Spring Salad

It has been an explosion of spring. I came back from a trip to Ohio and the magnolia's were in bloom, along with the crab apples, violets, tulips, daffodils. Our rose bushes have even come back to life. It's as if winter never happened and things could stay this way forever. They won't of course., one swift wind and the magnolia blossoms will drop (many already have). Soon I'll be able to buy locally-grown produce at markets and farm stands, but in the meantime, I'm settling for stuff shipped in from Mexico.

Broccoli, asparagus and radishes. Exactly what the day called for (except that I couldn't find radishes and picked turnips instead). The broccoli and asparagus, warmed just to crisp-tenderness and brilliantly green, played subtly with bitter turnip slices and spring onions. I topped the salad with creamy toasted pine nuts and shavings of parmesan cheese. Drizzled with this Portuguese mayo-esque dressing (Portuguese to make it sound fancy and complicated), this salad, oh this salad. Though the dressing (it required emulsification--a word that draws fear and trembling) required a bit of fiddling, I came out victorious, by adding extra lemon juice. Really, it was a proud moment watching the mixture of whole milk, garlic, lemon juice parsley and olive oil go from just a mixture to a thick, creamy sauce with a few extra squeezes from a lemon. Eric declared the dressing light but flavorful, perfect--quite a compliment. I'll be making it again tonight.

And now to digress to something that is bothering me: my downstairs neighbors. They moved in just a month ago. My landlord called to say someone just signed the lease, and when I came back from out of town, they were there with their stuff in our garage and children's toys littering the yard. They bought a satellite dish, used our washer and dryer for a week (while we were using it! and without asking!!) and watch an excessive amount of TV (though compared to how much TV I watch, almost anything would be excessive), but all this is nothing compared to the sex.

My room is directly above theirs, and I can hear them every time they copulate. Every. Time. The first time I heard it, I came home from the Old Market at probably 1 a.m. Sliding under my covers, I said aloud to myself, "oh my gosh, is that ... moaning?" This is no bed-creaking, panting sex; this is moaning, grunting intercourse. Not only is it gross, it's grossly unnecessary. It has forever ruined Sideways for me because all I can picture is the scene from the movie when Paul Giamatti crawls into that couple's house to steal back the ring--those people are my downstairs neighbors. And they each have children, who I am absolutely positive can hear them. Why, you may ask. Because while it's not quite ridiculous that I can hear them seeing as my room is directly above theirs, but Megan has heard them whilst sitting in the living room. Sunday they did it twice, once in the morning, once at night. They keep me awake flaunting all the copious and apparently very good sex they are having, while I try to plug my ears and imagine myself on a beach, on a hike, anywhere but there.

Asparagus and Broccoli Salad: from 101 Cookbooks
handful asparagus spears
several stalks broccoli
1 tablespoon butter
1 turnip
1 spring onion
parmesan cheese
2 tablespoons pine nuts

Eggless Parsley Mayonaise: from David Lebovitz from The Portuguese Table
1/3 cup whole milk
2 teaspoons lemon juice
pepper
1 clove garlic
3/4 cup olive oil
2 tablespoons dried parsely or 3/4 cup fresh
salt

Chop the asparagus and broccoli into bite-size pieces. Melt butter in a skillet. Add the broccoli and asparagus, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and saute for a few minutes, until vegetables are brilliantly green. remove from heat and place in serving bowl. Toast pine nuts in skillet for a couple minutes, until they are lightly browned.

Chop spring onion. Slice turnips on the slicer side of a grater. Toss onions, pine nuts and turnips with green vegetables. Sprinkle with parmesan cheese.

Meanwhile make the dressing. In a food processor, blend milk, garlic, pepper and lemon juice until the mixture is frothy. If your processor has a hole, use it to pour in the olive oil. Mine does not, so I removed the milk from the processor into a bowl and whisked constantly while ever-so-slowly drizzling the oil into the milk. The dressing should thicken nicely. If it doesn't (which mine did not), add a few extra squeezes of lemon juice. Stir in parsley and season to taste with salt and perhaps extra lemon juice. Toss over the salad and serve.

