tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5898562533379146642024-02-07T00:13:57.157-05:00La Famiglia Di Barithe tastes and travels of a modern, multi-culti family Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger170125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-589856253337914664.post-58538527636601978302014-04-05T13:59:00.001-04:002014-04-05T13:59:44.084-04:00Fire Roasted Hot Dogs and S'MoresWe've successfully settled in to the new house and la<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">st night, we broke in the backyard with our first meal in the garden. We roasted hot dogs over our fire pit with local kiawe wood. Fantastic flavor from the smoke and a good char made it one of the most memorable hit dogs I've ever had anywhere. </span><div><br></div><div>I made s'mores for Jada and Michele, a first for both. They seemed skeptical at first but when they sunk their teeth in to the snap of the cookie and the goo of the marshmallow, their eyes lit up. I'm sure that we'll be doing that a lot more. </div><div><br></div><div>Here's to <i>la dolce vita</i>! </div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-589856253337914664.post-32336726559129213212014-03-31T02:51:00.001-04:002014-03-31T02:51:14.324-04:00He made the Ono- for dinner<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPV9-KNrUOvpI3w0EAiQ8XN9HWPHKGeoxTIAGNMvkMHKf-JOXDTL9XOsywSGyqHClJ_RGW-6-1jL5UJS4jbNs_fxu57yNCwBn392-7vfvrgRNKLIXMI4BEBH9Yf3EpF7Ouia0MNNpbo-Tt/s640/blogger-image--1299414599.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPV9-KNrUOvpI3w0EAiQ8XN9HWPHKGeoxTIAGNMvkMHKf-JOXDTL9XOsywSGyqHClJ_RGW-6-1jL5UJS4jbNs_fxu57yNCwBn392-7vfvrgRNKLIXMI4BEBH9Yf3EpF7Ouia0MNNpbo-Tt/s640/blogger-image--1299414599.jpg"></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-589856253337914664.post-23677002699572594932014-03-30T14:39:00.001-04:002014-03-30T14:39:05.561-04:00Last Meal in This Kitchen? Dungeness Crab with Drawn Butter, Braised
Kohlrabi, Sautéed Cabbage and Bok Choy.We're crazy. Moving tomorrow and if you'd peeked in to our kitchen last night, you'd never know it. Amongst piles of boxes and random items splayed all over the counter, you would have found Michele and I, standing shoulder, making dunguness crab and drawn butter, braised kohlrabi, sautéed cabbage and bok choy. We'd cheerfully agreed to a dinner play date for Jada. The kids were being served a delicately prepared eggplant parm...Shows you where our priorities lie...I'll have to stop Michele from making that Ono defrosting in the fridge for lunch today- or we'll never get out of here.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-589856253337914664.post-90561478164123817342014-03-29T16:29:00.001-04:002014-03-29T16:29:48.690-04:00An Italian Soul SendoffThat's what my mother calls it when Michele and I do a mash up like we did last night: We made fried chicken and pizza. Brought an overflowing tray of drumsticks and thighs and a cutting board full of all kinds of mini pies over to our favorite neighbors' to celebrate our move in the next couple of days. <div><br></div><div>They took care of the booze: Red wine and tequila made the perfect pairings. The kids had their own bottle of sparkling cider. </div><div><br></div><div>Easy breezy, we just stood around their kitchen noshing on our favorite finger foods while the girls ran in circles around us and through the rest of the house, tiny triangles of pizza in hand. </div><div><br></div><div>No better way to mark our move than to do the things that we have always done together. It was a good send off. Gonna miss walking home barefoot and happy, after a fun night with the Austin's, but something tells me there'll be plenty more good times to come. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-589856253337914664.post-22914518247472136392014-03-18T04:59:00.001-04:002014-03-18T04:59:29.515-04:00more than just another series of narcissistic ramblings or recipesI've been away a long time, regrouping and reconsidering...I am thinking of this blog as more of a place for...examination, rumination...more than just another series of narcissistic ramblings or recipes...<div><br></div><div>...The year is off to a good start. Our new restaurant should be open within weeks. We are excited for another new beginning. We are looking forward to sharing our philosophy and our passion with the beautiful people of our new community. <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">There is little time to record this process in the moment but it has been an incredible journey that we hope to share when we open our literal and virtual doors. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">Until then and always, I will be here...publicly mulling over the small details of our lives, in the hopes that sharing our experiences and insights will enlighten or incite...you and me...</font></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-589856253337914664.post-3694968659612419032014-01-30T17:16:00.000-05:002014-01-30T17:16:53.320-05:00A Keen Taste Memory and the Printed Word<i>For an art as transitory as gastronomy there can be no record except for a keen taste memory and the printed word. -James Beard </i><br />
