I never signed up for this...

hopefully the last time I will mention food in 2008

I'm writing this earlier than usual.  Later I'll be way too busy.   Although recently I complained about my friends who were busy cooking before the arrival of their children, here I am, awaiting the arrival of MY children--and busy cooking.

My kids are driving here after visiting their dad in Los Angeles; they'll be here in time for the last night of Hanukkah.  Which means latkes. 

I heard from lots of people who tried Alli's latke recipe and the pumpkin bread recipe.  I never imagined I would be sharing recipes on my blog, since I'm about as far from Julia Child as you could get and I would run out of recipes within a week.  But there is another one worth sharing, especially since I just made it. 

Everyone loves this kugel.   For those who have no idea what that is, kugel is a traditional Jewish dish, a casserole made of noodles. 

Unlike many Jewish women,  I don't have a single family recipe.  I've collected a few, mostly picking up scraps from friends.  Literally.  I still use the scrap of paper with the recipe that I copied down 25 years ago, the first time I tried the kugel made by my friend Joyce.  My mother had actually made noodle kugel but I never had her recipe.  Besides, I like this one much better.  You will too.

NOODLE KUGEL

6 eggs, well beaten

1 lb. cottage cheese

1/2 lb. ricotta cheese

1/4 lb. cream cheese (softened )

1 c. sour cream

1 3/4 cup milk

1/2 t. vanilla

2 T. melted butter

1 cup sugar

1 t. salt

1/2 lb. wide egg noodles

Preheat oven to 350.  Butter (or spray with canola oil) a 9 X 13-inch casserole dish 

Cook noodles.

In large mixing bowl, mix first 5 ingredients.

Then mix in noodles and the rest of the ingredients.

Pour into casserole (it will look....kind of yucky)

Sprinkle top with cinnamon sugar.

Bake 75 to 90 minutes. (should be solid enough to cut into slices; the edges will move a little from sides of pan)

By the way I use low-fat or non-fat versions of things like sour cream and cream cheese--- just as delicious, and just a little less guilt.

Jews and Saints

Alli's post about her latkes proves beyond a doubt she shares my DNA.  Both Jewish drama queens with a genetic mutation--Alli and I come from a long line of Jewish mothers who can't cook.  I had one Jewish grandmother who burned everything and one who never cooked at all.  I never ate a homemade latke till I was married and got the recipe from a friend.  How ironic that of the few dishes I cook well, most are Jewish recipes, and latkes are the JEW-el in the crown.  Even more ironic,  some of my favorite latke memories are from All Saints Episcopal Day School.

As someone who grew up in a kosher home,  among the things I didn't sign up for is that both of my children attended Christian schools.   Alli went to a Catholic middle school and Daniel to All Saints; at night they would sit at the dinner table discussing whether or not they should each take communion.   My father would roll over in his grave.  But in the end they both learned a lot about Christianity, plus valuable lessons on tolerance and acceptance.  And the learning process works both ways.

For Daniel, who was younger, the mixed messages were a little confusing, especially early on.  He started at All Saints in first grade, and stayed for 8 years--- the only Jewish kid in his class.  Every day he went to Chapel and sang Christian hymns and learned the names of the Saints-- and then after school he would learn to read Hebrew for his future Bar Mitzvah.  

How do Jewish kids adjust to an Episcopal school?  Maybe the answer to that (and the answer to almost everything) is food.

Every year during Hanukkah, the school Chaplain would add "The Dreidle Song" to the mix of Christmas carols sung during Chapel.  And every year the Chaplain would call upon Daniel  to stand up in front of the entire student body, and Daniel would explain about the victory of the Maccabees over the Syrians, and why we light 8 candles during Hanukkah. 

And then I would go into his classroom and cook latkes.  I was never sure who had more fun--the kids or me, and I'm sure there are Jewish mothers doing this in Christian schools all over America.