Of Tuna Steak and Pommes de Granade

I think I may have already expounded on this blog on how I could live off salad alone--it's only been a year and I'm way past repeating here folks. But there are certain things that go into a lovely salad, I'll let you in on a few secrets: cheese and dressing. I usually go with feta, but in a pinch I've usually got some Laughing Cow spreadable swiss cheese lying around or its cute little round of sharp cheddar cheese. I'm sort of obsessed with parmesan, but I reserve it for hot things that it can melt into. HyVee was a total gold mine this week. I found this chevre goat cheese there that Wohlners' doesn't carry--die. I couldn't get enough of it, and since I didn't have crackers I was spreading it on leaves of spinach, rolling them up and sharing them with my roommate.

Dressing is the most important part of a happy salad. I pull a little "semi-homemade with Sandra Lee" on this one by buying a powdered mix and combine it with my own vinegar and olive oil. I get both of these from my mom--genius that she is.

This salad also marks my first go at cooking a tuna steak--and fina-freakin-lly I don't completely screw up something new. The fishmonger at HyVee was filled with nervous excitement when I asked for the ahi tuna. He politely posed probing questions like, "Have you ever had tuna like this before? Are you going to grill this?" I humored him--OK, that's not true, I totally needed courage to cook this rare--and asked his recomendations. He warned me not to overcook it, that this was no Chicken of the Sea fish, the delicate flavors would be lost the longer the steak was on the heat. Honestly, I was so excited that he cared about the fish he was selling that much. That never happens--I realize that working with meat, poultry and fish is an art form, but I don't think big grocery stores like HyVee generally acknowledge that (probably costs too much). Whenever I ask for help with weird things like tahini or flax seeds I get blank stares, so it's nice that someone working at the fish counter at HyVee loves fish enough to make sure I don't screw them up.

So this salad was bomb (sorry I love that word, it's annoying, I know). But I'm going to geek out a little more with the pomegranates right now. (Imagine me pushing my glasses up high on my nose)

Pomegranates come from Grenada, Spain, and that's how we get the word. In French, pomme means apple, pomme de terre literally translates to "apple of the earth" but is actually the word for potato, so pomme de Granade means apples from Grenada. (Another side note, Thai does this same sort of play on sematics to form words: nom means water in Thai, hong means room, hong nom means water room or bathroom, som means orange, nom som means orange water or orange juice, I could keep going, it's so cool.) OK, back to pomegranates. Pomegranate juice is used to make grenadine (get it, Grenada, grenadine)--the sweet syrup used in cocktails or to make a regular 7Up into a Shirley Temple.

Before we conclude this episode of random, food-related ponderings, let's review what can make you a good lettuce salad: fresh, crunchy greens; vinegar-based dressing (because that's the best kind); cheese; something else crunchy (fresh red/yellow/green peppers, pomegranate seeds, nuts); I love the earthy element mushrooms lend; and something meaty like croutons, deli meat, roast chicken, tuna steak or sauteed squash. Et voila! Une salade parfaite.

Sensing the Moment and Other Cheesy Ponderings

*Breathing a sigh of relief.* I've always been a big sigher. It's how I let go of tension. Ah, to exist as a breath. So brief and loaded with meaning. There are so many beautiful things given in this life, here's a list of recently pondered beauties returned as a tribute:

Sleepless  >  The Decembrists

Salty garbanzo beans

Crunchy leaves

Bags of apples

Old and broken cuckoo clocks

Dying light

Twilight walks

Golden retrievers

Sisters

Brokenness

Halloween

He Doesn't Know Why  >  Fleet Foxes

The entire Dark Was the Night album

Irish music at the Dubliner

I'm glad to savor the few quiet moments I can steal. I love our new neighborhood, which the rich people let Megan and I pretend to belong to. After going on an evening walk at 5 p.m. (almost dusk at that time), I made another of Mark Bittman's low-maintenance salads and fixed this antique cuckoo clock. The clock once belonged to my grandfather. I "borrowed" it from my parents because it was sitting in their basement collecting sawdust from my dad's woodworking and hung it on the wall in my old apartment. I walked away after hanging it, and the clock almost immediately crashed to the ground. I finally got around to gluing it back together last night. Here's hoping it's not a valuable handcrafted clock made by a German-Jewish clockmaker just before the onset of World War II ... knowing my luck.