<div>
<br />
Developing and combining these two skills is an earnest ambition, only because I love to eat and I love to write, but I think that Beard is a bit fatalistic here. The <i>act</i> of eating is fleeting. The <i>art</i> of eating is not.<br />
<br />
It is true that the memory of a meal can live forever. Rituals around the table anchor. Time does not fly. It stands still in moments of heightened pleasure. It waits for our recollections.<br />
<br />
Yes, written words are one way to tie down time and reign it in, but so are my mother's adamant instructions on how to make <a href="http://www.lafamigliadibari.com/2013/12/sweet-potato-pie-holy-grail-of-our.html" target="_blank">the perfect sweet potato pie</a>. Her mother said the same words to her. These kinds of memories are only spoken. They are tradition.<br />
<br />
Tradition's greater name is <i>culture</i> and in it, the same memories held in high regard yesterday make time and space inconsequential when they are actively bound by the shared experience of strangers today. Our modern culture's attempts to digitize this inherent desire for connection, it's prompts to "post" and to "like" and to "share", are flat and disconnected.<br />
<br />
There is a record of the art the eating, the art of living, the real connections, that transcend the printed word and our own limited attempts to hold them to ourselves. That record can be gleaned in the unspoken and unwritten rules of your own rituals, in the actions that you perform over and over again around your own table: the time that you set it, what you set it with, who sits before it, what is eaten, how the meal ends. Your records are your traditions, not a result of an intellectual exercise. Your records are the guides that you leave your children to follow and the the expectations that your parents have left to you.<br />
<br />
Beard's ideas here are noble. They are only limited by how much importance he places on our finite minds. The art of gastronomy, the art of life, lives on and on.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-589856253337914664.post-85304291708553523022014-01-14T15:19:00.001-05:002014-01-14T17:36:51.795-05:00Marking Our Day with a Bottle of MoëtOn January 1, we celebrated our four year wedding anniversary. An early afternoon escape to Shark Pit, our local beach, was the best we could do to mark the day. Asia was heading back to New York on a red-eye, so a dinner date was out of the question. And even under better circumstances, Jada would not have let us leave her with an aunt from Italy that she earnestly loves, but can barely understand. <div><br></div><div>So, when our preschooler went down for her one o'clock nap, Michele and I, still a little hung over from the celebrations of the night before, creeped out of the house dragging our little beach cooler on wheels, full of ice and a bottle of Moët. </div><div><br></div><div>We lost fifteen minutes in the walk alone and needed fifteen minutes to get back. So, we had an hour. One hour to sit still and reconnect. One hour to define our new goals and to mull over all that we had already accomplished. One hour for a little mid-day romance. </div><div><br></div><div>The champagne was dry and crisp, as bright as the sun's reflections on the soft waves lapping at the shore, it's heady fizz like the foam left in their wake. It was good. </div><div><br></div><div>We never finished the bottle. Our time was up at 2:15. But we carried the celebration through dinner, splashing the remainder of the champagne over risotto infused with a roasted beet purée. It was a nice send off before Michele took Asia to the airport for her long flight home, the meal together both comforting and indulgent, like the day.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-589856253337914664.post-58880548478100641312014-01-03T21:09:00.001-05:002014-01-03T21:09:40.467-05:00My First Maui Christmas <div class="MsoNormal">
Welcome back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope
that you all had a wonderful holiday season and enjoyed good times with your
friends and families. I did. My “sister-in-love”, as she likes to call herself,
came in from Italy with my nine year-old niece. They are spending their three-week
vacation here with us in Maui.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Asia came
in from New York. We have a full house and I am relishing every minute of the
noise and chaos. I wouldn’t know what to do with a quiet Christmas. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Still, even with a full house, I am a bit unnerved. Suddenly,
I am the matriarch expected to lead the holiday festivities and I am not even
sure I know how to do all of this without my mom. This is normally her role and
without her here I feel uprooted, in the wind, even inadequate. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So, I decided to take this first Christmas on Maui easy on
myself, allowing a little extra space and time to step in to my new role.
