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The Quiche That Refused To Die Quietly

Yesterday’s post was immensely popular (by this site’s standards, anyway).  Apparently someone liked my project enough to post it in the comments of a post on YHL, and enough people clicked on it — just from reading their comments! — to make a very noticeable difference in how many people read this site.

So thank you, whoever you are — my fairy blog mother — for making me feel like a little DIY goddess for a day, and not just some crazy fool who spent hours cutting out a map.  I don’t plan on opening an Etsy shop any time soon — especially since I gave away the key to the map’s creation — but I will say if anyone is interested in having me make one for you, feel free to contact me directly and we’ll talk: katie@domestiphobia.net.

I’m thinking today’s post might not be so popular.  Unless you like reading about how much of a doofus I am, in which case this might be the most popular post to date.

So, I’m not going to lie.

Last night, I screwed up.

Like screwed up, screwed up.  The kind where I messed up not just once, but several times — one after another, after another — compounding each mistake on top of the last until, at the end, I was left with nothing but one solid, beefed-up super mess and a kitchen that smells like burnt cheese.

I decided to make spinach feta quiche, since I still had one pie crust in the freezer from last time, leftover feta from making these, a bunch of fresh spinach I was using for salads, and half of a large brick of cheddar cheese from who knows what.  Considering the only thing I actually had to purchase to make it was the mushrooms, I figured this was a no-brainer.

Boy, was I wrong.

Apparently you still have to use your brain at least a little, no matter how many times you’ve made something, and no matter how much you insist that it’s simple to make.

For some reason — maybe it was because I used fresh spinach — maybe it was because I used half a red onion and half a white because that’s all I had — maybe it’s because karma hates me — who knows? — but for some reason, I didn’t have nearly enough room in my crust for the egg/milk mixture.  I usually have a little left over, but this time I still had like half the mixture left in the bowl.  So I poked around with a fork, pushing a little mushroom to the side here, prodding a hunk of feta out of the way there, trying to squeeze as much egg and milk in as I possibly could, until the pie crust was filled to the absolute brim.

But still, there was a lot left in the bowl.

Rather than ponder the possible reasons and coming up with a viable solution, I did what any good Domestiphobe does and tried to bake it anyway.  Not without first dribbling a bunch of milk and egg all over the inside of my oven door.

The directions say to bake it for 15 minutes, pull it back out to top it with cheddar cheese, and then bake it again.  It hadn’t set up as it normally does after that amount of time, so when I topped it with the cheese, allll the way to the edge like the cheese lovin’ fool that I am, and then went to stick it back in the oven.

And I almost dropped it.

Almost.

The bottom of the flimsy pie tin gave out a bit, causing my oven mitted hands to close in towards each other, essentially folding the quiche in half.

No worries, went my thought process.  This can be fixed.

I ignored the fact that the crust had cracked and did my best to pat everything back into place.  I set it — safely, I thought — back into the oven to finish baking.  We’re finally in the clear!

Then, about 20 minutes later, I smelled it.

Burnt cheese.

When I went to investigate, there was a wee bit of steam — smoke? — escaping from the back vent.  That’s odd, thought my dimwitted mind.  Maybe it’s from the egg you dribbled on the door before.

So I opened it.

And then my face was accosted with hot smoke.  I coughed and batted at it with my trusty oven mitts until it finally occurred to me to turn on the microwave vent fan and crack open a window.

If it wasn’t so scary, it would’ve been kind of funny — like something from out of a movie.  I felt like Mrs. Doubtfire, only I don’t have a penis and I didn’t catch my synthetic breasts on fire.

I mean, like that would happen.  My breasts are so not synthetic.

*I feel like it’s important to note that I did catch an oven mitt on fire once.  While babysitting.  I hid the evidence.  Kids, this is why you should never get your oven mitts too close to the coils. Or ask me to babysit. Especially if you value your oven mitts.  And… I don’t know… your children.

When the smoke cleared, I saw the problem.

The cheddar cheese, which I’d so carefully lined all the way to the edge of the crust, had somehow — maybe via melting, genius — crept its way over the crust and was dripping cheesy, delicious waterfalls all over the inside of my oven.

Except they probably weren’t delicious, because they were quickly burning on the sizzling oven floor and sending a slew of nasty smells into my kitchen — my kitchen that, not half an hour before, had been filled with the mouth-watering aroma mushrooms, garlic, and onion sautéed in butter.

The inside of my oven, post Apocalyptic Quiche Meltdown.  Someone call Horatio Cane — there’s been a murder.

It only had 10 minutes left.  I could handle this.

I stuck a large cookie sheet on the rack beneath it to catch the drips, lit a candle to try to help cover the smell, and hoped to get through the rest of it alive.

When I finally took it out, it looked cooked.

It felt cooked.

I let it rest for 15 minutes and then cut into it.

It wasn’t cooked.

Or maybe it was, but it wouldn’t hold together because I hadn’t been able to fit enough of the egg mixture into the pie crust.

We ate it anyway.

You know what?  It still tasted delicious.

At least someone appreciates my catastrophes.

Thinking about it today, after I’ve had my morning coffee and have lit a few more dozen candles in my kitchen, my theory is that this happened because I hadn’t consumed enough wine while making it.  Normally I pour the glass before I start cooking, and then I work my way through the dish and the glass, occasionally swaying to some fitting mood music in the background, and everything is right with the world because this is my wind-down time.  This is relaxation.

But last night I had it all wrong.  I didn’t even pour the glass until I was ready to start sautéing, and I’m pretty sure that just threw everything out of whack.  There was no wine pre-choppage, and so my mushrooms were all cattywompus and uneven, clumps of onion were sticking together because I didn’t cut all the way through, and the garlic was just too minced, if you know what I mean.

I wasn’t putting any heart into it.

So I’m starting to discover that me cooking with no wine is like the Beatles writing music with no marijuana.  It just doesn’t work.

But the key, my friends, is moderation.  I can’t have too much wine, nor could the Beatles have too much pot.  Otherwise, we end up mistaking sugar for salt or creating Octopus’s Garden, each of which would only make you scratch your head for days, trying to figure out what went wrong.

Though I have to admit, I kind of love this song.

Do you have any kitchen disaster stories you’d care to share?

8 Simple Rules for Throwing A Baby Hot Tub Party

Well.  Obviously, I used up what little defensive ammo I had against this cold on Saturday during the baby party.  Cooking for 30+ people is not a simple task, and now I have no energy, no appetite, and, worst of all, no voice.

