Concords were the grapes of my childhood. They were grown all over the Finger Lakes region of upstate New York for jelly, juice, and Kosher wine. I outgrew concords and moved on to seedless grapes grown in California. Or so I thought. Lately I’ve been buying organic Washington-grown concord grapes.
Concord grapes belong to the labrusca species. They’re cold-tolerant, which is advantageous for upstate New York winters. Vinifera grapes are less tolerant to cold; however, grapes from this species are being grown more often in colder climates (global warming, anyone?). Labrusca-vinifera hybrids are becoming popular to grow in the Finger Lakes for wine.
Although my consumption of concord grape wine is limited to Passover Seders, I enjoy eating this variety of grapes. They’re more flavorful than the ubiquitous Thompson seedless (aka Thompson tasteless) variety. The seeds are a hindrance to some, but not to me. The skins also slip off easily if you’re averse to a purple tongue after consuming them. A small price to pay for grape-y goodness.
Seattle is in the midst of what the weather geeks call the Dark Season. Rain is forecast for the foreseeable future. My pepper and petunia plants are waterlogged and should be disposed of if it ever stops raining long enough for me to do so without soaking the floors. Still there is light. The leaves are in full color right about now. The trees across the river from us are bright yellow. Other trees and shrubs around town are red, crimson, and orange. A little light until winter descends.
I had a chunk of leftover “French bread”, along with some mozzarella cheese and jarred spaghetti sauce. What to do for lunch? Make a poor man’s pizza.
For those of you not of the Cornell persuasion, the poor man’s pizza (or PMP) is the direct antecedent of Stouffer’s French bread pizza. It’s a chunk of French bread split down the middle, smeared with tomato sauce, topped with mozzarella cheese, then baked. The sandwich is served closed, unlike the commercial version. You can gild the lily with mushrooms or meat. The addition of mushrooms, pepperoni, and sausage is a Sui (short for Suicide). The PMP was served from the Hot Truck, which used to be parked near the West Campus dormitories after about 10:30 pm during the school year. The Hot Truck used to make appearances on the Arts Quad on Reunion weekends, so nostalgic alums could relive their gustatory glory days after visiting the beer tents.
Alas, like many traditions, The Hot Truck is no more. A sandwich shop downtown bought the Hot Truck when the owner retired. It disappeared from its usual spot last fall. Future Cornellians will never have the experience of freezing their butts off at midnight waiting to pick up their PMP – and hoping that the sandwich doesn’t get cold before they return to their room.
Traditional eggplant parmesan can be as heavy as lead. The eggplant pieces get breaded and fried, then are layered in a casserole with an overload of cheese. We had a lighter version last month at Il Terrazzo Carmine, as described in this post. Julian decided to try and reproduce the recipe at Casa Sammamish.
He started by slicing the eggplant very thinly, then briefly shallow-frying the slices until tender. He put the slices on a half sheet pan in a single layer. He layered sauce and cheese atop the eggplant and baked it. It wasn’t exactly what we had last month, but the dish was a lot less leaden than the usual eggplant parmesan.
My former roommate texted me yesterday to let me know that Joe’s in Ithaca was closing. I’d mentioned this restaurant in a previous post about family-style Italian restaurants. As it happened, Julian made reservations for an Italian restaurant in Pioneer Square prior to our symphony concert.
The restaurant was Il Terrazzo Carmine. This is definitely not of the family-style Italian genre. As a matter of fact, it was quite upscale. Outdoor dining with chandeliers is definitely not Joe’s. The restaurant is housed in a rather nondescript building on the border of Pioneer Square and the International District. We didn’t recognize the front entrance, but found the back way in from the terrace.
For an appetizer, we split an order of eggplant parmigiana. However, this was not the usual breaded, heavy version. The eggplant was silky, as if it were sliced on a mandoline and cooked very briefly. It was napped with fresh tomato sauce and topped with mozzarella. Julian had risotto with Dungeness crab and I had venison ravioli as mains. The ravioli was topped with a mushroom veal reduction that was umami city. The risotto wasn’t as soupy as some versions can be. We had no room for dessert, but no matter. It wasn’t inexpensive, but impressive. Service was excellent. Per Julian’s suggestion, I give it 3.5 meatballs on a 0-4 scale.
