Our Friday Night Follies group consists of several mixed-faith (or lack thereof) couples. We’ve been known to light Chanukkah candles on a Christmas-themed tablecloth. Passover is the one holiday where we (almost) do things by the Book. A few examples of how we tailor the holiday:

Several years ago we had both red and white horseradish for the table. This led to the yin-yang presentation below:

This year friends who have been wandering in the wilderness of Silicon Valley were up for the Seder (and were house-hunting so they can return to the Promised Land of Seattle). This is the family for whom gluten is a serious health issue. [See my earlier post, Feeding Between the Lines.] They purchased gluten-free gefilte fish that the daughter with celiac disease likes. (She may be the only 10-year-old in recorded history known to like gefilte fish.) They also bought gluten-free matzoh and what they thought was meal for matzoh balls, although the latter turned out to be farfel (coarse matzoh crumbs). The mom made the batter with farfel and decided that it was not suitable for matzoh balls. She started from scratch again by grinding up the farfel in the blender. I took the failed batter and made the pancakes seen below:

 After eating a couple of them, I’m convinced that any matzoh balls made from them would be serious sinkers. Here are the matzoh balls made with the ground-up gluten-free farfel:

 I opted not to take a picture of them at the end of the evening, as the leftovers disintegrated into a gooey mass. (Teachable moment: Most gluten-free flours are too low in protein to sustain the shape of products for very long. In this case, the main flours in the matzoh meal were tapioca and potato starch.)

As with most Seders, wine made an appearance. One friend brought some excellent 12-year-old wine from her late husband’s collection. This was not Kosher for Passover, however. The matriarch of our group wanted Manischewitz beyond what was used for the haroseth, so there was a bottle of what we called “goofy grape” on the table. We also had kosher grape juice for the kids and our non-drinking friends.

Passover is also a time of the Seder dessert smackdown. My coconut macaroons are a regular feature. I usually serve a fresh fruit salad alongside them, because the rest of the meal can be extremely heavy. Lest you think the plague of locusts only existed before Moses led the children of Israel out of Egypt, this is what the dessert table looked like after the guests descended. The macaroons and fruit are in the right foreground.

It is traditional to set a place for the prophet Elijah. This year Elijah was our friend who was doing his nurse practitioner rotation at a clinic south of Seattle and couldn’t make it in time for the (condensed) Haggadah reading.

A good time was had by all, as always.

A friend of ours used to teach at a Waldorf School, where use of technology is avoided in early education. (Her specialty was teaching finger-knitting to squirmy 6-year-olds.) Last night at the Friday Night Follies, she demonstrated how to make Waldorf School Whipped Cream:

Pour heavy cream into a clean, wide-mouth, screw-top jar. Shake the daylights out of the jar for 20 seconds, then pass it to another person. Repeat shaking and passing along just until you can’t hear any sloshing in the jar. Don’t go too far, unless you want to make Waldorf School Butter.

Not only were the results good for such a low-tech activity, but it was good exercise for the participants.

Back in the day when computer software actually came with printed documentation, information technology geeks had a key piece of advice for those who called with basic questions: Read the *^%#ing Manual (RTFM). In our house, we’ve adapted it to RTFR, where recipe replaces manual in the acronym. Here are the common sins of omission or commission in recipe non-reading:

•  Ingredients
• Preparation
• Timing

How do you avoid the pitfalls? Simple:

•  Read. The. Recipe. Several times. Well before you get ready to cook, in case you need to pick up key ingredients at the grocery store. (I often get calls to buy something on the way home from work.)
•  Get everything cut up and prepped prior to turning on the stove. This is what’s called the mise en place, or put in place. Chop up the onions and garlic, open up the cans of broth or coconut milk and measure what you need. If you only have one cutting board and knife, cut up your vegetables (including any side dish or salad ingredients) before the meat or other protein to avoid cross-contamination that could result in food poisoning.
•  Under- or overestimating timing on recipes is rampant. In general, tofu and seafood cook faster than fish.  Chicken parts cook faster than whole, halved, or quartered chicken. It takes time to get beef or lamb from the shoulder, brisket, breast, or hip fork-tender in stews or pot roasts. When in doubt on whether your meat is done, use a thermometer. Most cookbooks have a chart to tell you when a particular meat is done to your liking or be safe.

Now that I’ve given my thoughts on how to write and read recipes, look for an upcoming post on how to bend the rules.

The Significant Other (SO) had to fly Back East for a family funeral last year. To someone who lives in the Seattle area, Back East means any place on the other side of the Cascade Mountains. It could be Yakima, Nova Scotia, or anywhere in between. In this case, Back East was New Jersey. I was unable to go due to two deadlines I needed to meet at work.

Normally the SO and I split dinner duty, as he enjoys cooking and does it well. (One reason I fell for him.) The added responsibilities can be liberating, as I can bring zucchini into the kitchen without incurring his wrath. I can experiment without hearing his “Hello, Poison Control” schtick. The following was such an experiment:

I had some asparagus in the refrigerator that needed to be used, along with a shallot, a package of Northwest-style smoked salmon, a lemon, and enough penne for me. I made a riff on an asparagus recipe in Andreas Viestad’s book of Scandinavian cooking, Kitchen of Light. I minced the shallot and cut the asparagus into lengths slightly shorter than the penne. I sautéed the shallot and asparagus in butter while the pasta was cooking. After I drained the pasta, I added the salmon and a dollop of Dijon mustard to the asparagus mixture with a little lemon juice, white pepper, and a pinch of dried rosemary needles. I then stirred the penne into the pan with the asparagus, and dinner was served. Salt wasn’t necessary, as the smoked salmon had more than enough for my palate.

The beauty of this recipe is its flexibility. You can substitute broccoli or cauliflower for the asparagus. Leftover cooked chicken or fish could stand in for the smoked salmon. Whole grain pasta can stand up to the powerful flavors. Penne and mostaccioli seem to be the ideal shapes to match the asparagus; however, you could use other shapes if that’s all you have in the cupboard. I would cut the asparagus in smaller pieces for shells, fusilli, orecchiette, or elbows. The recipe was good enough to spring on the SO after his return. And he didn’t do his “Hello, Poison Control” schtick.