Tomato and Garbanzo Bean Salad: tweaked from Mark Bittman's 101 Simple Summer Salads

2 tomatoes
1 garlic clove
olive oil
salt and pepper
1 15-ounce can garbanzo beans
3 cups water
2 green onions
lemon juice
cumin
parsely

I roasted the tomatoes because they're not ripe at all right now. To quick-roast, preheat the oven to 400. Cut tomatoes in quarters and arrange on a baking sheet with the unpeeled garlic clove. Drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Roast for one hour to allow some of the water to evaporate and the juices to concentrate the flavor.

Meanwhile, in a skillet, bring the water (salted) and drained garbanzo beans to a boil. Reduce to simmer and boil until barbanzo beans are cooked through--should take 10 to 15 minutes, but do a taste test. Drain the beans. In the skillet saute the green onions with olive oil. Toss in the garbanzo beans and tomatoes and garlic. Smash the tomatoes and garlic so the juices spread all over the salad. Remove to a serving bowl and season with lemon juice, cumin and parsely.

How Stilettos Are Like Tomatoes

In the words of Rachel Zoe, I die. (Feels so much better when you're saying that about fruit that someone gave to you rather than a $5000-plus Birkin bag.) My mom stopped by my office just to drop off some tomatoes (God bless her), and to talk about my 15-year-old sisters upcoming homecoming dance. She has a date, the cutest dress from Anthropologie and the stubborn refusal to wear heels--we're just happy she's wearing a dress while making only minimal stinks about it. Remember when you were 15 and the hardest thing was fighting with your mom about what you were going to wear? Oh wait, that still happens to me 10 years later.

But when it comes to tomatoes, my mom and I see eye-to-eye, though that has not always been the case. There was a time when I found tomatoes to be smushy and nasty, much the same way that Emily thinks of heels and skirts. But I came into tomatoes about the same time I came into my first pair of stiletto heels, which was in Spain in 2004.

I had owned and worn heels before, but they were always those big, chunky ones popular (again) in the 1990s, along with crushed velvet and midriff shirts. But these heels were chic. Smooth black leather, European size 38, with thin heels and a pointy toe. I walked miles back from Plaza Nuevo to our apartment near Viapol in Seville, and I sort of wanted to die. The balls of my feet never knew such pain. But I still wore them out to a club called El Doblon (it was pirate themed). I couldn't dance, and I actually, literally fell on a boy when I was introduced to him--slowmotion, just like in the movies.

I was sitting on a bar stool next to a barrel (pirate theme, remember) with my heel hooked on one of the rungs. I leaned across a bit too far in order to shake his hand, lost my balence and was unable to unhook my heels from the rung before he stopped my face-plant. Note: In real life, these scenes do not end in romantic flings. You're embarassed, and you never look that person in the eye again. I had to walk home early that night because of the piercing pain, and I even took my shoes off. My feet were completely black by the time I made it up to our apartment. I washed my feet off ... in the bidet.

All throughout Europe, I did the same thing with all the food I encountered. I tried it. No, not just tried, I dove in head first. Before I liked beer, I ordered a liter of weisbeer in Germany. We drank scads of cheap wine, I ate mushrooms by the plate when they drew a gag reflex, and I ate tomatoes. Raw. With olive oil, mozarella and basil, seasoned only with salt and pepper. And my mom was right about all those things. Just like she was right about the heels.

Caprese Salad:
tomatoes
mozarella cheese
fresh basil
olive oil
salt
pepper

The most important thing about making a good caprese salad is having good, fresh tomatoes. Straight from the garden is the best or from a farmer's market or produce stand. I have yet to find a good tomato from a grocery store. These fruits are so finicky, and I'm convinced the only reason why people don't like tomatoes is because they've only ever eaten bad ones.

Slice your tomatoes. My mom slices her mozarella cheese, but I just ripped off pieces. Wash and dice your basil. Arrange on a plate and sprinkle salad with olive oil, salt and pepper. Good served with crusty bread or eaten with a fork. (Follow these directions for toasted bread.)