Through this quintessential Jewish food, for the first time these kids at Daniel's school also got a taste of Jewish traditions. The tantalizing smell would drift down the hall and I'm convinced that many kids and not a few teachers would have signed up to convert on the spot.  More than one classmate of Daniel's went home and insisted that her parents buy a menorah and light candles.  To this day they reminisce about the latkes.  Ten years later, a girl from Daniel's class recently emailed him, asking for the recipe.  And ever since they met in first grade, Daniel's friend Christian got hooked on latkes.  He comes over every year to get his latke fix; one year he was so eager he even came a day early.  I can't think of latkes without thinking of him, and we can't celebrate Hanukkah without Christian.

Sometimes I think if the entire world could be open minded and enjoy each other's traditions, maybe food could be the secret ingredient to world peace---one latke at a time.

The Fireball

This post is by my daughter Alli. 

My husband is on active duty in the US Army , and for our first holiday season together we were living in a little town called Sierra Vista, Arizona, which is adjacent to Fort Huachuca, where he was stationed.  Since we had only been married since the previous January and were just starting out life together, we couldn't afford to go home to our beloved California and our families for the holidays, so we were toughing it out in Sierra Vista alone.

Being Jewish, no holiday season was complete for me without my mom's fabulous potato latkes, and by Christmas Day (which also happened to be the last night of Hanukkah), I was feeling pretty down at the prospect of the holiday season passing without them.  My husband, wanting to make me happy, suggested that we make them for Christmas dinner.  Since he is Christian and had never had  latkes before, I thought this would be a wonderful way to introduce him to a delicious food and also to merge our holiday customs and traditions togerher, setting a precedent for the years of holidays to come. 

Not remembering the family recipe for latkes, I called my mom at home in California.  She patiently told me the quantities of each ingredient and walked me through all the steps.  Right before hanging up, she added, "Oh, and be sure to allow lots of time to heat up the oil for frying, since it needs to be very hot.  Start up the stove and let the oil start heating while you peel potatoes and mix all your ingredients together, so it has eough time to get as hot as it needs to be."  I thanked her, promised we'd call the next day, and relayed the directions to my husband.  He started pouring oil into the frying pan to heat while I set up shop on the other side of the kitchen with a big bowl, a grater, one onion, and seven potatoes, dreaming of delicious crispy latkes with applesauce and sour cream.

Half an hour later, all the potatoes and onions were peeled and mixed in with the other ingredients, ready for cooking.  We went back to the stove, and to my surprise, the pan with the oil was covered with a lid.  Having never seen my mom cover the pan before, I asked my husband why he had covered it, and he said, "It gets hotter this way, and it heats up faster, so we don't have to wait for it to heat and they'll cook faster."  Having never taken college chemistry and being a very inexperienced cook to boot, I saw nothing wrong with this explanation and lifted up the top of the pan to put in the first round of latkes.  Smoke immediately began billowing out, followed momentarily by a giant fireball at least three feet around!  I screamed, and my husband came running.

Being a much more collected person than me, he grabbed the lid of the pan and put it back on, thus putting out the fireball.  Then he turned off the stove.  By this point, the smoke alarm was blaring and I was hysterical, envisioning our apartment going up in flames.  My husband carried the hot pan outside and set it down on the porch to cool off in the freezing desert night air, assuring me that everything was going to be okay and that as soon as the pan cooled down, it would be safe to take the top off again.

I, however, had scenes from the movie Backdraft racing through my mind.  I could picture tomorrow's headline: Entire Town Burned to the Ground by Couple Cooking Christmas Dinner.  Finally, after I made him wait an hour as well as call his own mother to be sure, my husband took the lid off the pan again...and nothing happened, of course.  Crisis averted, we took the pan back inside, reheated it (with the lid off this time!) and enujoyed our Christmas dinner of latkes, which tasted just like Mom's-- fireball and all.

Alli's story is also posted on One for the Table.com and Earthbound Farms website (including the recipe).

Give thanks and pass the pumpkin bread

Our family will pause during Thanksgiving dinner and each of us will take a moment to mention what we're most thankful for in the past year.  Other than that, I have to confess our holiday is all about food. 

The eating begins the moment I arrive at my sister's house.  I put down my suitcase and head for the kitchen where a loaf of fresh pumpkin bread is waiting.  I'll eat my first slice of many before I even take off my coat.   