I wanted to live up to our family’s standards but I did not want to be rigid in
them. That would just stress me out. My goal was to be fluid. Things could not
possibly be the same but I would try to hit all of the important beats. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I got off to a good start. The day after Thanksgiving is
hallowed as a day of decoratation in my family. So, that morning, outside on
our lanai, Michele, Jada and I draped our coconut tree in flashing lights
instead of setting up an elaborately dressed pine inside. The smell of a fresh
tree in the house is nostalgic but it seemed forced and artificial, potentially
overpowering the salty taste of the sea swept in by the trade winds. I forgot
to play the traditional, classic carols and Christmas gospel while we draped
the tree. Mike put on some reggae. I didn’t beat myself up too much about the
music. I let it slide. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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On Christmas Eve, we cooked all day in preparation for a dinner
party at our neighbors’ house. That felt right, everyone jammed in the kitchen
together, elbow to elbow, while the kids sat in the living room and watched old
Christmas specials like “Frosty the Snowman” and “A Charlie Brown Christmas”.
But by the time we got back home after dinner, it was almost midnight. We made
a manic attempt to wrap all of the gifts before we crashed. I forgot to Netflix
“It’s A Wonderful Life” while we wrapped, a tradition held since my grandmother
was a kid. Mike Pandora’d Christmas carols instead. I think CNN was on the tube
at the same time. And, I missed the smell of sweet potatoes roasting in the
oven and collards bubbling on the stove. As we cut and taped, there was only
the faint stink of leftovers from our <a href="http://www.lafamigliadibari.com/2012/12/family-friends-and-feast-of-seven-fishes.html" target="_blank">Seven Fishes</a> feast and the smoky smell of
hot oil left sitting on the stove from the random fried chicken that I’d forced
on to the menu. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We did buy Jada an intimidating mound of gifts. Over the top
gift giving is another family tradition, the practice never a reflection of how
well or poorly we’ve done for the year but a constant threshold to be reached
no matter the circumstances. It took her two hours to open everything. That was
satisfying. But I didn’t make her a Christmas breakfast of pancakes, bacon and
eggs after she was done. Italians don’t eat before noon, just little shots of
espresso and maybe a dry cookie or piece of bread, and they don’t make
exceptions for Christmas. Jada was content with a little bowl of grapes. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Dinner was a simple tray of roasted lamb and potatoes. It
was good, but we didn’t hold hands and bow our heads and offer the Lord our
thanks. At my mother’s table, we each take turns saying a prayer before we even
lift our forks. Jada honored her Nana better than I did because before she
would allow anyone a bite, she stood in her chair and insisted that we all hold
hands. Then, she proceeded to sing a somber Hawaiian prayer that she’d learned
at preschool. No one understood a word, except for the “Amen” at the song’s end,
but the spirit of love and gratitude settled quietly over the table and we ate
well. <o:p></o:p></div>
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There is nothing wrong with spending Christmas Day in a
bathing suit or drinking a lilikoi smoothie for Christmas breakfast, especially
if it is made from the fruit of your own tree. Gathering on the beach after
opening gifts beats huddling around the TV to watch another re-run of “A
Christmas Story”. Accommodating the culture of your guests and extended family,
making room for their standards, is okay too. But next year, some things, the
important things that honor my own history and culture, the things that I want
to pass on to my daughter, will be different because I will work more
consciously on making them the same. <o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-589856253337914664.post-87798563537936087592014-01-01T22:28:00.001-05:002014-01-01T22:28:31.127-05:00The Meal is the Essential Act of LifeThe meal is the essential act of life. It is the habitual ceremony, the long record of marriage, the school for behavior, the prelude to love. Among all people and in all times, every significant event in life- be it wedding, triumph, or birth- is marked by a meal or the sharing of food or drink. The meal is the emblem of civilization. What would one know of life as it should be lived or nights as they should be spent apart from meals?<br />