And me with no voice is like a dog without a wag.  A mime without a beret.  Carrot Top without his… top.

You pickin’ up what I’m dropping?

At least I have a voice here, where I can talk without actually talking, and you can listen while typing up emails, perusing Facebook, or answering important phone calls and I won’t even care.

But if you’re a man, and you happen to be reading this, you might want to set your distractions aside for a second and really pay attention, because I have a tasty tidbit of information you probably didn’t know.  This is top-secret girl stuff that Women’s Leagues across the nation would have me killed for spilling in a public forum.

So the 12 of you (women included) who read this need to keep this morsel of intel on the down-low.

Got it?

Men, you might be surprised — shocked, even — but I’m just going to say it.

25

Ready?

25

Here it comes.

50

Women don’t like baby showers.

50

At least, most of us don’t.

I mean, even women who have babies don’t generally like to sit around in a setting of forced mingling with people they don’t know discussing different swaddling methods and breast pump boob deflation while tasting candy bars melted into diapers.

As far as I can tell, baby showers are a torturous tradition handed down through the generations as a result of it being forced on a small group of women 100 years ago when one woman came up with the brilliant plan of throwing a party to acquire more crap for her baby.  (And let’s face it, babies need a lot of crap.)  Then the women who were guilted into attending decided if they had to go through it, then they certainly could reap the benefits when they became pregnant, and so on.

And the candy bars melted in diapers, the blind tasting of baby food, the consumption of only non-alcoholic beverages as a sign of camaraderie to the impregnated woman — all of it conjured, undoubtedly, by some evil troll of a woman as her idea of some hysterical practical joke that, for some reason, stuck.

*Really, no offense intended towards any of you who happen to like these kinds of games.  With people you don’t know.  Completely sober.  But if you do, there might be something wrong with you and you should probably start a club or something so you’re all corralled into one safe place.

So.  Like I mentioned before, I’m fortunate enough to have a preggo friend who didn’t want to inflict these activities on her girlfriends and female co-workers.  She figured, what better way to celebrate her, her husband (because let’s face it — he played a part in this too), and the little bugger they’re bringing into the world than by actually making the party fun?  For real.

So here are my tips for creating a fun baby shower.  Except it’s not a shower — it’s more like a baby pool party, or giant hot tub, or at least a bubble bath with those foam blocks and rubber ducks and stuff:

1)  Invite women and men.  Men play a part in the creation of babies, so it’s only fair that they have get to celebrate their impending arrival as well.

Hint:  Given enough alcohol, you might even be able to get the most anti baby party goers among them to participate — albeit grudgingly — in some of the events.

2)  Serve alcoholic beverages.  This plays a huge role in determining the success of Tip #1.  When people who don’t necessarily know each other are forced to mingle, this really loosens them up.  Plus, they’re more willing to sport silly headgear and participate in any planned activities you might choose to have.

Hint:  Party hosts should only minimally partake in the consumption of alcoholic beverages.  The worst thing you could do, as a friend and a host, is to leave the guest of honor — who, if you remember, is pregnant so she has to be sober — high and dry because you couldn’t keep your mitts out of the booze.  And let’s face it — her husband likely (and understandably) abandoned her long ago to the frosty beverage, somewhere around the time he realized he’s — ohmygod — actually at a baby shower, but the bright side is he now has the excuse of drinking for 3.

3)  Serve non-alcoholic beverages.  People get thirsty at parties, and not everyone likes to drink alcohol.  So even though the concept of serving alcohol at a baby shower is new and exciting, don’t get so bogged down in that fact that you forget to service the sober people.  After all, you will eventually want guests to leave this party, and the sober people are their rides.

Hint:  Even so, buy extra alcoholic beverages.  If your party is anything like mine, the alcoholic stuff goes fast.

4)  Serve plenty of food.  Since people will be drinking, they won’t be able to survive on mixed greens and crustless sandwiches alone.

Bacon Tomato Tartlets.  Recipe HERE.

Mozzarella Caprese Appetizer.  Recipe HERE.

Veggies.

Cupcakes.

Not pictured:  Sausage cheddar meatballs, cheese fondue, assorted chips and dip.

5)  If you must have a theme, make it low-key.  Where the Wild Things Are has been a favorite book of Alaina’s since she was a kid herself.  Since she and her super talented mother already painted a mural in the nursery reflecting this theme, it served as a natural backdrop for our guest book photos:

It worked well with the invitations:

And worked for the game prizes:

I ended up filling these mugs — $1 each from the Dollar Store — with tissue paper and candy.

But that’s really about as far as we carried the theme.

6)  Keep at least one traditional shower activity.  In this case, we kept the part where the gifts are opened in front of the guests.  At some modern parties, gifts are actually opened as guests arrive, which can cut that hour where everyone has to gather in one room and watch as the pregnant lady lays onesies over her belly and discusses bottle nipple flow.  It also spares the non-mother gift recorder the embarrassment of having to clarify exactly what each item is in front of the entire room of guests.

However, in this case, we opted for the gift event, only at turbo speed.  The whole thing took 15 minutes, tops.  It helped the party planners stay organized by keeping the gifts in one place, it allowed us to announce the upcoming relay race to everyone at once, and it was the one event that focused the attention on the parents-to-be.

Plus, it was fun watching “Dad” trying to figure out what various items were for:

7)  Nix the ridiculous games.  Then replace them with other ridiculous games.

Like a relay:

Race starts by chugging a White Russian from a baby bottle.

Racers then push over-sized “Amurican” babies to the bathing station.

Using a baby bottle, racers must fill a bucket with enough water to float the rubber ducky to a predetermined line.  Please excuse my boobage in this picture, but I was taking my role of line judge very seriously.

Then the baby gets pushed to the changing station.

And finally, on to the swaddling station.

Once swaddled, racers should run with the baby around to the finish line.  Though I feel it’s important to note that you should never run with a real baby.

Let the winners celebrate their victory:

And let the losers be good sports.

(That means you shouldn’t hit people holding babies, and you shouldn’t use babies to hit people.)

8)  Have fun with it.  If you have fun with it, everyone else will, too.  And the ones who don’t, probably shouldn’t get invited to parties anymore.

Thanks for helping, Candice and Rachel, and congratulations, Dirk and Alaina!

Pulled.  It.  Off.