We have turkey of course, but pumpkin bread is the official food for the week of our family's Thanksgiving.  I've already done the math--and I'm worried whether the 14 loaves Carla already made will be enough for the 14 people in the family  before fights break out over the crumbs.   

I doubt if anyone but me remembers that the tradition started when Carla and Paul came to Calfornia the first year I was married to H, my first husband.  You can gauge the success of that visit by the fact that my sister and her family never came to California again for Thanksgiving, requiring me to make the annual pilgrimage east. 

That first year, Carla got the pumpkin bread recipe over the phone and scribbled it on a scrap of paper.  She will be shocked to find out that I actually SAVED that recipe in its original, oil-stained form. (Not for any historical or sentimental reasons; just that for 25 years I've been too lazy to rewrite or type it on anything else.)

Somewhere along the line Carla started using a different recipe, the one we're all used to.  But when I make pumpkin bread, which is more rare, I use that original recipe.  You would never guess it by the amount of Carla's pumpkin bread I eat, but the truth is I like MY recipe better.  Not just  because it's way easier. 

Right now I'm going to do something I've never done on this blog and may never do again---share a recipe.  Both of them.

CARLA'S PUMPKIN BREAD

Dry Ingredients: mix in a separate bowl and set aside

3 1/2 cups flour

2 teaspoons baking soda

1/2 teaspoon baking powder

1 1/2 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon ground ginger

1/4 teaspoon ground cloves

Pumpkin mixture: mix in a separate bowl and set aside

1 lb. canned pumpkin

2/3 cup water

In a large bowl with mixer on high, cream the following ingredients:

2 2/3 cups sugar

2/3 cup Crisco

2 eggs

Add in flour mixture and pumpkin mixture in alternating amounts until fully blended.  Pour into 2 loaf pans, greased and floured.  Bake at 350 degrees for one hour.

MY PUMPKIN BREAD

Blend in ONE large bowl (already a reason I like mine better):

3 eggs

2 cups canned pumpkin

1  1/2 cups sugar

1  1/2 cups brown sugar

1 cup oil (I use safflower)

3 cups flour

1 teaspoon nutmeg  (If I don't have one of the spices, I skip it; it's still great)

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1 teaspoon ground cloves

1 teaspoon ground ginger

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspooon baking powder

Pour into two loaf pans, greased and floured.  Bake for 1 hr.--1  1/4 hours.

Either recipe is guaranteed to make you very popular at this time of year.  If you are not lazy like me, try both.  And let me know what you think. 

Cross-posted at One for the Table.com

 

 

it's my day off and i don't feel like thinking up a title

My plan was to do what I said I would do weeks ago--take the day off and spend it reading the New York Times.   I don't want to spoil my perfect attendance record since I've posted every single day, and I did promise that SOMETHING would appear in this space.  As if they need MY help, I figured I'd just put in a link to the Times  online. 

But I couldn't do that.  I couldn't put anything at all here since I suddenly lost my internet connection.  Gone.  Dead.  Not good news for a blogger.  Or for anyone.  I won't relate the details of what happened or why or what I did about it-- which would bore you and even bored me while I was living it.  But the end result is that I still have no internet connection.

Which means basically my life has stopped.  

Maybe this is a message from the universe telling me stop and slow down.  I'm sure there are some benefits.  (And I'll tell you as soon as I think of one.)   The good news is that there will be no distractions when I sit down to read the New York Times.  The bad news is that I came to write this post from Jane's house--and when I walk out the door, I have to pass by the jar filled with chocolate. 

I still come here a few times a week to work out on the Power Plate.  When I finish, and I pass the jar without stopping, I feel really good about myself.  

Today has been a tough day.  Don't even ask.  This time-- I stopped at the jar on my way in.

Over October

I don't know what happened to October.  But I know it's gone.  Because Halloween is over and as evidence I have an entire bowl of candy-- left over from trick-or-treaters who didn't show up.  Fortunately I filled the bowl by shopping only for candy I DON'T like---which is my version of strategic planning, not easy to do. (Almond Joy, Reese's Peanut Butter cups, 3 Musketeers--is that considered TMI?) I only eat those varieties under desperate circumstances.  