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<u>Life is Meals</u>, James and Kay SalterUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-589856253337914664.post-22291206493207531602013-12-28T02:28:00.001-05:002013-12-28T02:28:41.733-05:00How To Eat Like Our Lives Depended On It<a href="http://www.yesmagazine.org/issues/how-to-eat-like-our-lives-depend-on-it/an-interview-with-carlo-petrini">http://www.yesmagazine.org/issues/how-to-eat-like-our-lives-depend-on-it/an-interview-with-carlo-petrini</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-589856253337914664.post-1552841821762471532013-12-27T05:15:00.001-05:002013-12-27T05:15:03.291-05:0020 New Year's Resolutions For Foodies<a href="http://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/4433651?ncid=edlinkusaolp00000003&ir=Food">http://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/4433651?ncid=edlinkusaolp00000003&ir=Food</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-589856253337914664.post-91555479649431730902013-12-18T14:17:00.001-05:002013-12-18T14:17:52.364-05:00Olive Oil: The New Wine?<a href="http://www.dinneralovestory.com/olive-oil-the-new-wine/#.UrH01B0iNqE.blogger">Olive Oil: The New Wine?</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-589856253337914664.post-66514415343586341762013-12-18T14:07:00.000-05:002013-12-18T14:07:33.069-05:00Easiest Ever Miso Soup<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
This soup is the easiest I have ever made, the process more akin to composing a quick salad than to the slow cooking usually required to develop the strong flavors of a good soup. Light and perfect for a Maui lunch, this is our go-to grab, with a garden salad, when we are racing through a busy day. </div>
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For two, simply put <b>2 cups of water</b> on the stove to boil. And while that is percolating, blend <b>3 tbsps of red miso</b>, <b>1 garlic clove</b>, <b>1 tsp grated ginger</b>, <b>1 tbsp of rice wine vinegar</b> and <b>1 cup of cool water</b>. Set the mixture aside as you begin to chop .<b>5 lb of firm tofu in to small cubes</b>. You will also need to thinly slice <b>4 scallions</b> and <b>2 small radishes</b>. </div>
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Now, add the two cups of boiling water to your blender and mix gently with a spoon. Then, pour the broth directly in to your bowl. </div>
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Finish the soup with a sprinkle of sesame oil. </div>
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Enjoy! </div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-589856253337914664.post-15475167952634693712013-12-12T02:12:00.001-05:002013-12-12T02:12:37.524-05:00FDA Restricts Use of Antibiotics on LivestockIt's a start...<div><br></div><div><a href="http://nyti.ms/18m82L1">http://nyti.ms/18m82L1</a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-589856253337914664.post-89420413356486248462013-12-06T14:36:00.001-05:002013-12-06T14:36:36.237-05:00Sweet Potato Pie: The Holy Grail of Our Family's Holiday Celebrations<br />
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This is the holy grail of the holidays. In my family, a carafe of well- blended and flavorfully composed sweet potatoes is held in esteem most high. The glue that seals and sanctifies the close of the Thanksgiving or Christmas meal, only our mother is trusted with the sacred task of preparing the pies that we only enjoy at high holidays. </div>
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But I am the matriarch now. In Maui, the tradition must be passed on through my humble hands. I have never been shown a recipe, just given sporadic instruction in broad strokes. Nevertheless, I have been warned to "represent" and to "get it right" for Jada. </div>
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Here's what I've come up with. I expect this recipe to evolve. This is a quest to capture the ever-elusive essence of our family's tradition. Until I have another opportunity to hover behind my mother while she makes sweet potato pie, I'll bear the cross of trial and error. Feel free to chime in here if you can lend a helping hand. </div>
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You are on your own with the pie crust. That deserves another entry of its own. Do as you wish. I opted for a store brought graham cracker crust. Getting the filling right already had me rattled. </div>
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So, once your crust it set and ready to go, preparation of the filling is as follows: </div>
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Set your oven to 400 degrees if you are not blessed as a baker and have opted for the purchased pie crust. <b>4 medium sweet potatoes</b>, about two pounds, should do the trick for one pie. Prick these all over and put them in the oven to bake for an hour. </div>
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Once ready, take them out of the oven and cut them lengthwise to cool, but leave the oven on for the baking of the pies. </div>
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My mother uses dry sugar for her filling. I opted to make a simple syrup to create a more uniform consistency and deeper flavor. So, I took a <b>1/2 cup of sugar</b> and poured it in to a skillet over medium heat. When it began to melt, I added <b>1/3 cup of water</b> and stirred until the mixture was well blended and took on the color of caramel. Get it off the heat once it reaches this state. </div>
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The potatoes should be closer to cool at this point. Scoop out the pulp and puree in a food processor or blender or mixer until it is smooth. Add the simple syrup, <b>3 large eggs</b>, <b>3 tsp cinnamon, a dash of salt, 2/3 cup of milk, 2 tbsps of dark rum and 1 tsp of vanilla</b>. Blend again, until everything is well integrated. </div>