You Only Want Me For My Tartlets

I was kind of extra word babbly yesterday,  huh?  Sorry about that.  I can’t promise it won’t happen again, because I’m pretty sure it will.  But today I’ll keep it simple, because I have approximately 671 things I want to get done before Saturday, most of which pertain to Alaina’s upcoming baby shower party, and others for my own personal sanity.

I promised to share with you the absolute best party appetizer of all time — the thing that guarantees instant popularity at any function for the person who brings them.  They’re not fancy, and most “foodies” would cringe at their unapologetic use of dried herbs and pre-made biscuit dough, but for some reason, people just can’t get enough of ’em.  It is for these tasty little bites that I overcome my fear of refrigerated, popping biscuit tubes time and time again.

The recipe is called Bacon Tomato Tartlets, but you just might want to call them Tartlets in case you’re around anyone who has a fear of tomatoes or bacon.  Plus, “tartlets” is just fun to say.  Justin hates tomatoes, yet he would gobble up a whole batch of these if I let him.  And if you don’t like bacon, then I think you might have problems.

My fantastic neighbor gave me this recipe, and she got it from her fantastic friend, and I’m not sure where it originated before that.  I posted the recipe here on Tasty Kitchen, so go give me my first review if you make them!

But only if you think they’re good.

To make them, you will need:

  • 1 (12 oz.) can refrigerated, flaky biscuit dough (This HAS to be the flaky stuff.  You’ll see why in a sec.)
  • 6 strips of bacon, cooked and crumbled
  • 1 medium tomato, seeded and diced
  • 3 oz. Mozzarella cheese, shredded (I probably use more like 5 oz. when I’m guesstimating.)
  • 1/2 c. Hellmann’s Real Mayonnaise (I’m pretty sure this has to be Hellmann’s.  Don’t argue with me about this, and don’t you dare use that crap they call Miracle Whip.  The only miracle is that it doesn’t make me vomit.  You have been warned.)
  • 1 tsp. dried basil
  • 1 tsp. dried thyme
  • 1/2 tsp. dried oregano
  • 3/4 tsp. garlic salt

You can see I used 2 Roma tomatoes this time in lieu of 1 medium tomato.  Just go with what you have — the ingredients don’t need to be exact.

1)  Cook your bacon on the stove until crispy.  Even if you normally like chewy bacon, you have to remember that this isn’t about you right now — it’s about the tartlets.  And the tartlets need it crispy.  Just lay the bacon in a cool skillet (I love to use my cast iron grill pan), turn the heat to medium-high, and let it cook in its own grease for a bit.  When the bottom turns brown, flip and do the same to the other side.

mmm… bacon.

Once it’s cooked, crumble it up on a paper towel to soak up the grease.

2)  Mix all of the ingredients (except the biscuit dough) together in a bowl.

*TIP:  At this point you can cover and refrigerate the mixture for a day or two before preparing the tartlets if you don’t want to make everything the day you need them.

3)  Remove the biscuit dough from the refrigerator (this step is easier to do if the dough is cold), try not to jump out of your panties when you pop the tube open, and separate each biscuit into 3 layers.  This is why they need to be the flaky kind.

See how they separate naturally?

Spray a mini muffin tin with non-stick spray and use each 1/3 biscuit to line each muffin cup.  There will be enough for exactly 24 mini tarts.  Aka tartlets.  Why is that word so fun??

4)   Fill each biscuit cup with your filling mixture and bake at 350-degrees F for 10-12 minutes until the biscuits are lightly browned.

Some might poof up more than others, but it’s very likely no one will notice since they’ll be gone in approximately 4.8 seconds.

And everyone will be like, Where did that extremely popular person go who made those delicious tartlets?  I think those were like… the best tartlets I ever tasted in my life.  Go tartlets!  Tartlets.  Tartlets.  Tartlets.  Why is that word so awesome?

And you can just sit back and bask in the glory.

Just try not to eat them all before you leave the house.

…And then You Let the Flavors do a Happy Dance on your Tongue

I was going to lay out the office plans for you today (or lack thereof), so you could help me figure out what I should do in there.

Unfortunately, I can’t seem to find the tape measure to draft a detailed scale drawing on graph paper (did I ever mention that I used to want to be an architect?), and a detailed drawing — to scale — is pretty much the only way I know how to do things.

If I don’t do it perfectly and to scale, accidents will happen.  Mistakes will be made.  Heads will roll, and the universe might implode.  And I’m pretty sure I don’t want that on my back.  So if the world really does end in 2012, it’s probably my fault because I still couldn’t find the tape measure.

So instead of all that, because I’m versatile, flexible, and easily adapt to obstacles (in case any potential employers are reading this), I’m going to share with you the most fantastically awesome recipe for hummus in the history of the universe.

What?  You don’t like hummus?  Hummus is only for hippies and Democrats?

Well that’s where you’re wrong, my friends.  This is an extra special spicy, smoky, chipotle hummus, and I dare you to not like it.  I tested some on Justin, who would normally prefer a more typical chip dip — you know, something less healthy — and he gobbled it up.  The flavors are a perfect meld of smoky chipotle and cumin combined with sweet sun-dried tomatoes and roasted red peppers. There’s just a hint of a spicy kick, which is perfect for me, but you could always add an extra chipotle pepper (or two) if you prefer more of a punch.

I’m keeping this on my personal list of simple food ideas to bring to a party that people will love and ask me for the recipe and ultimately fulfill my constant need for approval.

The original recipe is here, and I didn’t change it a bit.

To make it (and trust me, you should), you will need:

  • 2 (15.5 oz.) cans of garbanzo beans, also known as chickpeas, drained (I read that you could soak these in water and rub off the husks for a smoother hummus, but that sounds like an awful lot of work to me for the same flavor in the end.)
  • 1/2 cup water
  • 1/4 cup tahini (I know this sounds fancy, but it’s just a sesame seed paste — kind of like peanut butter — that makes hummus… hummus.  I can find it at my po-dunk grocery store, so I don’t think you’ll have any problems.)
  • 1/4 cup lemon juice
  • 2 tablespoons olive oil
  • 1 chipotle pepper in adobo sauce (You can find small cans of these in the Hispanic section of a regular grocery store.  You just use ONE pepper from the can for this recipe, unless you like things extra spicy.)
  • 2 cloves garlic
  • 1 1/2 teaspoons cumin
  • 1 (7 oz.) jar roasted red peppers, drained
  • 6 oil-packed sun-dried tomatoes, drained
  • 1/2 cup cilantro, chopped
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt
  • Ground black pepper to taste

Whew!  I know that’s a lot, but all you basically do is throw everything in a food processor and blend, so it’s about as easy as it gets.  (Except in my case I don’t have a food processor, so I use my totally awesome hand blender… more on that in a hot second.)