 I also know October is over because on the last day of Breast Awareness month, I squeezed in under the wire with a blog for the Huffington Post: How John McCain can Think Pink and Redeem his Reputation as a Hero.  Not only did this signal the end of October but potentially the end of my recent obsession  writing political blogs. I think I reached my tipping point--and in my case this overdose could actually indicate a sign of health. 

So it really is November, and the election is very close--according to both meanings of the word.  I think our founding fathers would be confounded to see our modern version of democracy in action--when the entire focus of both campaigns is centered on a few states whose electoral votes are considered up for grabs.  Without going into a debate about the merits of the electoral college, this current reality leaves residents of the nation's largest state hanging out to dry.  We don't get to attend Obama's huge rallies.  We don't get to see Sarah Palin in person wearing her designer clothes.  We don't even see Joe the Plumber .  We're so far out of the way, no one even flies over us.

On TV we don't see any of those controversial negative ads, either anti-McCain or anti-Obama.  The only "anti" ads I've seen are anti-perspirants or anti-depressants. 

Lately I have to confess I sometimes found myself wishing I still lived back in south Florida where my vote would be courted, and counted.  But then things suddenly shifted out here---and not due to an earthquake. 

Months ago, my daughter Alli registered to vote in her home state, rather than in Texas where she's living.  She feels so strongly about same sex marriage that she wanted the chance to cast her ballot against Proposition 8--and she was worried that the measure might pass.  At the time I thought Alli was making a big deal over an issue that appeared to be a slam dunk. 

It turns out that Alli called it right.  The fight over same-sex marriage became a hotly contested, bitter battle--with more money spent than on any election other than the presidential campaign.  Now it's nowhere close to a slam dunk.   Alli's vote, and every vote, will be needed to help defeat Prop. 8.   So although California voters won't be influential in determining our next president, we will be influential in determining our country's direction.  

I really hope things work out November 4.   Especially so I don't have to resort to Almond Joys and Peanut Butter Cups. 

Waiting for Mr. Goodbar--or vice versa

We're in the final countdown.  Only a few days left.  The signs are everywhere I look, and I'm starting to feel the pressure and the excitement building.  The big day is almost here.

Of course millions of other people will participate, but this day will be especially significant to me.  Because Halloween is the only day of the entire year when a person can gorge on chocolate and feel OK about it.

In the old days, Halloween was pure bliss.  A holiday as American as hot dogs and apple pie--that included other favorite all-American foods like Snickers, Milky Ways, and M and M's.  As a patriotic American, my role was to go out and buy enormous amounts of candy with the completely acceptable excuse that it was intended for trick-or-treaters.  In my world, buying a supply for Halloween could take place as early as mid-July.

Not only did I have an available source of chocolate on hand for weeks, but Halloween itself was a day like no other.  I would dress up my two precious munchkins in adorable costumes, and then send my innocent, unsuspecting children out into the world-- with the sole mission of procuring chocolate.

They would come home with their little plastic pumpkins overflowing with goodies.  According to the family ritual, they would dump out their assortments so I could admire and assess what they had accumulated.  And then came the Mommy moment of grace.  Every year, with absolutely no hypocrisy whatsoever, it was perfectly legal for me, as the parental police, to confiscate all of the candy---which I would immediately stash away, out of their reach.

With luck, the kids would forget about the candy up in the tall cabinet.  I never did.

Those were the good old days.  When my kids lived at home.  Back then, life was sweet--but now I'm bitter.  Because now that I have an empty nest, Halloween presents a major dilemma.

So far, it's been business as usual.  I have bought industrial-size assorted bags as I always did, filling up huge bowls of candy just in case the entire Harlem Boys Choir happens to fly into California and show up at our door.  But the choir has never showed up.  For the past few years, we've had only a handful of actual children come to our door---thus leaving the bulk of the candy--and I don't use that word lightly--to be consumed by adults.  Namely by me and V.

I know very well that the same thing will happen this year.  Which is why I carefully avoided the candy section today at the supermarket.  I plotted my route so I stayed at least two aisles away at all times.  But I could still hear them calling me--the Tootsie Rolls, the Snickers, offering me a big Payday.  I pretended I wasn't listening, and I managed to narrowly escape empty-handed.  But I know if I go back to the store in the next few days, Mr. Goodbar will still be there, waiting to hit on me.  And unfortunately, he knows that I'm always willing to bring him home.  

