“Me only have one ambition, y’know. I only have one thing I really like to see happen. I like to see mankind live together – black, white, Chinese, everyone – that’s all.” Bob Marley I’m with Bob on this one. I’d just like to add one thing – my vision also includes kittens, rainbows, and puppy dogs. And grouchy turtles. They’re important, too. As I’ve said before, we can’t create peace alone -we have to set a Global Table and invite everyone to dinner. And we’ll need a few animals to pick up the scraps. So, with this spirit of peace and friendship, let’s eat Jamaica! What sounds good to you? Jerk Chicken [Recipe] Spicy chicken, smoked slowly until tender and perfumed with the floral aroma of all spice. Jerk Seasoning [Recipe] With a quick buzz-whir of the blender, and you have jerk seasoning – made with fresh produce, rich spices, and loads of love. Perfect marinade for chicken, pork, and fish. Jamaican Escovitch Fish [Recipe] Wake up like a Jamaican -with the tangy, briny blast of Escovitch. …
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Seems like everyone I know has been to Jamaica – usually, for a wedding, their honeymoon, or spring break. Or a scary combination of all three. (I shudder to think). While many visitors stick to strolling the soft sands and wading in the clear waters, some seek out other adventures, like ecological river tours, climbing sheer waterfalls, and exploring local museums. While all this sounds fantastic, my stove top Adventure is clear. You see, back when I made the Caribbean Green Seasoning for Guyana, I totally wimped out on the amount of habeneros required. I used 1/4 of a whole habenero, when the recipe called for 6 habeneros. Six. That means I used 1/24th of the recommended heat. Laughable. Thankfully, my friendly readers from Jamaica told me I could redeem myself this week. So, with that in mind, I did some research. Turns out Jamaicans sure do love spicy food. The people are mostly of African descent, but also European, Chinese, and Indian. They eat everything from curries, to puddings, and from stir fried, to deep fried. Still, no …
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THE SCENE Many things about Italian cooking involve family. Sharing. Loud conversations while laughing over nothing. But this is not always the case. For example, I waited an entire week to tell Keith …. a.k.a. Mr Picky … a.k.a. the man with the most hypochondria ever… about the eggs. The raw eggs. In the tiramisu. It was mama’s lil’ family secret all week long. Hear me out – my logic was sound. First of all, I’d made the thing three times. Each time, it became exponentially more fabulous. My friends at the Girl Scouts practically swooned over the second version – I think the word used was “Luscious” – with a capital L. The third version made our friends Alan and Michelle weep. Well, maybe not weep. But eyes did roll. And thirds were administered to already full bellies. Right before bedtime. The night before a 6 am fishing trip. Considering the tirimisu contained enough espresso and rum to jump start an entire marching band, this was a miracle of miracles. Anyway – back to Keith and the …
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Makes one large trifle (Serves at least 8) Your day was hard. Maybe you have a party coming up. Or you are out of ice cream. Perhaps your favorite DVD got scratched. Or your 20 lb cat left a 1lb hairball on your favorite sweater. I have the answer for everything: make tiramisu. Trust me. After a hard day, tiramisu is easy. It’s the perfect dessert for fancy parties and casual parties. Plus, you won’t ever crave ice cream again. Well… not while tiramisu is hanging out in your fridge. After one taste, you’ll be so in love that you won’t care about the DVD or the sweater. It’s just stuff, after all. Tiramisu, however, is glory on a spoon. Glory that you can scoop up at midnight, when no one is looking. Plus I have a few little secrets that’ll make it the prettiest tiramisu you’ve ever seen (or tasted). NOTE: Please start this recipe the night before you need it. Also, you can make caster sugar (aka fine sugar) by putting some in a …
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Makes 1 large batch. Enough for at least 150 standard ravioli & more noodles than you know what to do with. Slap. Roll, roll, roll, roll. Slap! My great grandmother, Assunta, made pasta dough with the strength of a hundred Italian sailors. Mom, just a kid then, was not allowed to touch. Instead she was told to sit quietly and watch. She remembers how, as Assunta rolled the dough thinner and thinner, it gradually swallowed up the table and heavy oil cloth covering. Eventually, all you could see was the giant sheet of dough – thin enough for spaghetti, linguine, tortellini or – as was typically the case – ravioli. I’ll tell you right now… The secret is in the slap. By occasionally slapping the dough down onto the table, the gluten relaxes, making it easier to roll out without springing back. That and generously dusting the dough as you go. Ingredients: 5 cups flour 4 large eggs water (about 1/3 cup, or as needed) Method: Find yourself a lovely Italian villa with an outrageously …
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As far as I’m concerned there’s only one way to enjoy a movie: cuddled up to a plate of stuffed artichokes. I’ve already managed to brainwash the rest of the clan into agreement. I started young with Ava – at 10 months old she became enamored when I found one the size of her head. Today – at just two years old – she’s an artichoke eatin’ pro. To enjoy your next movie with an artichoke, you just need three accessories: a giant bowl for the discarded leaves, napkins, and a small bowl of melted butter with fresh lemon juice squeezed in, if you like that sort of thing. My husband doesn’t…I do… So we have separate dipping bowls. This recipe has been passed down in my family for generations – although everyone makes it different. Mom actually never wrote her version down, so I had to watch and try to memorize her steps. Lucky for me, it’s really easy – just stir everything together, pile onto the trimmed artichoke, steam for 45 minutes-1 hour and enjoy. …