Up front in the small plastic container is the chipotle peppers in adobo sauce.  I’d already opened the can to use a pepper for another recipe, hence the lack of original packaging.

1)  The original directions say to blend the first 8 ingredients, then add the sun-dried tomatoes, roasted red peppers, and cilantro and just coarsely blend so your hummus has chunks, but I blended everything completely because a) My hand blender doesn’t really give me a choice in the matter, and b) I prefer it that way.

Don’t get discouraged if you open your tahini and it has separated into a hard, pasty substance at the bottom and an oily substance at the top.  That’s perfectly normal.  Do your best to stir it together, and if all else fails, just fill your measuring cup with a little of the paste and a little of the oil.  It will come together when you blend the hummus.

So I threw the first 8 ingredients in a bowl, and used my super nifty immersion blender (aka. hand blender) to chop everything up:

Should I be worried that all of my pictures lately are insanely blurry and I don’t seem to notice until I transfer them to the computer?

Public Service Announcement:  If you don’t have one of these immersion blenders, you should probably get one.  They’re perfect for things like this or soup, where you want to blend a bunch of stuff together without actually transferring the ingredients from the bowl or the pot.  And your dishware stays protected because the blade is surrounded by metal (or in some cases plastic).

I’m glad I opted for this stainless steel Cuisinart Smart Stick (keep those dirty jokes to yourselves), because I don’t need to worry about any plastic melting if I use this in hot soup.

The hummus actually tasted pretty good at this point and I could’ve stopped there.  But I’m glad I didn’t.  I added the rest and then blended again.

It looks pretty when it’s done.  A red-ish hummus with flecks of green cilantro.

And it tastes like a party.

I like to eat it with pita chips, but it would work with veggies too, if you want to get extra healthy.

I think you should make it to celebrate the birth of our country this weekend.

I realize I probably should have transferred this to a pretty bowl for the final photo shoot, but I was kind of too busy eating it to care.

Just so you know, it’s perfectly acceptable to eat this for lunch 5 days in a row.

I hope.

My Big, Fat, (except not fat because it’s kind of skinny) Greek Pasta

I have been craving pasta lately.  Like, when I rack my brain for dinner ideas, all I can think about is pasta.  Long noodles, stubby noodles, twisty noodles… it doesn’t matter.  Red sauce, white wine, tomato cream, butter, oil… whatever, I’m game.

The good news is that making pasta allows me to clean other, long-forgotten items from the nooks and crannies of my pantry, like half-used boxes of bowtie pasta, dusty bottles of artichoke hearts and cans of tomato paste, and nearly empty tubes of breadcrumbs.  (I confessed on Facebook the other day that I actually threw out a box of breadcrumbs that expired in October, 2008.  No joke.  Lucky for me, my friends had awesome senses of humor in their responses, and I still had another open box for my pasta.)

The bad news is that pasta, especially if it’s exceptionally tasty pasta, isn’t exactly the healthiest of meals.  And considering I gained about 5 pounds in Spain, I’m thinking this insatiable pasta craving upon our return must be some cruel, cruel joke.

That, or it’s God’s way of telling me we should’ve tacked on a trip to Italy right after Spain.

Either way, it’s messed up.

So last night I tried to find a way to make the pasta a wee bit healthier, by avoiding things like cream, excessive amounts of butter, cream, and cream.

Of course I had to use some butter, but that’s just responsible cooking.  The recipe is for a Greek flavor-inspired pasta dish, and it’s a combination of various recipes I found on Allrecipes.com as well as using a couple of things I had on-hand and tossing ’em in.  The result?  I thought it was pretty phenomenal.  However, I’ll be honest and say that Justin wasn’t quite as enthused, but he a) doesn’t care for tomatoes, and b) still said, “It’s pretty good — you know — for something healthy.”

I think he missed the cream.

This comfortably feeds 2 people with plenty of leftovers.  To make it, you will need:

  • 8 oz. pasta (Whatever you want — I used bowtie because I had half a box left, but it’d be great with some type of spiral pasta or penne.)
  • 1 tablespoon olive oil
  • 1 tablespoon butter
  • 1/2 chopped red onion
  • 3 cloves garlic, minced
  • 1/2 – 1 lb. boneless, skinless chicken breast (I used 1/2 lb.)
  • Splash of white wine
  • 1 small jar artichoke hearts, marinated in oil and chopped (Next time I would use 2 jars. You could use the cans of hearts in water, but I think they have more flavor this way.  And sometimes, you just don’t substitute health for flavor.)
  • 1/2 can diced tomatoes (You could also use a fresh tomato, but again, I was trying to use up stuff in my pantry. If you love tomatoes, go ahead and throw in the whole can. Also, I used about half the water in the can and drained the rest.)
  • 1/4 cup crumbled feta cheese (Could stand to add a bit more, but I was trying to keep this lighter. The feta melts and gives the dish a really delicious, subtle flavor. It’s not as “bitey” as unmelted feta.)
  • ~15 Kalamata olives, chopped and seeds removed (Optional — I had been snacking on these earlier and decided to add them to the pasta. If you use them, go easy on adding any additional salt to the dish because these are salty enough!)
  • 3 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped
  • Juice from 1/2 a lemon
  • 2 teaspoons dried oregano
  • Salt and pepper to taste

Whew.  That looks like a lot of ingredients.  But I promise you, it’s just a matter of chopping a few things and throwing ’em all in a pot.  I tried to take a family portrait, but, as usual, I missed a few members and actually have a couple of extras in there.  (Ignore the jars of roasted red peppers and sundried tomatoes — I bought those yesterday for another recipe, then forgot what I bought them for, and they somehow ended up in this picture.  Oops.)

Okay, so pretend that there’s wine, butter and artichoke hearts in this photo, and that there’s NOT a jar of roasted red peppers and a jar of sundried tomatoes.  Thank you.

Oh, and every single photo in this post is blurry because I had the aperture set too wide.  Or maybe I had the shakes.  You know, because I hadn’t had my pasta yet.