You Say Tomato

Unfortunately, I had to abandon my garden prematurely--just as my tomatoes (all five of them) were ripening. This way I can blame my failure on someone aside from myself. But five tomatoes! That's four more than I grew last year. Nevermind that two of the green tomatoes fell off the vine while I was harvesting the ripened fruit--I can't even be bothered to care about that except to stomp my feet once or twice. And I have the consolation that the cucumbers reproduced like bunnies, as cucumbers are wont to do. Plus, I never have to set foot in that chigger-infested, weed-laden, lead-poisoned, home-of-snakes backyard again so long as I live. DO NOT TELL OUR LANDLORDS, but I left our grill in the backyard (hopefully, they mistake it for our downstairs neighbor's). Bob the Landlord is already fuming and withholding our deposit for the 25 nails left on the walls (there when we moved in), for us not vacuuming the blinds and for moving into a neighborhood that is just as dangerous as the one we vacated and we better watch out. Oh really, because I think our neighbor WARREN BUFFET would disagree. And we may or may not have broken a few windows--what's a girl to do when she accidentally locks herself in the vestibule to her apartment, obviously it's break a window with her bare fist and jump down seven feet just like MacGyver (someday, my dear children, I'll tell you all the ridiculous things that happen to me). Nevertheless, my dream of consuming more tomatoes than necessary has hit a major set back. I haven't even made bruschetta yet, and I've only eaten two caprese salads with mozarella, basil and tomatoes. This weekend I plan to fully make up for it. In the meantime, I found inspiration on Orangette and borrowed some grape tomatoes from my mother's garden to make this tomato crouton salad. The bread is more than a day old, and I completely doused it with olive oil and balsamic vinegar (which I swear I could drink with a straw). I even had enough basil leftover on my sad, sorry little plant to finish off the salad with something green. Tomato Crouton Salad: from Orangette day-old, crusty bread olive oil salt and pepper cherry or grape tomatoes, sliced 1 clove garlic, minced fresh basil splash of balsamic vinegar Tear bread into bite-size pieces and toss into a medium skillet. Saute on medium heat with olive oil until bread is toasted, about 10 minutes. Sprinkle with salt and pepper. Toss in tomatoes and minced or finely diced garlic clove. Saute until garlic is lightly browned and your nose crinkles. Add basil and a splash of balsamic vinegar.

The Summer Salad

It's a little bit sad to have to confess that it's nearly August and this is my first watermelon of the summer. The melons try to woo me at the grocer and the farmer's markets, but they're size makes them so easy to turn down. Yes, yes, I know it's vain to discriminate based on weight, but watermelon simply doesn't fit in my fridge. And if it's just me eating it, that melon will be taking up precious real estate for a long, long time. But with the Aaron and Laura's small group back to its regular schedule, I new I could get rid of at least half the melon in one go.

I made a nice mess of the counter with all the watermelon and tomato juice running together on the cutting board. And I cooked an entire package of bacon while the huskie Megan is watching this week gazed intently--here's hoping that dog can digest bacon (but who's heard of a dog who can't?). I only had one near miss with the bacon when the grease popped and hit my eyelid. Phew.

The salad was a grand success, even if incredibly juicy. Justin descriptively raved about the salad--he even did the shimmy! And his wife, Melissa, asked for the recipe (so here it is). It doesn't seem like you would want to pair watermelon with tomatoes and bacon, but you do you do, you definitely do.

Watermelon-Tomato Salad: by Mark Bittman
(this salad would serve about 10 people, so keep that in mind with portions)
3 cups watermelon, cubed (that was 1/2 of a small melon)
2 medium tomatoes, diced (I used lovely yellow heirlooms)
4 slices cooked bacon, crumbled
1/4 cup feta cheese, crumbled
handful fresh basil, coarsely chopped

For dressing:
1/2 olive oil
3 tablespoons red wine vinegar (or whatever you've got, but probably not balsamic)
salt and pepper to taste

Combine melon, tomatoes, bacon, feta and basil in a large salad bowl and toss to mix. It's going to be super juicy, so you could remove the seeds from the tomatoes to counter that. In a separate, smaller bowl, combine dressing ingredients and whisk until smooth. Pour over salad and toss again. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Cucumber Salad -- It's Like Pickles!

