Minestrone

Waking up before sunrise is for the birds.

...

"When do we fall back?" He asked.

"Weekend after next." I said.

...

Sitting in a cubicle all day is for the birds.

...

"I don't want to go to work." He said.

"Me either." I said.

...

Soup to nuts.

...

"I'm picking up on something different. What is it?" He asked.

"The recipe called for a spice sachet of black peppercorns, fennel, coriander...And one bay leaf." I said.

"Fennel." He said, raising another spoonful.

"It's not too overpowering is it?" I asked, raising another spoonful.

Roberto nodded. "Not at all."

"That's good." I said.

...

Tuesday lunch.

...

For me:

Turkey. Provolone. Dijon. Baguette.

Minestrone. Mason jar.

Apple. Paper towel.

For Roberto:

Ham. Turkey. Provolone. Dijon. Baguette.

BBQ chips.

Apple. Paper towel.

...

I can't believe it's been almost a year (November 2009) since I made this.

Savory Pumpkin Gratin

Mums have been planted. And leaves are falling. And falling. And falling.

...

I'm not so much for savory pumpkin. I like pumpkin pie.

However, I do like pumpkin soup.

And pumpkin bread. Warmed. Toasted, rather. Toasted with a bit of peanut butter.

...

To: Roberto
Subject: pumpkin
What's a girl gotta do to find some canned pumpkin? Good thing I have one can left. For my next trick, tiny pumpkin tarts.

To: Tracy

Subject: re:pumpkin

Everybody is buying canned pumpkin this time of year... if it was any other time, I'm sure you'd have no problem finding it.

...

But I didn't make tiny pumpkin tarts. Instead, Jacques Pepin's Pumpkin Gratin.

...

"I stopped by Whole Foods on the way home and bought three cans of pumpkin puree." I said.

"What are you going to do with all that pumpkin?" He asked.

"A pumpkin gratin. Pumpkin pies. Pumpkin soup. Pumpkin bread...Look..." I swung open the corner cabinet to reveal the cans.

...

Pumpkin pie every year. Thanksgiving. Christmas. Mom's pumpkin pie. Mom makes the BEST pumpkin pie. She always uses canned pumpkin, therefore I will always use canned pumpkin. Jacques uses canned pumpkin.

...

"What's in it?" He asked.

"Eggs. Cream. Gruyere. Pumpkin...You'll hardly taste any pumpkin at all." I said.

It rose, soufflé-like. After 15 minutes it fell soufflé-like. No matter. I never seek perfection (did I say that?), only charm.

I dipped a spoon straight into the pie dish and scooped. Light. Soufflé-like. Savory. "I like pumpkin pie better." I said.

...

I had noticed another scoop missing. A tiny scoop. A just-out-of-curiousity-I-don't-like-pumpkin-but-I'll-try-it-anyway-scoop.

"Did you try it?" I asked.

Roberto nodded yes. "I'm not a big fan of pumpkin." He said.

Pink Lady Apple Cake

"Do you hear that familiar swoosh swoosh swoosh swoosh?" I asked.

Hello old friend. My favorite chords.

Worn hem. Torn hem. Annihilated clasp and button dangling by a thread (but isn't that what safety pins are for?). Bleach stains (barely noticeable). You're sixth autum. Swoosh swoosh. Swoosh swoosh.

...

Ginger Gold's, Pink Lady's...

Pink Lady, I think.

Flour. Sugar. Apple. Cinnamon.

I think this might be the third. Let's see...

One (thumb).

Two (index).

Three (middle).

...

"You look like you're doing some serious math. You're going to run out of fingers." He said.

...

Every turn...Every click, there's an apple cake to be found. But my heart belongs to thee (this recipe), ultimately.

Bison Meat Sauce

The resulting meat was moist and tender. The smallest amount of bacon fat was key.

Bison.

...

"Did you taste it?"

"Yeah."

"How is it?"

"It's good."

I pulled a small piece of meat from the colander. "Mmmm. This is good."

...

It's very lean, I remember her saying.

...

"Bring fruit salad." She said.

Our introduction to bison came about four years ago at my mothers home on the banks of the Susquehanna. A Mother's Day cookout with all the usual fair: mom's cole slaw; aunt Terri's deviled eggs; uncle Mark's crab dip; and the list goes on and on.

"I can really taste the quality." Said my cousin John as he speared fresh strawberries and grapes using plastic picnic ware.

"Ha. Ha." I said.

Mom brought a tray of partially charred hotdogs and bison burgers to the picnic table. I began assembling my plate. Hamburger role. Bison burger. Tomato. Onion. Mustard. Ketchup. Mom's cole slaw. Aunt Terri's deviled eggs. Uncle Mark's crab dip. Fruit salad.

Roberto followed suit, as much as his Italian upbringing allowed. The Italians don't go for mayonaise-based salads so much.

Once seated, I closed the bun and after a few bites of bread and condiment (the burger had reduced in size by at least a third above the hot coals) I bit into bison and found myself pleasantly surprised. Eager for seconds.

...

Roberto readied the mise: olive oil; butter; bacon; ground bison; carrot; celery; onion; garlic; crushed red pepper; red wine; tomatoes; tomato paste; parsley; and cream.

"Let's use the De Cecco egg fettucine." I said

Roberto nodded in agreement. Picking the right cut was important. I had nailed it.

Finally...We've waited so long to use you. My body stretched skyward, tippy-toes and all, to retrieve the box.

"8.8 ounces? I always thought it was a pound." I said while ripping open the package.

...

"Taste it." He said.

"Oh, this is so good. A pioneer's meat sauce." I said. "Can I drop the pasta?"

"Yes." He said.

...

Roberto plated. A hearty mound of egg fettucine dressed in sauce, then kissed with just a bit more, was finished with a sprinkling of green onion and Paremsan.

"This is delicious." I said. "Do you like it?" I asked.

Roberto looked up, his mouth full. "Mmmm hmmm." He said.

The steam wafted as I sat hunched over my bowl. I twirled another mess of noodles. "Mmmm."

Roberto rose for seconds. "There's plenty more were that came from." He said.