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Pour your filling in to your crust. Bake it for about 45 minutes. Cool it for an hour. Enjoy!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl8XpWqEYNM6qu312lwAhkkijxvxJQoNPZo7ALcYWZyNaJysuVKfQI1GPCmQcmrkbuSCKUJ8_DW8DcpiR3rHPYBOqJNowUWxFA1xWi4gZd0tur6X0nqbJU4nLPuMj2IlSNL2WYoWHAuLkb/s1600/IMG_1501.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl8XpWqEYNM6qu312lwAhkkijxvxJQoNPZo7ALcYWZyNaJysuVKfQI1GPCmQcmrkbuSCKUJ8_DW8DcpiR3rHPYBOqJNowUWxFA1xWi4gZd0tur6X0nqbJU4nLPuMj2IlSNL2WYoWHAuLkb/s400/IMG_1501.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-589856253337914664.post-22073298393748678062013-11-28T03:01:00.001-05:002013-11-28T03:01:37.879-05:00In The End, It's Not About The Food<a href="http://nyti.ms/IgSOuw">http://nyti.ms/IgSOuw</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-589856253337914664.post-88403561464572524562013-11-24T04:27:00.001-05:002013-11-24T18:00:42.257-05:00Saturday Night Soccer<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
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This is where we will be spending our Saturdays for the next few weeks, a soccer field nestled between the ocean and palm trees. Michele is playing defense on Lahaina's team. Jada and I are cheering on the sidelines, food and wine and snacks spread out beneath us on our picnic blanket.<br />
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I don't love soccer. I tolerate it. On a good day it is mildly entertaining. But this, the views and the cool breeze off of the ocean, connecting with new friends and neighbors, I could get used to this...</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-589856253337914664.post-28618967237227588232013-11-24T04:17:00.001-05:002013-11-24T04:17:21.678-05:00A Small Scale Thanksgiving<a href="http://nyti.ms/1h11gwQ">http://nyti.ms/1h11gwQ</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-589856253337914664.post-26658119189674239252013-11-20T04:24:00.001-05:002013-11-20T04:24:36.933-05:00Ideas For Cooking Thanksgiving Dinner For Two (or Two and a Half)?<a href="http://blog.cookingchanneltv.com/2012/11/17/cooking-thanksgiving-dinner-for-two/">http://blog.cookingchanneltv.com/2012/11/17/cooking-thanksgiving-dinner-for-two/</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-589856253337914664.post-19055356608561321582013-11-20T03:45:00.000-05:002013-11-20T03:45:30.351-05:00Crispy Swiss Chard Cakes with Parmeggiano Reggiano/ Bietole Soffritte con Formaggio<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So we are kinda obsessed with these. Every time we have a little bunch of swiss chard leftover, we make these. We even use kale, in a crunch. They are like simple, little veggie sliders- unadulterated greens bound by egg and topped with a sprinkle of cheese before pan searing. The perfect vehicle of veggies for kids, Jada loves them. An ideal <i>contorno</i> or side dish to pair with pasta, they are also just as good eaten alone. </div>
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I've tweaked <a href="http://www.lafamigliadibari.com/2013/07/my-take-on-lidias-minestra-di-ceci-or.html" target="_blank">Lidia's </a>version of this Fruilian dish. Here it is: </div>
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Boil <b>3 quarts of water </b>in a large pot. Meanwhile, de-rib each <b>1 large bunch of chard leaves</b>, about two pounds, rinse and drain. Cook the leaves for twenty minutes, dicing <b>1 onion</b> while you wait. </div>
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Drain and cool the chard, then slice it in to shreds. Lay the shreds on a paper towel and squeeze them out until they are completely dry. </div>
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Time to cook: Pour 3 <b>tbsps of olive oil </b>in to a large skillet and sauté the onions with a sprinkle of <b>salt</b>, on medium heat, until they are just transparent. Stir in the chard. Add <b>1.5 tbsp of butter</b>. Add more salt, to taste. Continue cooking until the vegetables become dry again, without burning them. This should not take more than five to six minutes. </div>
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Now, pour the chard mixture in to a bowl and add a little more salt and pepper, to taste. Set it aside and wait until it is cool to the touch. You will be adding <b>one beaten egg</b> to the mixture and you do not want the egg to curdle so take special care to make sure that the vegetables are room temperature. </div>
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While you wait, you can get going on the cheese, grating about <b>2 cups of parmeggiano reggiano</b>. </div>
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Add the egg to your chard if they are ready. Fold it in to the veggies with your fingers. Make patties in the size that suits you. Then, turn your skillet back on, medium-low. Here's where you need to be agile: While holding a patty in your hand, sprinkle it with a generous amount of grated cheese and then flip the cheesy side down in to the hot skillet. Three minutes should do the trick. Right before you are about to flip it, sprinkle cheese on the exposed side and flip. You are looking for golden brown goodness. Again, three minutes should do the trick but follow the cues of your food and your particular circumstances. </div>