Megan's boyfriend Eric sent me to the New York Times when he heard I wasn't feeling much like cooking these days. Let me take a moment away from this blog's focus on me to say "thank you" to Eric. The story, by Mark Bittman and called 101 Simple Salads for the Season, is really a list of easy salads that don't involve a lot of standing over the hot stove while it's 100 degrees outside. Bittman reassured me that no one wants to cook soup right now, no one wants a stew, and even though every vegetable and fruit is currently at its peak, all anyone wants is to eat a cold watermelon and spit the seeds as far as they can.

The story is especially good because it gave me a nice list of things to make with the overabundance of cucumbers I currently have growing in my mess of a yard (which thankfully, has been mowed). I was wrong about the cucumbers floundering, it's actually the zucchinis that are struggling along and the cucumbers that are growing a vine up the side of the house. Much to my disappointment. I love zucchini, but the only thing I love about cucumbers are pickles. I cucumbers alright, but we're not in love. But pickles, well, we have quite the romantic history. Fortunately, number 3 on Bittman's list of salads involves cucumbers marinated in vinegar and Dijon mustard, so like pickles without the pain of canning. Cucumber Salad: by Mark Bittman 1 cucumber, thinly sliced 1/4 red onion, julienned (so cut into matchsticks) salt pepper 1 tablespoon red wine vinegar 1 teaspoon Dijon mustard Combine sliced cucumbers and julienned onion with salt and pepper and let sit for 20 to 60 minutes. In a small bowl, combine mustard and vinegar until smooth. Pour over salad and toss to coat.

Maria Cooks Light

With all these guest posts you'd think I was on vacation instead of spending my days in the cube or waltzing about enjoying summer in my Homaha. Here's another post from Maria. I've been trying to eat healthier lately. Everyone who knows me knows I eat fairly healthy (except for my baking habit). However, my portions have been "American" sized--with all the running I do, I tell myself I can eat more. It's a lie. You really only burn 100-150 calories per mile of running, and I don't run 10 miles every day. Anyway, my mom and stepdad came to visit in May. Not only did they help me plant a potted garden on my patio, but they also showed me some good ways to prepare healthy dishes. We had a huge feast one night consisting of the following:

and:

Asparagus:

In the iron skillet we put some water (no need for oil!), garlic, and asparagus pieces and sauteed under tender.

Tilapia with mango salsa:

I don't have a picture of the fish, sorry. We baked it in a foil-lined baking dish after putting lemon juice, lemon pepper, a little salt, parsley and basil on each side of the fish. The mango salsa consisted of a chopped mango, chopped jalapeno (only use half if you don't like things spicy--oops!), chopped avocado, handful or twoof chopped cilantro, and a couple squirts of lemon juice and limejuice. Salt and pepper to taste. No need to blend, this is a chunkysalsa served on the tilapia (also tastes good on salads or lemonpepper chicken).

Salmon patties

I'd never tried salmon and was skeptical (WHAT!), but Mom promised it wouldn't taste "fishy" (my big fear). We bought the large sized foil pouch of salmon and combined that with 5 or 6 crushed saltine crackers, and 2 egg whites in a bowl. Mix with hands until combined, then form 3 patties. We again used the iron skillet and cooked them with just water on medium heat.

Summer Salad and Eating Organic

Tuesday night I left yoga before shavasena to catch an encore showing of Food Fight at Film Streams. When the movie got out, it was 8 p.m. Plus after staring at delicious food for a little over an hour, I was hungry. Yet feeling bad about eating highly-processed food from a mega-farm that is actually some derivative of corn or soy instead of vegetables or grains shipped from the nether reaches of the globe. Blah blah blah. Yes, Food Fight is one of those granola movies that highlights the growing trend toward eating organic, natural foods. What I loved about the movie wasn't so much that it was about buying food that hasn't been treated with pesticides or hormones or that hasn't been genetically modified or whatever because that stuff is bad. It was about buying food that has been raised the old-fashioned way because it tastes better and is better for you. I often think about how many people I hear who don't like tomatoes, and I guarantee it's because they haven't ever had good tomatoes. I went home and made a salad with at least half of the produce from the "big-bad" farms. But to make myself feel better, I trimmed some pansies (edible flowers) from my sad little window planter of greens, as well as a few basil and parsley leaves. Topped with blueberries, mushrooms, feta and almonds that have been chilling in my fridge for a while, this salad was mighty tasty--organic or no. For those in Omaha who missed the two screenings of Food Fight (really, a fascinating look at why and how our food production got to where it is today without being mean-spirited), Food Inc. will be showing at Film Streams starting July 31.

