talking about Our Life in Art. Reminiscing about her time on The Sopranos, Danielle was talking about the show's quality, a word that came up a lot in this conversation. The show was a huge success for a reason: much time, effort and thought went into making it. One episode would take three weeks. The writers had full creative control. Actors were hired more for talent than name. "And then, imitations {ie, with none of these practices} fail - and they wonder why!" We clinked our glasses and nodded in agreement on this, I think, fundamental point in the artistic life -- that creative AND business decisions made from the HEART are wise, that time and effort and attention result in quality, and that mass production and the bottom line can (CAN) be a project's downfall. Danielle has often been encouraged to market her biscotti, for example, to big box stores, lowering the price point to reach as many people as possible. She has resisted, holding out for "quality, integrity, and the passing on of tradition". It's just sensible, she says; it makes better cookies.

I had a vision of a bag of Biscotti diVecchio looking at me from the warehouse bins at CostCo and shuddered, picking up my soup spoon and applying it to my note pad.

Danielle is currently working in theatre/TV/film and the business is no longer a matter of survival but a labor of love (and secondary income). She still does most of the hands-on work, though she has hired one baker (found through the Artisan Baking Center). Her first and most pressing question: "Do you LIKE baking?" (He said yes.)

Ok, now the Important Stuff:

* Where can I get me some Biscotti diVecchio?

HERE!

Note the THANKSGIVING SPECIAL if you order before 11/18/09!!

Also @ the specialty store DOMUS in Hell's Kitchen and on the Rum & Blackbird NYC Tasting Tours

* What kinda Biscotti di Vecchio?

Sweet flavors: Pistachio Chocolate Chunk, Cranberry Orange Zest, Toasted Almond, White Chocolate Macadamia Nut, and the very popular Cayenne Cherry Chocolate Chunk.
Savories: Sun Dried Tomato, Basil & Cheddar, Black Pepper Asiago Parmesan, Rosemary Thyme Walnut.

Upcoming: bags of finely ground crumbs ('which make a great alternative cheesecake crust') and bags of the leftover 'ends' ('which are great crumbled over ice cream').

* The Mouse Asks - Where should we eat in your neighborhood?

In Hell's Kitchen, Danielle likes Cara Mia for Italian; Pam Real for Thai and El Centro for Mexican.

* The Mouse Asks - What flavor biscotti is best for stress eating?

Cayenne Cherry Chocolate Chunk. (Duh.)

After her most recent Biscotti diVecchio email blast, Danielle received a call from a well-known casting agent who she happened to know personally. "Well hello", she said, "So you're calling to order some biscotti?" A small pause on the other end, then: "Well, yes ... But also, there's this play..."

That's what we're talking about.

Love,

The Boo

I'll leave you with this truly creative recipe for panzanelle (italian bread salad) which uses savory Biscotti diVecchio as the base. !!! Buon Appetito.