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Makes enough filling for at least 150 standard ravioli I have fond memories of curling up on the basement stairs, hanging over the railing, watching my great-great, very distant I’m-not-quite-sure-how-we’re-related cousin, Alfred, make ravioli. I’ll never forget the way the ravioli rolling pin zipped out dozens of ravioli in a heartbeat. Alfred lived to 103 and I attribute that partly to the fact that he continued making ravioli two-three times a year, well into his nineties. He’d make a few hundred at a time, spreading out the work over several days (you can read his letter below to see exactly what he did). Here’s my recommendation: Day one: Eat pork chops for dinner. Save leftovers. Day two: Make the dough and filling. Refrigerate. Day three: Roll the dough and make the ravioli. Dry overnight, turning once. Day four: Freeze. Ingredients: 3 bone-in pork chops, grilled and cooled 1 lb frozen chopped spinach, defrosted 4 large eggs 1 cup plain breadcrumbs 1 cup Parmesan 1/4 tsp ground nutmeg 1/2 tsp pepper 1/4 cup whole milk 1/4 cup …
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This week I can shut my eyes and dream my way to Italy. All I need is to dust my hands with flour, slap around some pasta dough, and fill the house with the scent of steamed artichoke. In an instant, I’m there. Just knowing that I’m making recipes that my family has made for hundreds of years (in some form or another), brings a smile to my face – it’s like a mini vacation from the unknown so common in this adventure. Then, as I watch Ava help me cook and enjoy the food, my heart triples in size because I know – the recipes will live on. What sounds good to you? Homemade Pasta Dough [Recipe] This dough is soft, like a baby’s bottom – made with nothing more than flour, eggs, and a splash of water. The secret is to let it rest before trying to roll it out. That and slapping it around a lot. Seriously. Alfred’s Pork Ravioli [Recipe] Alfred lived to 103. He kept himself young by making these pork ravioli …
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Mom proudly calls the Italian side of our family peasants. The old-fashioned word makes me laugh, but she insists that’s exactly what they were. They weren’t nobility. They weren’t merchants. They were peasants. Farmers, if you will. More specifically, they worked the mushroom fields in Cicagna, Italy – a bumpkin-sized town near Genoa. From what I understand, our family left behind a mountainside villa and acres of mushrooms for a passport to Ellis Island. In their absence, my great-grandparents allowed a family to stay at the villa for free, as long as they worked the fields and shipped mushrooms to them, in United States, every so often. After thirty years without a visit and some political mumbo jumbo, the villa automatically transferred to the renters. Lost. And so, too – decades before I was born – my dream of living in an Italian mountainside villa was lost. Still, mom made sure I was thoroughly steeped in our Italian heritage – going so far as to give me my grandmother, Dorothea’s, maiden name – Foppiano. And what a pretty name …
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THE SCENE Ava wanted nothing to do with the hummus. She shook her head. She closed her eyes. She even yelled “No!!!!” – in case I didn’t get the message. I took a deep breath and calmly said “Ok.” Little did she know, I had a plan. The very next day I whipped out the food processor. “Want to help mama?” I asked, smiling big. “Okay!” she cheered, with big eyes, anticipating a fantastic treat. “Please drop the chickpeas into the food processor,” I said nonchalantly. “Yes” she said, sneaking one before she did so. “Should we add some parsley?” I asked. “Uhuh,” she nodded, her little hand grabbing a fistful and dropping it in. “More?” she asked “Ok! And what about oil?” “Okay!” And on it went. She loved it. In a final flourish, I let her push the button. “BzzzRRRRRRRRRRRaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah” she exclaimed, laughing as the mixture pureed in a smooth dip. I tasted it, adjusted the seasonings, and let her blitz it again. Proudly, I offered her a spoonful. Ava shook her head no. Then, …
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Dilutes up to 1 gallon Have you ever sipped on the sun? First you have to chill it, so it doesn’t taste as much like a “ball of fire.” The compression of all the heat particles actually makes it sour. Like lemon sunshine. Then you squeeze it and sweeten it. I’ve read somewhere that limes are actually cooled moonbeams. They go well with the sunshine, especially with a handful of mint. That’s what’s happening with Israeli juice – summer sunshine in a glass, with a hint of funky nighttime. Ingredients 3/4 cup lemon juice (3 large lemons) 1/4 cup lime juice (1-2 limes) 1 cup (tart)- 1 1/2 cups (sweeter) sugar 1/4 cup water 3-5 sprigs of mint ice and water, as needed (for diluting) Method: Hello summer. Let me cover up my paper cuts, so we can become acquainted. First, squeeze enough lemons and limes to make 1 cup of strained juice. Do it while overlooking a sun-shiny, water-lapped town. Next, make simple syrup. Over low heat, gently simmer as much sugar as you’d like …
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Makes 2+ cups You know how you think you know something…. Like the earth is round. Or flowers bloom. Or hummus goes into a bowl? … only to have your vision shattered? Your dreams crushed? Yeah. Turns out not everything is as it seems. The earth is not perfectly round. It’s a “bumpy spheroid” according to Scientific American. And flowers don’t always bloom. Especially when it’s over 100F for well over a month. My crispy garden is testament to that. And hummus doesn’t go in a bowl. It goes on a plate. I learned that from the Israelis. How’s that for blowing your mind? Ingredients: 2 cans chickpeas, drained (reserve 1/4 cup whole chickpeas for garnish) 3 Tbsp lemon juice (about 1 lemon, juiced and strained) parsley, small palmful – plus extra for garnish 2 cloves garlic 1 tsp tahini, or more to taste 1/3 cup olive oil salt Grilled pita bread, for dipping Method: First step, find a nice spot to make the hummus. Perhaps while perched in the middle of a chickpea field. Mmm. Imagine all the …
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