Olives, Chocolate and Sex

Lately I'm addicted to olives.  This isn't the first time.  I craved olives during one of my pregnancies--and I always thought the craving came from my body's need for more salt.  Now that this craving is back, it's clear this is not a need to absorb more salt, but a need to eat more olives.

Olives are definitely the healthiest thing I've been addicted to.  And the first addiction that isn't brown (since I prefer green).  Brown---as in chocolate.  And although I often say I'm addicted to chocolate, the truth is that chocolate is just a deeply ingrained habit.  Because I don't really have an addictive personality.

When I was in my early twenties I was a smoker.  This was when I started working in television, and was sharing an office with another producer.  In those days smoking was allowed everywhere--in our office, in restaurants, even on airplanes---which was lucky for me since I was smoking almost a pack a day.

One day I went to lunch and came back to our office with a carton of cigarettes.  I took out a pack, opened it, and lit a cigarette.  And although the other producer wasn't the complaining type, he happened to choose that particular day to complain about my smoking.  In a nice way.  After all, he was a nice guy.  He said something like, "Why do you smoke, anyway, when you know it's bad for you?  Why don't you just quit?"

Because he was a nice guy, I wanted to be nice back.  So I said breezily, "Okay, I will."  I was still holding the lit cigarette in my hand, with the full carton on my desk.  Until the words came out of my mouth, I had no intention or dim thought or vague desire to quit smoking.  But I gave away that carton of cigarettes and I never smoked another cigarette again.

30 years later... if only I could give up chocolate like that.  Kicking cigarettes was so easy that I could never fully appreciate how hard it must be for other people.  I've heard one theory to help smokers kick the habit is for them to smoke cigarettes to the point of complete overload.  Maybe if I lived in Hershey, Pennsylvania, I'd get sick of chocolate.  I have attempted to overdose on chocolate....many times...and it's never worked.

The other day I was in See's Candies ( I have to confess....) and as the lady handed me my free sample from a box filled with chocolates, I asked her if working at See's Candies takes away the attraction.  No, she said, she still loves chocolate---which immediately shot down my idea of getting a part-time job. 

I hope my tone doesn't indicate that I take addiction lightly.  Addictions are very real and very serious and ruin lives.  I admire people who successfully and heroically fight these battles every single hour, every single day for the rest of their lives.  I think it might even be more difficult when people are addicted--not to things we consider bad--but to things we consider good---like exercise and sex.

Which brings up David Duchovny's announcement about his sex addiction.  I don't know how they handle this in rehab, but I can only think about his family.  Tea Leoni, his wife, has always seemed talented and smart and down to earth.  It's gut-wrenching enough to be the wife of an addict, anywhere.  But to know that your marriage is a topic of conversation and a punchline in comedy clubs all over America must be a nightmare.  Challenge does build character, and I'm hopeful she will emerge even stronger.  But my heart goes out to her for the challenges she faces--so much harder than olives and chocolate.

On a lighter note, still on the subject of addiction....I'm beginning to understand why so many people are hooked on Facebook.  After my first excursion yesterday, I've now spent several hours exploring how it works and seeking out people... happy to discover anyone I've ever known.....but still steering clear of "friending" my rabbi.

 

A Happy Birthday no matter what

Today is my birthday.   And I believe that birthdays are milestones to be celebrated.  Not necessarily with gifts, or even with people.  But always in your heart.  And if at all possible, with cake.

When you've faced death and survived, entering each new year is a joyous occasion for the rest of your life.  Turning 50?   Bring it on.  However high the number goes (59 today), it means I've lived another full year of life, a year I didn't expect to have.  Which means every birthday is happy.

But this philosophical stuff about birthdays and celebrations will have to wait for another blog.  Because even on my birthday, there is now something more pressing-- something unsettling that could potentially ruin my birthday.  Not only this year, but every year.

July 4 is cursed for me because of all the bad things that happened on that day.  So is my anniversary.  And now my birthday will be linked forever with the news I just read on the internet: Mrs. Fields Cookies is filing for Chapter 11 bankruptcy.