Like Mother, Like Daughter

My mom invited me over for lunch yesterday. She promised salmon (it's actually trout), and I came running. She could have given me beef stroganoff and I would have come (well, maybe not, I hate beef stroganoff). The meal turned out perfectly: butter lettuce salad, topped with sauteed trout and dill with an olive-oil-lemon-juice dressing. But there was a moment or two, when the kitchen filled with smoke, that we thought that was the end of the fish. Could there be any question about where I get my cavelier carelessness in the kitchen? Obviously it's courtesy of my mother. Salad with Trout and Dill: butter lettuce 1 filet of trout (or salmon--my mom declared that salmon has a better taste) a couple sprigs of fresh dill from a potted plant in your mom's yard drizzle of olive oil juice from half a lemon (per salad) dash of salt and pepper My mom cooked the fish (scale side down) in a skillet without any oil or butter but with the lid on so that the steam would cook the top of the fish. Even though it burned the scales, the thick part of the filet was still a bit raw, so she cut it up and sauteed it for a few minutes until it was flaky. Mint Sun Tea: one-gallon glass jug one gallon of water four or five tea bags (depending on how strong you like it) big handful of fresh mint leaves sun Fill the jug with water (the jug cannot be opaque). Toss in the tea bags near the top and throw in the mint leaves. Leave the jug with the tea and the mint outside in the sun all day. Bring it inside and pop it in the fridge. Serve over ice.

Broccoli Raisin Salad

Broccoli and I have never got on very well. It was the vegetable that caused many a long night sitting at the dinner table after everyone else had finished. I can recall hiding the limp vegetable under my plate once--it was, of course, discovered. I even tried to slip some to our cocker spaniel--she didn't eat it.

Nowadays, it's another thing on my list that I've grown to enjoy--though I suspect my stomach disagrees. I'd say the conversion took place when I stopped eating any sort of frozen vegetable.

I've had this salad before at Christmas or Easter. I decided to make it for a pot luck at work. There are some folks at work trying to lose weight, and I figured this could be a nice alternative to all the fried chicken, meatballs, chips, dips and cookies that would be making up the majority of the buffet. I'm sure it would have been, had I remembered to take it out of the refrigerator that morning. I even made it using turkey bacon to boost the salads health factor--mistake. Turkey bacon is horrible. Never use it. It's suspiciously pink and turned out tough and flavorless.

Broccoli Raisin Salad: 1 head of broccoli 1/2 cup raisins 1-2 ounces bacon optional: sunflower seeds For dressing: 1/2 cup mayonnaise 2 tablespoons vinegar 1 tablespoon sugar pinch of salt and pepper Trim broccoli florets and place in bowl. Toss with raisins. Mix dressing ingredients in a separate bowl and toss with broccoli. Marinate overnight. Add crisp, fatty bacon.

Maria Cooks, Part 4

Editor's note (I've always wanted to do one of these): This is a slice from the life of Maria who is studying for a master's in criminal justice at Indiana University in Bloomington.

The butternut squash is next. I (Maria) was making dinner the night before I left for St. Louis. I hardly had any food left in my fridge, and what I did have was somewhat random. I had half a butternut squash left so I decided to follow the directions on the sticker. I cut the squash in half so that two spoon-type hollows form. I spooned out the seeds and other mush. Instead of baking in the oven I cheated and did the microwave. I put an inch of water into a glass baking dish and put the squash skin-side-up in. I microwaved for about 8 minutes. I then turned the squash over and spooned some butter and brown sugar into each hole. Microwaved for two more minutes. Delicious! I had just a tiny bit of lettuce and baby cucumber left, so I made a salad. The dressing was olive oil, red wine vinegar, honey and lemon juice.

I also had a small portion of basmati rice and tikka masala leftovers. I had sauteed chicken, asparagus, red peppers, orange peppers and broccoli, then added the sauce. It was restaurant-quality. The meal was all over the place but very tasty.