Here’s the jar of artichoke hearts.  Cheeky bugger.

1.  Get a large pot of salted water boiling on the stove, and cook your 8 oz. of pasta according to the package directions.

2.  While the pasta is cooking, chop up your onion and garlic.  Melt your butter and heat the olive oil over medium-high heat, and toss in the garlic and onion for around 2 minutes.

Melt butter and heat oil.

Let red onion and garlic cook for around 2 minutes.

3.  Chop your chicken into bite-sized pieces and toss that into the pan.  Let the chicken cook for 5-6 minutes, until it’s no longer pink and the juices run clear.

Cookin’ chicken.

4.  Now.  At this point, I felt like the pan could use a little deglazing, which is fancy cooking speech for using some kind of liquid to get all the brown crusties off the bottom of the pan.

See the crusties?

So I took my glass of wine and poured some in.

Which is actually kind of difficult to do.  If you try this, I’d go straight from the bottle.  And I probably wouldn’t try to take a picture at the same time.  Because it might look something like this:

The picture is awful, but the wine did the trick.

See?

5.  Then throw in everything else: chopped artichoke hearts, feta cheese, diced tomatoes, Kalamata olives, chopped parsley, dried oregano, lemon juice, and salt and pepper to taste.

Remember, if you’re using the olives, go easy on the salt!

Stir it all around until the cheese melts completely.  Then throw in your cooked and drained pasta.  If it seems kind of dry, add some of the liquids from your can of diced tomatoes.  If you’re using fresh tomatoes, add more lemon juice.  Or wine.  Or water from the pasta.  Whatever your little heart desires.

But, it’s important to note that this isn’t a particularly saucy pasta recipe.  There should be a light coating of moisture on your pasta, but no excess sauce, per se.

I don’t want to say this is a girly pasta, but yeah.  It’s kind of girly.  I suppose because it’s not… hearty?  It’s fresh.  It tastes light.  It goes excellent with a glass of white wine.

And if manly men know what’s good for them, they’ll like it too.

Every bite is like a different medley of flavors.  In some, you taste the rich feta.  In others, the tangy artichoke.  Sometimes salty olives.  Sometimes savory chicken.

It’s pretty much fantastic because it doesn’t get boring.  And, you know, it’s not bad… for something healthy. ish.

Leggo My Sausagy Breakfast Casserole Stuff

So.  In case you didn’t notice, I have a fantastic giveaway going on right here.  And let me just say this:  Many, many more people viewed the giveaway than entered, and I’m thinking either 1) This giveaway is not lame – it’s just that only certain people are cool enough to want it; or 2) You couldn’t figure out how to leave a comment or were scared to leave one because you thought I might judge you for your choice of wine.

All I can say is, 1) Be cool.  Enter the contest; 2) Click on the number of comments at the bottom of the post to leave a comment from the main page or just scroll down to the bottom of the comments and type something in the “leave a reply” box; 3) While I don’t believe all wines are created equal, I do believe that there are people in the world who aren’t going to think exactly the way I think or like the exact things I like.  Rest assured I’m the last person to judge.  I think we established that here.

Now that the boring business stuff is out of the way, I noticed that I’ve been getting some new readers lately who’ve been leaving really, really nice comments.  I’m not sure where you’re coming from, but thank you.  Also, I’m super amazed when some of you who’ve been reading this for a while now mention something I posted 6 months to a year ago.  I mean — I don’t even remember what I posted this week, let alone last year, so thank you for continuing to not only read my public account of my successes and failures, but for actually remembering it.

On second thought, feel free to forget about my failures.  Who wants to remember those?

If there’s anything at which I fail on a regular basis, it’s cooking.  That’s a big reason I like to share recipes on this site — to catalog those occasions when it actually works out — if not exactly according to plan, at least it’s still edible.

It’s been a while since I posted a recipe, and since we had a bit of company last weekend, I thought I’d share an old favorite that I use almost every time we have house guests:  The Breakfast Sausage Casserole.

For those of you who are new and don’t understand why a self-proclaimed domestiphobe is getting all Betty Crocker on you, the short answer is that I’m a learner.  I like to evolve.  If I’m bad at something but I enjoy it anyway, I make the effort to get better.  So if you’re scared of cooking but want to learn, there’s no better way than to just dive right in.  Accept the fact that mistakes will be made, and we’ll all get along just fine.

(And trust me — sometimes there’s nothing more therapeutic than chopping up an onion and throwing it into a simmering pan of butter — especially if you have a particularly vivid imagination and can picture the onion as a crazy ex boss or that horrible guy (or girl) who broke your heart for no reason back in college.  This is all figurative, of course.)

And if you’re not afraid of cooking and are already pretty excellent at it and consistently pronounce the word prosciutto with an accurate Italian accent, you might just want to go ahead and skip this post entirely.

So.  Breakfast casserole.  This is a classic recipe that everyone should keep in their arsenal for low-maintenance house guests because it’s relatively inexpensive, it feeds a lot of people, and the leftovers are fantastic.  Plus, you make it the night before, so all your hungover self has to do in the morning is preheat the oven and pop it in.

There are many variations of this dish — I know Justin’s mom has at least 2 different and delicious recipes she makes when we visit — but this one is my favorite because I got it from my grandmother.

To make it, you will need:

  • 2 lb. Sausage (As usual, I use Jimmy Dean’s sausage. For this one, I use one hot and one regular. I make too many things with sausage.  I think I have a problem.)
  • 3 cups of seasoned croutons (any brand will do)
  • 2 cups of shredded cheese (any kind – cheddar, marbled… I think this time I used a brick of blended Monterrey Jack and cheddar. You can buy the bags of pre-shredded stuff, but I think it tastes better when you grate your own.)
  • 6 eggs
  • 2 1/2 cups milk
  • 1 can cream of mushroom soup
  • 1 tsp. dried mustard
  • 1 small can mushrooms, drained (optional) (This would also be great with some fresh sautéed mushrooms.)

I apologize for the lack of step-by-step photos in this post.  I may have been a glass of wine into making this and distracted because our guest had already arrived.

1)  Heat a large pan over medium-high heat.  Add the sausage, break it up and heat until it’s fully cooked (no longer pink).

[Imagine there’s a picture of sausage cooking on the stove here.  I’m sure I have one somewhere from the other 8-bagillion sausage recipes I have here, but I’m too lazy to look.]