Debbi, Debbi, how could this happen?  (Of course Mrs. Fields and I are on a first name basis.)  I have followed your success since you opened your first store on August 18, 1977-- ironically enough, also during my birthday week.  I've been a faithful customer over many years and many, many, many, many cookies.

You hurt me badly once, when I was moving to a new town which had a Mrs. Fields only four blocks from my new house---and you closed that store the very week I moved in.  It took me awhile to get over that.  I could not find a Mrs. Fields cookie within 50 miles.  But I forgave you.  And I never held it against you.  Wherever I went, all over the country, finding Mrs. Fields in a mall was all it took to make my day.  And I went into every store, and waited to buy your cookies, no matter how long the line was.  I have never, ever walked out empty-handed--not only buying the cookie I ate in the store, but the ones I took home.  I've accepted your culinary experiments, even when you dropped the combination of macadamia nuts with semi-sweet chocolate in favor of white chocolate, which I don't like.  I toughed it out, and remained loyal anyway. 

Before we had children, my ex-husband would give me a birthday wish written on one of your decorated cookies that was approximately the diameter of a beachball.  My children have continued that tradition of the giant cookie (in addition to the cake I always have).   But now, given the news of your economic downfall, I'm wondering: is this year the end of the road for us?  Will I have to celebrate future birthdays without Mrs. Fields?

I hope you won't mind, Debbi, since I think of you as a friend--if I give you a little friendly advice--based on my personal experiences with my own challenges.  I've survived despite the odds, and I know you can, too.  Facing a bankruptcy may not be easy, but you have proven yourself before and you can do it again.  For your company--and for the rest of us who count on you.  I have complete confidence that you can get through this, and live to bake another day (and many more cookies.)

So I will be pulling for you, Mrs. Fields, hoping you'll be cashing in the chips again.  Despite all the calories, you've contributed to many memorable occasions over the years.  But in the end, let the chips fall where they may.  Because the honest truth is that with or without your cookies, my birthday today--and every other birthday---will always be happy-- just because I am here to celebrate it.

 

Just Say Yes--It's Far Less Stress

Lately I've blogged about making progress in overcoming certain fears.  Although I've barely scratched the surface of the list of things I've been afraid of, I realize that I can add a new item to the list of fears I have overcome---possibly the fear where I've made the most progress--entertaining people in my home.

The reason I'm thinking of this right now is that I am having people here tonight.  This is a simple gathering for a worthy cause--and involves serving only drinks and dessert.  Dessert falls right into my sweet spot-- automatically making entertaining easier.  Still, just the idea of having people in my home used to make me nervous.  And right now, I'm relaxed.  I'm so relaxed that my friend Laurie told me I'm her role model for having people over without stressing.  Which is pretty ironic considering how stressed I got about this in the years before I knew Laurie.

I have to confess there is a good reason I am not stressed about tonight.  If you read my blog "Loaded Questions", you remember I complained about being invited somewhere, asking "Can I bring anything?" and actually getting an assignment.  The only answer I really want to hear is : "No, thank you." 

Tonight the tables have turned.  A few days ago, Laurie asked me this question:  "Can I bring anything?"   I did hesitate-- at first.  Because I know Laurie reads my blog.  And I didn't want to feel like a hypocrite.  But  instead of salvaging my integrity by saying, "No, thank you," I immediately accepted her offer to bring a large thermos that holds coffee.  Anything to relieve me of responsibility and allow me to think about one less thing.

My friend Dana also asked that question. And since she is co-hosting tonight's party, she took on the job of bringing most of the desserts.

I did not hear the same question from my friend Jane. I knew she would say, "Can I bring anything?"--so I gave her an assignment before she even had a chance to ask.  Which is something you can do with a really close friend, especially one who has (in addition to the jar of chocolate candy) a fabulous garden filled with fresh flowers and real talent for arranging them. 

So Jane is handling the flowers.  Which is why...only one hour before 20 people are due to arrive at my home, rather than stressing about it, I am sitting here at the computer---feeling a little bit hypocritical, but completely relaxed.