Chicken with Smoked Mozzarella Medallions

Chicken with Smoked Mozzarella Medallions

Dinner

...

The french fries were crisping in the the oven (tossed with extra virgin olive oil, salt and pepper). The salad was waiting to be dressed (a mix of greens with carrot and onion). The baguette was sliced. I had done my part.

"Can you take that wedge of lemon and place it on the small plate, then bring me the that plate?" Roberto said, elbow deep in a few pre-dinner dishes.

"I love the exacting detail you gave just for that one plate." I said.

"Thank you." He said.

The chicken (three breasts) rested. Sitting in a pool of garlic and white wine, extra virgin olive oil and butter. Salt. Pepper. Lemon. Medallions of smoked Mozzarella melting beneath a confetti of chopped parsley. Roberto had done his part.

...

And while I knew that the chicken did not need the aid of store-bought organic ketchup to enhance it's flavor, I sliced away a piece, pierced it with my fork and proceeded with this guilty pleasure.

Flock of Pots

Flock of Pots

Five Hour Bagels

Five Hour Bagels

Bagels

...

I pulled the dough from the hook. While every fiber of my being told me I should let the dough sit for some time, to relax, I just couldn't wait.

I pulled out the calculator and kitchen scale. Divided the dough into six semi-equal pieces, and called on some forearm strength.

To me it felt like prepping for pizza. I formed a neat little ball and then rolled out a snake. It wasn't very forgiving or yielding, the first three, but by the sixth ball the dough had finally relaxed.

I rolled, pinched and stretched. They look like uncooked bagels, I thought.

One by one, each ring of dough was placed, slid around, and flipped on lightly greased parchment. A layer of plastic wrap, and I was ready to find a warm spot for rising.

The front window, I thought.

Three hours later the oven was preheating and I was boiling bagels. Roberto kept watch.

And into the oven.

10 minutes.

Rotate tray.

12 minutes more.

They look like bagels, I thought.

By 1:30, we were enjoying freshly made bagels.

"Tastes like a bagel to me." I said.

"Good job." Roberto said.

Jam

Jam

Black raspberry jam

Unknown man who made this jam

Jam from Bird in Hand

Old Pear

Old Pear

It's ripe, but it's not sweet.

...

The innkeeper brought us grilled pear with honey and a sprig of mint. The pear was not ripe.

I rubbed the sprig of mint between my fingers to ignite the oils. The scent was exactly as I had remembered it.

I don't like pears with honey, I had said.

It's odd that they would bring this out first, he had said.

Despite not liking the marriage of flavors, I had no choice but to finish my pear with honey. A bruised sprig of mint was all that was left.

The innkeeper took our plates and asked, How was it?

Delicious, I said.

Peas

Peas

Peas with Mushrooms and Onion

Dinner

Dinner

Farfalle

...

We'll eat the leftovers tonight.

Farfalle with carrots, zucchini, yellow onion and cremini mushrooms.

(Bacon and cream)

...

Spring

...

"I guess it's too late to plant Spring onions?" I asked.

I surveyed the freshly bitten into onion in my hand. The flavor was mild, but bright (a slight zing). It was only missing that fresh, pulled from the earth...earthiness.

"Yes." He said.

"That's a shame. They were so good last year." I said.

...

Eating

...

Another night of pasta. We need to slow down. We're eating too fast.

Perciatelli with Pesto

Perciatelli with Pesto

As I slurped, the strand of perciatelli made its way into my mouth kicking and squeaking.

"That's why you get it all over you." Roberto laughed.

"I know." I said.

Zita with Asparagus and Bacon

Zita with Asparagus and Bacon

I couldn't put my finger on it. I was distracted by flavor.

"This is singing in my mouth." I said with mouth full.

I really need to chew, I thought.

"This is sooo good." I said with mouth full.

I looked down at my empty bowl. A shallow puddle of bacon fat and extra virgin olive oil.

There's no garlic!

"There's no garlic!" I said.

Roberto looked up. A look of disappointment on his face.