2)  While the sausage is cooking, grease a 9×13″ pan and layer the croutons on the bottom.  These will eventually become a soft crust for the casserole.

3)  Sprinkle the 2 cups of cheese over the croutons.

4)  When the sausage is finished cooking, drain the grease (or use a slotted spoon) and layer the sausage over the cheese.

Note:  This is a pretty basic and hard-to-screw-up recipe, but I will have you know that the layering is important.  If you mess up the order, you could end up with croutons floating at the top, and that just doesn’t make sense.  I might have learned this from experience.

5)  In a large bowl, beat the 6 eggs with a fork.  Stir in the teaspoon of dried mustard, 2 1/2 cups of milk, and can of cream of mushroom soup.

Pour this mixture over the top of the sausage.

It will be lumpy and perfect.

Now’s also the time to add the canned mushrooms if you’re using them.  This time, I did not.

6)  Cover and let it sit in your fridge overnight.  This is when the croutons will soak up all that milky, eggy goodness to form a nice, soft crust once baked.

7)  Set your alarm for a couple of hours before you want to eat.  Drag your bedraggled self to the kitchen and preheat your oven to 300-degrees Fahrenheit.  Nap on the couch until the oven is preheated.  When the oven is preheated, stick in the casserole and go back to bed for 1 1/2 hours.

Or, if you’re smart, make coffee — lots of coffee — and wait for the casserole.  Because if you have a crappy oven like mine, the casserole might get a little… crisp.

But the amazing thing is that it’s still SO good!

This holds together a lot better if you actually let it cool a bit before devouring.

It’s not fancy.  There’s no prosciutto.  It uses canned soup, for crying out loud.

But it reminds me of a Sunday morning at grandma’s.  Before life got all… hard.

And that, my friends, is worth every, delicious, sausagy bite.

I’m Pretty Sure I Was a Covert CIA Operative in Another Life

My first job with an actual paycheck was quite literally flipping burgers at an A&W Root Beer restaurant attached to a gas station when I was 15 years old.  I came home from my first 8-hour Saturday shift, forearm speckled pink and red from hot grill grease, the clanking sound the frozen burger patties made when I threw them down on the sizzling surface still ringing in my ears, my belly full of fries and my head full of pride because I’d gotten so good at something I’d known nothing about just 8 hours earlier.

It didn’t take me long, however, to learn that once the pride wears off, boredom sets in, and it’s time to move on to something new.  I’d mastered burger assembly, fryer operation, and simultaneously taking orders through the drive through headset while making a root beer float with one hand and counting change with the other.

I’d learned all I cared to know about the fast food industry, and the white-collared jobs of teenage corporate America beckoned with their shiny, manufactured name tags and morning staff meetings and profit charts.

Aside from the employee discount, my favorite part of working at Best Buy were the secret shopping trips I was assigned to take with some fellow employees to report on prices at a competing local company.  I’m pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about that, but hey – this was 12 years ago – there  has to be a statute of limitations or something.  But if no one hears from me for a couple of days after I post this, you might want to contact the authorities.  Unless, of course, they’re in on it.

Anyway.

We’d forgo the pressed blue polos and khaki pants and don our “street clothes,” packing our tiny pens and notebooks and product “shopping” lists so we could record the numbers all stealth-like because I’m sure I looked like your average 16-year-old surround-sound shopper comparing prices and writing down SKU numbers.  We totally blended in.  Except for when we didn’t, and then store management promptly kicked us out.

Then we’d play some video games and eat at Burger King and head back to our store to regale our envious coworkers with our harrowing tale.

I was reminded of this blast from my teenage past yesterday when Don, an employee at the Fresh Market in Southern Pines, caught me taking photos inside the store with my camera phone.

The difference is that this much more technologically savvy time around, my intentions were pure.  I mean, if you were used to only shopping at… say… the Dollar Store and suddenly someone introduced you to the world of Wal-Mart, you’d want to commemorate the occasion, wouldn’t you? And since I recently told you about my frustrations with my nearby Food Lion grocery store, I knew I had to share the Fresh Market experience.

Hence the blurry camera phone pictures.

I mean… I couldn’t very well whip out my DSLR and tell the deli employees to smile.

I had to be sneaky, people.  Corporate espionage is serious business.

Plus, it was just more fun to do it this way.

Justin was off work yesterday, so we decided to head to the upscale Southern Pines area to hit up their Lowe’s (since ours was destroyed by a tornado) and grab a nice lunch.  We also thought we’d stop by this place called Fresh Market, about which our neighbor raves.

All I can say is, how have I lived a mere 45 minutes away from this gem for 4 years and never gone??

We were greeted by a diverse group of freakishly friendly employees.  Seriously.  If I’m not mistaken’, I’d say that they all actually liked their jobs.

The produce was amazing.  It all really did look fresh.  The variety was incredible.  I mean, I don’t actually have a need for baby summer squash, but I might have to find one now.

Because they have it.

Need a potato?  How about a yam?  What color would you like?  Because here they’re not just potatoes, people.  You have options.

Want to grind your own fresh coffee beans?  Be their guest.

And the meat?  Oh, god – the meat.  Remember when I went to Food Lion with the intention of buying brisket and all they had was this lousy tongue? I mean, it was value priced because it was about to expire. And no one likes expired tongue.

Well, the fresh meat selection at Fresh Market did not disappoint.  Gorgeously marbled steaks like the veins in Calacatta tiles, chicken with lovely, yellow fat, and a seafood selection that made me think we’d traveled east – not west – to get to the store.

And, while I didn’t see any tongues on display, I’m fairly certain that, had I asked, the friendly folk behind the counter would’ve gone to the back and produced a nice, gleaming, not-about-to-expire beef tongue just for me.

Unfortunately, Don caught me before I could snap blurry photos of the freshly baked bread, bulk candy and nuts, and superb deli area.  You see, he’d found my Achilles heel.  The wine.  And the quality of my covert ops quickly deteriorated as I was faced with an actual selection.

Don knew my weakness.  And instead of kicking me out of the store, he exploited it to his fullest extent, taking me on a tour through the bottles and valleys and vineyards, explaining the intricacies of the various types and tastes and prices, and imparting on me some actual knowledge that I’ve somehow managed to avoid during my past several years of avid wine consumption.

I’m not going to lie – a little part of me wanted to have Don’s babies.