Editor's note (can't help it, the last one was so much fun): Here's a photo of Maria to appear online until Maria requests that I remove it (and replace it with a photo from New Year's last year, yeah, don't make me go there). Will she kill me for this? She posted this photo on facebook, so I assume it's OK for public viewing.

Squash and Mushroom Salad

The last couple months living in Thailand I spent Sunday afternoons wandering somewhat aimlessly around the streets of Bangkok. There were a lot of lonely moments mixed in with awe at the busy-ness of life going on around me. I would go to these 5-story, giganto malls and pretend that I could afford to shop at Gucci and Prada. Kinokuniya bookstores were the jackpot though. I can recall one day finding this Jamie Oliver cookbook at one bookstore and started drooling over the photos of food not involving rice that graced nearly every page (I do adore Thai food, but I couldn't get used to rice three times a day). I bought the book anyway, knowing I barely had enough room in my suitcase for something I could easily get in the U.S. Coming back from Thailand sort of turned a new leaf in my life in the kitchen (and out of it). I had spent months without even a kitchen sink or a hot plate in my apartment, and now I had my mom's newly remodeled kitchen and three family members not-very-excited about trying out my culinary inventions (excluding my mom, sorry dad, truth hurts). But since then, my Jamie Oliver cookbook has been collecting dust. Admittedly his recipes are slightly ridiculous--I remember making a page-long list of ingredients I had never heard of to look up later on Wikipedia. But last night I cracked it open and made "dumbed down" variation on his Roasted Squash, Proscuitto and Pecorino Salad, using the rest of the squash that was going to go in the quiche ...

Warm Squash and Mushroom Salad: (for one, so adjust as necessary)

1 cup butternut squash (or in my case, buttercup squash) 1/2 cup coarsely chopped mushrooms 1 tablespoon buttersalt, pepper and coriander to taste mixed salad greens parmasan cheese vinaigrette-based dressing Add butter and butternut squash to pan on medium-high heat. Add salt, pepper and coriander while you are sauteing. Saute until the squash becomes lightly browned on the edges (5-8 minutes). Add mushrooms and saute until the vegetables are browned and cooked through (2-3 minutes). Remove from heat and add to greens. Sprinkle with parmasan, pecorino and/or romano cheese. If you don't already have a vinaigrette dressing, you can easily make one mixing olive oil and balsamic or red wine vinagre on a three-to-two ratio--so 3 tablespoons olive oil, two tablespoons vinagre, etc.--and add salt and pepper to taste.

I Could Live On Salad Alone.

Oh man, I did not feel like cooking last night. For the first time I felt the pressure: "I started this cooking blog and I have got to update it, I need to make something good." But I didn't even feel like eating anything. Pasta? Had that this weekend--three times. Chicken? Too heavy. Soup? I wanted instant gratification last night; I did not want to wait for something to simmer on my moody stovetop. The only thing I wanted to eat was mushrooms. I used to loathe mushrooms. I thought they were creepy. Fungus? Edible fungus? I found them kind of slimy when sauteed, versus the almost starchy consistency of raw shrooms. You can't trust something like that, right? And I swear even the smell of them caused a gag reflex at age 10. But as with tomatoes, olives, eggplant, squash, garbanzo beans, beans in general, scallops, mussels, tofu, wine and other superior food (can you believe I didn't eat these at one point), I gained an appreciation for them from traveling. In Thailand, my chef/friend/adopted-mother would make me this all-vegetable dish with like seven different kinds of mushrooms: shittake (I love that word), those long and skinny ones, the ones with the lacy edges, probably button mushrooms. I die. There are only like three kinds of mushrooms available at HyVee. Alas, another meal I can never recreate. I finally gave in to my lazy, tired, whiny, I-don't-feel-like-it attitude and bought a rotisserie chicken for $5 at HyVee, feta cheese, portabello mushrooms (because that was all they had), bell peppers and Annie's Naturals Shittake and Sesame dressing (sort of expensive, but the freaking best dressing I have ever had). I made a salad. It took about 5 minutes, and it was awesome. I'm planning on using the rest of the rotisserie chicken to make a homemade stuffed pasta of sorts (or on a salad tonight). Disaster waiting just around the corner.