"But it's so good. It doesn't need it." I gushed.

In our rush to make dinner, we had done everything but...chop the garlic.

I was delighting in this happy accident, though. I had just been graced with pure simplicity.

Zita, bacon and asparagus co-mingling in a pool of fat (both pork and olive) and pasta water. A bit of crushed red pepper and parmesan.

We each ate the first bowl greedily. Racing towards the inevitable, a second helping.

"It's good, but it would be better with garlic." Roberto said.

Post 215: Soup in Jars

Post 215: Soup in Jars

Sunday

...

The last bit of celery (including its leafy boa), one small yellow onion and two gnarled carrots (chopped). The good extra virgin olive oil (enough to coat—and then some). A bit of crushed red pepper, salt and pepper. Chickpeas (ceci). And water. That's all.

Simmered.

Cooled.

Whirred.

Poured into jars.

...

Monday Morning

...

I feel like a groggy cog.

Springing forward is for the birds.

...

Lunch Special (Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday)

...

Roast turkey on whole wheat with grainy mustard.

Creamy chickpea soup (sans the cream)

Grapefruit

...

What's for dinner?

...

While the water comes up to a boil and the sauce warms, I'll throw together a salad of romaine, radicchio and a bit of red onion.

And a little pizza pane never hurt anyone.

Is there enough cheese grated? Roberto will ask.

Yes. I'll reply.

I'll set the table. Pour the water and wine.

Is this enough? Roberto will ask.

It's 9 ounces. I'll reply.

Friday Morning

Friday Morning

Oatmeal with grade b maple syrup and whole milk.

The Three B's

The Three B's

Brownies (again)

...

There was a moment were I actually entertained replacing butter with olive oil. Thank goodness I didn't. Brownies need butter.

...

Bananas

...

"If you put them on the table, I'll remember to eat them." He said.

It's true. Out of sight. Out of mind.

We both ate a banana.

...

Buttermilk Whole Wheat Pancakes

...

There was a moment were I actually entertained replacing butter with olive oil. Thank goodness I did.

...

Wednesday Morning

...

Waiting for the coffee to brew. Bananas remembered. Buttermilk whole wheat pancakes with peanut butter.

"Pancakes with peanut butter?" He asked.

"You want one?" I asked.

"Nope." He said.

One day I hope to sway him.

The Cheese Baskets

The Cheese Baskets

Lancaster

...

A list that is both short and sweet.

Raw milk

Apple pie

The Amish make good pies. And we'll buy raw milk to make cheese.

...

Cheese

...

"We need to use these baskets." I said.

I contemplated moving the nesting baskets from their current home (hidden high inside a mixing bowl above the stove) to someplace visible. But where?

So many things we need to do (want to do). We need to clean the windows. We need to wipe down the ceiling fans. We need to make bread (ciabatta). We need to make cheese.

Our first and last experiment was a disappointment. We strained a bit too much. The cheese was a bit too dry.

So, we need to try again.

We need to make cheese.

Linguine with Black Pepper and Parsley

Linguine with Black Pepper and Parsley

What kind of pasta do you want?

...

"Big." I said.

Nine and half ounces had been weighed out. No wonder we have so many opened boxes that ultimately need to be mixed. But, some nights (most nights) eight ounces just won't do. It just won't do.

"Is it enough?" Roberto asked.

"I guess." I said. A bit unsure. Weary from hunger. Weary. I'm always starving to death and weary.

...

Days go by...

...

Sunday: Linguine with Pesto

Monday: Linguine with Aglio e Olio

Tuesday: Farfalle and Fusilli (a mix of opened boxes) with red sauce, chickpeas and a bit of cream

Wednesday: Farfalle and Conchiglie rigate (a mix of opened boxes) with red sauce, shrimp (and a bit of cream?)

Thursday: Fettucine with black pepper and parsley (loads of black pepper and parsley)

"This would have been good with a bit of cream." I said.

...

Achooooooooooo!

...

"Excuse me." I said.

"That was a big one." He said.

"That was a pepper sneeze." I said.