I’m now fairly convinced that this is the only place around here where I’ll be buying wine from now on.

Except, of course, for emergency situations.

And any other time I want to drink wine without driving all the way to Southern Pines.

And while the prices for some things were definitely higher at Fresh Market, I’m willing to pay a bit more for quality, service, and – you guessed it – the ambiance of a place that smells like freshly brewed coffee and all natural peanut butter over baby vomit and stale cheese.

I’m basically a marketing director’s wet dream.

And tonight, while I sip a new kind of Don-recommended Cabernet from the Columbia Valley in Washington to go with my incredibly tender grilled fillet (a splurge, yes, but sometimes we need these things in our lives), I will somehow find a way to be okay with that.

Turns Out Turkey is Good for More than Just Thanksgiving…

I’m not gonna lie.

Those of you who know me and/or have been reading the blog for a good while (so you pretty much know me too), know that I like me some red meat.

Delicious baked pork loin topped with stuffing?

Yes, please.

Anything with sausage?

Don’t think you could stop me.

Grilled ranch beef burgers stuffed with fresh mozzarella cheese?

Bet I can fit a whole one in my mouth.

Just kidding.

Mostly.

Pan fried steak sandwich with caramelized onions?

Steak Sandwich

I’m pretty sure I just jizzed in my pants.

Anyway.

Red meat most certainly doesn’t have to be a part of every main meal – in fact, meat in general doesn’t have to be a part of every main meal – but I do like it.  I don’t think I could ever voluntarily give it up entirely.

However, in the name of health, I occasionally substitute red meat – especially hamburger – for a leaner poultry like ground turkey or chicken.  Especially if it’s a meal that’s heavily seasoned with taco seasoning or a medley of ingredients like these Taco Rice Bowls of Deliciousness, I find I can get away with a non-beef substitute.

But turkey burgers?

No, thanks.

Every time I tried them, they turned out dry and tasteless.  SO not like a regular beef burger with a lovely pink center and juices that soak into the lightly toasted bun…

*Hang on, I need to wipe the drool off my keyboard.*

Until now, that is.

Friends, meet the Spinach Feta Turkey Burger.  I found the recipe on Eat, Live, Run, where Jenna, an extremely talented chef and recipe creator, shares her amazing food.

And I will tell you – these burgers really are ah-maz-ing.

I’m seriously so glad I decided to try them.

And they really only took about 20 minutes to make.

Here’s what you need:

  • 1 lb. ground turkey (I used 1.25, since that’s what came in the package)
  • 1 egg, lightly beaten
  • 5 oz. frozen spinach, defrosted (I used almost the whole box since I had more meat. This recipe is very forgiving.  I simply microwaved the spinach for a couple minutes after cutting a ventilation slit in the bag, and then squeezed out as much of the water as I could.)
  • 3/4 cups crumbled feta cheese (I used a whole cup)
  • 1 tsp. salt
  • 1/4 tsp. pepper
  • Buns (I toasted mine with butter on a griddle)
  • Garnish (All I used was a bit of mayo mixed with fresh basil and lemon juice, which is what I made as a dip for the sweet potato fries we had on the side.  Turns out it worked pretty well on the burgers!)
1.  Mix your ingredients together in a bowl.

2.  Use your hands to form the mixture into patties (I made 5 patties with 1.25 lbs of turkey). Heat a couple of tablespoons of olive oil in a pan over medium heat, and cook the burgers for 6-8 minutes per side until the meat is cooked through (no longer pink).

*Make sure you don’t have your heat set too high.  Unlike beef burgers, turkey burgers need to be thoroughly cooked all the way through.  If the heat is too high, you’ll burn the outside of the burgers before the inside is fully cooked.  It might help to make them a little flatter than I made mine, but hey – I like to live on the edge.

That’s IT!

Stick ’em on a bun, and they’re ready to eat.  They’re absolutely delicious.

In fact, I might have to make one for myself tonight.

As usual, my photos of the finished product are awful.  I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong.  Part of the problem is I ran out of decent light.  And I was in a hurry because I really wanted to eat my burger.  Is that a crime?

Didn’t think so.

Definitely check out Jenna’s fantastic site for even more enticing pictures.  And thanks, Jenna, for finally convincing me that turkey actually CAN make a delicious burger.

I’m Pretty Sure You Don’t Have to be Jewish to Make This.

Story time.

I used to sublet 1 bedroom of a 2-bedroom apartment for $200 a month from a young couple and their 2 cats.  Yes, I considered the cats landlords too, since they had more control over the main living areas than me.

The girl who lived there also happened to be one of my good friends from back in high school and was, during the time I lived with her, also my boss where I fixed and sold watches (one of the best jobs ever).

*One of these days I will throw together a timeline of my youth for you, since it’s all very confusing.

I’m still not sure what happened.

Anyway.

One night I came home from work and my old high school friend/landlord/boss was out somewhere, but her boyfriend (with whom I also got along splendidly) was home entertaining some male friends.  You know, sitting around, drinkin’ beers, watchin’ sports.

That sort of thing.

“Katie!” he yelled, when I came in the door.  “You have to try this salsa.  It’s awesome!”

Since I felt famished from the long day of cleaning dirt, wiry hairs and a wax-like substance I still can’t identify out of the stretch bands of old mens’ watches, salsa sounded like just the thing I needed.  A cool, refreshing, chunky bite of salsa.  I took a huge scoop on a tortilla chip and shoved the whole thing in my mouth.

I didn’t notice the anticipatory stares of the guys in the room.

I didn’t notice the exchanged looks and the sly grins.

All I could focus on was the enticing salsa, the salty chip, maybe following it up with a swig of cold beer, and Oh my GOD it tastes like burning!!!

It turns out that the jar of “salsa” was really a mixture of various chopped chile peppers and spices that could only have been concocted by the Devil himself.

I don’t really feel as though I’m exaggerating on this.

Prior to the incident that will henceforth be known as the Time I Was Tricked Into Swallowing Salsa That Wasn’t Really Salsa But Satan’s Fury Preserved In A Jar, I was fairly ambivalent towards spicy foods.  They sounded exotic and exciting, but I hadn’t really grown up with them and never really gave myself the opportunity for experimentation.

But after the Time I Was Tricked Into Swallowing Salsa That Wasn’t Really Salsa But Satan’s Fury Preserved In A Jar, I pretty much decided that spicy foods were no fun at all and why would you want to eat something that physically hurts?