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Repeat, until complete, and enjoy immediately. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-589856253337914664.post-83107532164970335112013-11-20T03:04:00.001-05:002013-11-20T03:04:53.096-05:00The Thinker, Baby Beach, Lahaina<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-589856253337914664.post-41297103986382310312013-11-10T13:21:00.001-05:002013-11-10T13:23:16.858-05:00The Things We Carried<span style="font-family: inherit;">There is a famous story called<a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Things-They-Carried-OBrien/dp/0618706410" target="_blank"> "The Things They Carried"</a>, in which the author, Tim O'Brian, reveals stunning information about his characters by listing the small items they choose to bring with them on a long journey. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I went on my own long journey last night- a five hour, pre-Thanksgiving celebration with my extended family before we head back to Maui. And I wondered: Does what we consume reveal anything of who we are? Can anything be gleaned from the small details of a meal or a menu? I think that the particulars of a holiday meal speak profoundly of who we are as a family. We shared: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Herbed turkey breasts</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Collard greens </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Candied yams </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Cranberry sauce</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Cornbread </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Lasagna </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Baked macaroni and cheese</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Sweet potato pie</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Junior's cheesecake </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Chocolate mousse pie </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Pineapple mocktails </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ginger ale</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Seems straightforward enough. There are the staples, the classic American and mandatory items that every family has on their own Thanksgiving menus, but if we look a little closer we can see that we all have our own twists and spins, our own particulars unique to our traditions. Not every family opts for just the breasts of the Thanksgiving bird. Some don't bother with it at all. And there are always the multicultural aspects that most families have to consider, the dishes of those who've married in or particular to the place or time in which they find themselves.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">What things will you carry this Thanksgiving? What will you serve? Share your lists here. </span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-589856253337914664.post-22741284325569919012013-11-09T01:41:00.002-05:002013-11-09T01:41:35.977-05:00Risotto con Salsiccia e Piselli<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVE2L6-3FOjovTmb5u-a6uXKv21QASz3HNvXnR1jiB5YP-dqSbZZ64yhNagkB-DH3USsVt-9PV3VOkY7KqTtx0nLHHpH92_1e8g-Sdj23L4luuBdiP_E_bULGqFU_cA6bNKLDKiz-Rm66F/s640/blogger-image-1217267256.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVE2L6-3FOjovTmb5u-a6uXKv21QASz3HNvXnR1jiB5YP-dqSbZZ64yhNagkB-DH3USsVt-9PV3VOkY7KqTtx0nLHHpH92_1e8g-Sdj23L4luuBdiP_E_bULGqFU_cA6bNKLDKiz-Rm66F/s640/blogger-image-1217267256.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dinner tonight at Dave's. We cooked. He and Jess provided the comfort & the kitchen, good wine and lots of laughs, too. Good memories made, priceless in light of our imminent departure back to Maui...</span></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-589856253337914664.post-27191952283603065012013-11-07T01:17:00.001-05:002013-11-09T01:46:35.531-05:00Clam, Chili, Parsley Pizza at Franny's, Brooklyn<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Need I say more? </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-589856253337914664.post-31760487606355332422013-11-06T10:49:00.001-05:002013-11-09T01:47:29.179-05:00Conversations with Vincent Van Gogh<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Spent the day with this guy yesterday. We met at The Met. It was a private affair, no husband or kids, no friends. I took him in quietly, listened contentedly to what he had to say about life and work and art. He talked about transcendence, the freedom found in moving beyond limits. He said he liked Cyprus trees. And sunflowers. </div>
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I like him. I like his ideas and his questions. I like his gall and audacity, his soft heart. I always seek him out in my travels, try to make time to be reminded that all of our efforts are worthy and noble if our purpose is pure. The efforts are the art we leave behind, our lives.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0