Saturday is the one day of the week that I can be lazy. Monday through Friday I leave home before 6 for work. Sunday there’s church. So on Saturdays I’ll make an omelet for breakfast with a large pot of tea. I often stay in my bathrobe until after Julian takes his shower. And I often browse the cookbook collection.
Part of the Library.
When you have a collection approaching 600 books (but who’s counting?), there’s ample browsing to be had. Sometimes I look at newer volumes, other times I pick out books I haven’t looked at in a while. The question of what to make for dinner is never far from my mind.
Yesterday’s volume to review was Dorie Greenspan’s Baking Chez Moi. I made her Basque Macarons a couple of years ago. I found a recipe for Alsatian Christmas bread that might be worth making later in the year. It’s gluten-free and egg-free, which would be ideal for our crew. The recipe is mostly dried fruit bound together with almond flour. It’s been bookmarked.
We had two potlucks to attend this weekend. The first was a memorial celebration for a friend who died on New Year’s Eve. Julian handled that potluck by making Boston baked beans. He used the time-honored recipe from Durgin Park (of blessed memory). He’s been making this recipe in his ceramic bean pot for longer than I’ve known him. The beans were well accepted. One friend decided she needed to buy a ceramic bean pot just to make this recipe. (It can be made in a Le Creuset or another large pot, honest.)
Today’s potluck was at our condo complex. Julian told me, “I signed you up for dessert”. This meant one thing: The One True Cobbler®. I stopped at Yakima Fruit Market on my way to church to pick up the peaches. I made the full recipe in a 13″ x 9″ pan. The neighbors enjoyed it. Even better, we have some left over so I don’t have to make another pan for Julian’s benefit.
Long-time readers of this humble little blog know about The One True Cobbler® (accept no substitutes). Last night Julian suggested a variation on the recipe: Using mango as part of the fruit filling. We had a mango that I’d forgotten to incorporate into a curry. The ratio of mango to peach was about 1:1. I also used a little ground ginger as the seasoning. The mango was quite ripe; as a result, it turned into mush during baking. No matter, Julian approved of this gemisch.
Seattle doesn’t get much violent weather. Tornadoes are rare and hurricanes are non-existent. Tonight we’re getting a hellacious thunderstorm. The University of Washington football game is on weather delay due to the storm. To add insult to injury, the power’s out at the stadium. We’re currently getting the storm here. With luck, we won’t have a power outage.
I was the blood-borne pathogens safety officer for my department when I was teaching in North Carolina. I was responsible for keeping students, faculty, and staff safe from sharp objects and body fluids used in our research studies. As part of my duties, I went on “toe patrol” in the labs to make sure students were wearing closed-toe, closed heel shoes. In my current position, I work with physicians and nurses to assure the safety of patients undergoing heart and vascular surgeries.
Unfortunately, my career focus on safety doesn’t always extend to my home kitchen. Last night I was roasting some eggplant and peppers for a gathering of the usual Friday Night Follies crowd. The eggplant was taking longer to soften than I’d hoped. I inadvertently touched the top of the oven opening with my right arm, leaving a small first-degree burn. Then I accidentally knocked a knife off the counter. The blade caught the side of my sandal-clad foot, leaving a small cut that bled profusely. I stood, stork-like, trying to stop the bleeding until Julian came and bandaged me up.
A few recommendations based on sad experience:
Pay attention. Don’t be distracted by other things. Focus on the task.
Respect the knives. Make sure the handles aren’t hanging off the edge of the counter to keep you from bumping them on the floor.
Respect your fingers. Keep the ones on your non-dominant hand curled under as you chop vegetables. Be careful hand-washing your knives.
Recent Comments