About 8 years later, I found myself not only working on a chile pepper farm in Costa Rica that grows some of the hottest peppers known to man, but I was also making hot sauce.

Chile Pepper Farm.  That is not me in the photo.

Blending Chile Town Hot Sauce

Hot sauce making is dangerous work.

It was from this experience that I started to lose some of my previous misconceptions about adding heat to food.  And although my tolerance is still fairly low, I find myself trying new recipes that require some spice.

Enter the Southwest Chipotle Brisket Tacos I made the other day.

The original recipe can be found here.

I was terrified the spice in these would be too much for me and I would end up wasting a perfectly beautiful (and not inexpensive) cut of meat, but the result was a very nicely seasoned, tender brisket with a slight kick.  The good news is that if you like <i>more</i> kick, you could easily add hotter spices to the pot, or you could garnish the tacos with your favorite flavor of hot sauce.

(By the way, if you’re dying to try the sauce I talk about so much, it’s not available yet in the U.S.  But, you can become a fan on Facebook and they have trivia every Tuesday and you could win yourself a bottle!  I realize this sounds like an infomercial, but I really do love the stuff.)

There are quite a few ingredients in this, but aside from browning the outside of the brisket before you start the slow cooking process, the only real step is throwing everything in the crock pot and turning it on.

Not too shabby,  huh?

To make this, you will need:

  • 3 lb. beef brisket (mine was more like 4 1/2 lbs, but I didn’t need to adjust the amounts of everything else)
  • Salt and pepper
  • 4 Tbsp vegetable oil
  • 5 cloves garlic, chopped
  • 2 yellow onions, thinly sliced
  • 2 Tbsp chili powder (If you like these spicy, you can use the extra hot Mexican style chili powder)
  • 1 Tbsp red pepper flakes
  • 1 Tbsp paprika
  • 2 tsp ground cumin
  • 1/4 cup apple cider vinegar
  • 1/2 cup water
  • 1 28 oz can diced tomatoes (and the liquids)
  • 2 chipotles in adobo (These come in a small can in the Hispanic section of my grocery store.  Gaby says you can freeze the rest for other recipes, but if you like things extra spicy, throw in a few more.)
  • 1/4 cup molasses

This is a horrible family photo.  It was early in the morning and I couldn’t get everyone to stand still, hence the blur.  The water kept wandering out of the shot, the paprika was camera-shy, I’m pretty sure the onions are having marital problems, and I chopped off the top of the veggie oil’s head.  We just weren’t having a good morning.

This is the brisket.  She was a little… ahem… hefty to fit in the family photo, so we gave her an individual shot.  As you can see, this one came pre-packaged, but if you’re lucky enough to live somewhere with a butcher shop (where the employees don’t smoke inside the store (I’m totally NOT kidding about this), you might be able to get one cut to your specifications.  Four and a half pounds is a LOT of meat.  But the leftovers are delish.

1.  In a very large skillet or dutch oven, heat the 4 tbsp vegetable oil over high heat.  Don’t get nervous (like me) about turning up the heat – it’s supposed to be hot!  Season both sides of your hunk ‘o beef with a bunch of salt and pepper, and then plop it down into the hot pan.  Brown each side for about 4 minutes, and be careful when flipping it – that hot oil tends to spatter!

While the meat is browning, it’s a good time to mince up your garlic and slice your onions to prepare for the next step.

I gave her a nice dip in hot oil… She barely fit in that tub, but we made it work.

Is it weirding you out that I’m describing the food as though it were people?  Because I can stop.  I probably won’t, but I can.

2.  Stick the brisket in the crock pot, then add all of your other ingredients.  Simple, no?

Mmmm… delicious spices.

Molasses.  I’m not sure what purpose this serves, but it sure looks cool.

3.  Mix everything together, making sure the meat is covered with the liquids.  Then just cover and turn the crock pot on low, and walk away for about 10  hours!  (I got started on this a little later than I had intended, so I turned the heat up to high after about 7 hours, let it cook that way for an hour and a half, then put it back on low for another half hour.  I took it out after 9 hours of cooking, and it was still tender and delicious).

Seriously, though.  It smells so good after about an hour, you’re going to want to open that lid.  Don’t do it! Just let it cook.

4.  When she’s ready, remove the brisket from the pot and place her on a cutting board or large plate.  It matters not that she looks kind of funky.  Her tantalizing smell and the way she just falls apart between two forks is more than enough to make up for it.

And, once again, my finished product pictures are awful.

I don’t know what it is about tacos and wraps, but I just can’t photograph ’em.  So, check out Gaby’s post on her blog if you’d like to see a fantastic photo of the finished product.

Gaby recommends serving these with guacamole (it cuts the spice) and Mexican cheese.  I *gasp* nixed the cheese (the flavor of these is already good enough), but did make this avocado dip of yore to put on top.

Yum, yummy, yum yum yum.

You can pretty much garnish these however you want.  But make them.  The ingredients can be a bit pricey, but this will make a lot of meals.

Enjoy!

I’m a Closet Eater of Processed Meats.

Sometimes, you know, when I’m not buying my shrimp from a van or ordering hot dogs at upscale (at least for these parts) restaurants, I like to eat strange food.

And not strange in a “cool” way, but strange in a “but… why?” way.

For example.

I try to eat breakfast every day.  But, since I’m not usually inclined to go all out cooking a big meal for myself, I tend to stick to a bowl of Frosted Mini Wheats or a piece of toast with peanut butter and honey or peanut butter and jelly.

Basically, as long as we have the peanut butter, we’re good.

But every now and then I get the hankering for something a little… different.  Something from my childhood.  And I have to buy it.  This is much to Justin’s chagrin, because that means he has to stare at it in the fridge for the next month.

Friends, meet Braunschweiger.

Brown-what?

Braunschweiger.  Or basically, liverwurst.

Don’t ask me to explain it, but I love it.

I mean… it’s spreadable meat that comes in a tube.

There’s just something about it… when it’s spread over a thin layer of butter on toasted wheat bread, and the butter oozes out from under the pasty meat… mmm.

Now, I know what you’re thinking.  You’re thinking, Katie, how can something that looks so bad, taste oh, so good?

What?  You weren’t thinking that?  It’s just me?

Oh well, your loss…

How about you?  Are you a closeted eater of some food most other people would find disgusting?

Do share.

Who knows?  I might just give it a whirl.