Month: August 2012

good to the last drop

After I made that lemon mousse the other day, I kind of got mousse on the brain. It’s comfortable there.  Right at home, you might say.  Among other things, I have always been perfectly content to eat a bowl of whipped cream when I had the chance; as a child, the task of licking the beaters and the bowl were my exclusive domain, and my college roommate used to take me right smartly downtown for a large creampuff when I showed signs of extreme distress, so clearly I failed to grow out of the fondness. Having tackled the lemon, I set my sights on a coffee mousse.  Drinking coffee is one youthful habit I have surrendered; though I love the flavor of it, I abused its powers so severely during the last two years of high school that I hung up my mug of my own volition, alarmed by the jitters and headaches that went along with the admittedly delightful aspects of the ritual.  I consigned the use of the cup of joe to medically …

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the ugly truth

Am I the 27th person in the last ten days to tell you that you MUST make an oven-roasted tomato passata?  Though I normally like to dwell on the fringe, I am happy to pipe up with the chorus here.  If I can provide that crucial last little shove to send you over the edge, all the better.  They are not beautiful, these tomatoes, but they bring a lot to the table. Oven-roasting tomatoes is one of those brilliantly simple little dance moves in the kitchen that make you feel like you probably ought to get your own cable show, and now that tomatoes are dropping from every corner there is really no excuse not to try it. Meanwhile, in related news, my Greek Food Porn impresario is really turning up the heat with the photos she is snapping on her vacation.  Check out what came slinking into my inbox yesterday under the unassuming banner, “Goat Milk Egg Noodles.”   Now we really need some tomato sauce.  My gosh.  Cover those nude I mean noodles …

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armchair travel

My friend Andrea is a good friend to have.  She will agree to come along and pick cherries in unbearable weather, and show up with even more containers than you have brought–a sign of her optimism and enthusiasm.  She will share your obsession with cracking the code on some elusive Turkish or possibly Greek baked pudding that may also be boiled, which seems to contain chicken but doesn’t have to, and present you with cookbooks and late-night emails testifying to her mettle as a code-cracker.  She may, if you are very lucky, also present you with a bottle of olive oil, which turns out to come from the olive grove belonging to her family in Greece.   Then again, she may twink off to Greece for a month, and send you what can really only be described as apricot porn.  So think twice before getting too friendly with her, or you may find your inbox clogged with images like these: all photos by Andrea, who is in Greece, and not by me, home here in Massachusetts …

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