January 30, 2010

At first glance, you might think that this picture has nothing to do with food.


See, I was holding a croissant, a cup of coffee, and a large bunch of keys while trying to take this picture with my iPhone (which, as you may know, most definitely requires two hands if they happen to be scrawny ones).  The result?  To protect, in the order of importance:

  1. iPhone
  2. coffee
  3. croissant

…I ended up dropping the keys into a crevice between two boulders.  Five-foot tall, closely spaced boulders.  By a frozen lake.  On a 5-degree day.

So yeah, this has to do with comestibles.  Apparently, to my subconscious mind, they are more important than access to my home, job, and car?


And the rest…

January 29, 2010

A peek at a few dishes that I’ve been hiding from you out of sheer deep midwinter lethargy:

We’ll miss you.

Roasted vegetable lasagna

January 25, 2010

Here’s the recipe I was originally going to share:

Wretched January

  • 1 earthquake
  • 1 removal of limits on corporate campaign financing
  • 1 healthcare reform bill at risk of deflating like a botched soufflé
  • 1 f#@%ing roof leak
  1. Combine all ingredients.
  2. Season with endless hours of darkness.
  3. Serve cold.

But, I actually have a cheery addendum.  Mr. Onepot informed me earlier that a lasagna would make him feel better–this from a man who never makes food requests!  I mean, he’s equally happy regardless of whether he’s eating a decadent multi-course meal or some strange whole grain/mystery fungus experiment of mine.  So how was I to say no?

Roasted vegetable lasagna

  • 3 red bell peppers
  • 2 zucchini

(What’s that?  You’re about to tell me that those are not in season?   You know what’s in season in Chicago right now?  Icicles.  So let’s move on, shall we?)

  • 1 medium onion
  • 1 lb frozen spinach
  • 1 lb cottage cheese
  • 1 28oz can diced tomatoes
  • 2 8oz cans tomato sauce
  • 1 box no-boil lasagna noodles
  • a fistful of shredded cheddar, a bit of parmesan, and some gorgonzola crumbles
  • capers
  • salt and pepper to taste
  1. I seasoned the first 3 ingredients and roasted them at 400F for 25 minutes.
  2. Then I combined them with spinach, cottage cheese, and diced tomatoes.  Yup–all together just like that.
  3. Then it was time to layer, and there’s really nothing to tell.  I used 1 little can of tomato sauce under the bottom noodle layer and the other on the very top.  In between: a layer of vegetable+cottage cheese mixture, a sprinkling of other cheeses, a layer of noodles, and so on and so forth until I ran out of ingredients…
  4. …and heaved the overflowing dish, cursing a little, into the 380-degree oven.  It spent the first 45 minutes in there bashfully covered with aluminum foil, and the final 10 minutes naked, under a sprinkling of cheese and capers.

Ah, it was good.  And, as we patted our full bellies, we started to feel just a tad hopeful again.

For starters: the roofer comes tomorrow.


January 23, 2010

You know what I cooked on this lusciously lazy Thursday night?  Not a damn thing. (Well, I guess I did brownify the garlic in some olive oil before tossing it over the arugula–but that hardly counts.)

And now, having licked my fingers, I’m wondering why we don’t have sandwiches more often.  Why is my imagination a barren tundra when it comes to thinking of scrumptious, non-traditional things to squeeze between two chunks of bread?  Dear reader, please help me out.  What must I try?

Banana “ice cream”

January 19, 2010

Have you tried The Kitchn’s banana “ice cream” recipe?  You know, the one where frozen bananas are supposed to magically morph into creamy perfection?  I had been meaning to give it  a shot for a while, and was finally propelled into action when faced with three sad frozen bananas during our empty-the-freezer-for-Mr.-Repairman process the other night.

It really is as simple as it sounds: you blend frozen bananas.  And, it’s rather decent.  I mean, it tastes just like you imagine it would: cold, fluffy ‘nanas that you can effortlessly tackle even if you accidentally leave your dentures upstairs by the sink.