OMG a Recipe: Ho-Ho-Holiday Gift Emergency? Don't Panic, Have a Cheese Cracker

I'm interrupting my Germany/France posts for a couple of weeks because I realized, holy crap, it's the holidays! And I'm sure you've been like me, doing all the frenzied last-minute buying, baking, wrapping of gifts. Or maybe not. Maybe you, too, are only now realizing, Holy Crap It's the Holidays, and that you do not want to commit the same gift sin as last year's Chia Pet/Pajama Jean debacle that everyone has vowed silence over, never to be spoken of again. Ever. So, why not give a gift that's not only tasty, easy on one's schedule, but you can say it was homemade? Because no one's going to believe you knitted those Pajama Jeans, you big ol' liar.

Bust out the baker's twine, it's the holiday season, bitches - Photo by Wasabi Prime

UnRecipe: The Secret of Food Blogging and the Comfort Food Gnome in Your Brain

Friends have often asked, what does it take to have a successful food blog? Is there some secret SEO-sorcery? A mystery, wrapped in an enigma, wrapped in a taco, to unlock like some mysterious DaVinci Code? Perhaps it's just about knowing all the right people and being at the right place at the right time? My answer: I have no idea, but post some photos of some cheesy, gooey pasta and it's a hit parade. It's not that simple, of course, but the almighty glutinous noodle is as popular as it is ubiquitous, and it never fails to get appetites whetted, no matter how many plates of noodles we see. Today's post proves the Power of Pasta -- even with random ingredients and a pantry full of nothing special, baked pasta with spicy Italian sausage, smothered with cheese is always a winner.


Baked pasta and my Big Fat Italian Belly after eating it - Photo by Wasabi Prime

UnRecipe: ERMAHGURRRRD - French Fries!!

Happy Meatless Monday, which I would consider it the Post-Thanksgiving/Meat Hangover, given our glutton-filled weekend of turkey-turkey-everything. So to cleanse our roadblocked intestines and overworked filter organs, how about something simple with delightful sweet potatoes? Oh, who am I kidding -- it's the holidays, and the checkered flag was waved as of Thanksgiving, so it's time to Unleash the Kraken for rich, delicious food that we'll have all of 2013 to regret stuffing our faces with.

Sweet Potato Buffalo Fries... because, yeah, that's a thing - Photo by Wasabi Prime

I'll be the first to admit that I make unreasonable bargains with myself when it comes to food. I'll say "no" to Yukon gold potatoes because they're so starchy, and "yes" to sweet potatoes and yams because they have more nutrients and a little lower starch content... and then douse those slightly more nutritious sweet potatoes and yams with sauces, cheese and whatever else that negates that little extra bit of health they offered. I've never made myself out to be a Health Saint, that's for sure, but when I crave French fries -- which is fairly often -- I'll do what I can to try and squeeze out whatever little bit of nutritional value I can. Enter: Buffalo Wing Yam Fries.

Thanksgiving sort of ruined yams, in my opinion. How they got to become synonymous with being in a casserole dish, covered with marshmallows is beyond me. I blame the South, the Midwest, and the Flyover States in general for ruining a perfectly delicious spud, giving it the false beard of "appetizer" when it's really some unholy dessert in that terrible guise. So I thought I'd ruin yams in my own, special Wasabi-way, dousing it in Frank's Hot Sauce and sprinkled with crumbles of blue cheese. Totally unrelated to Thanksgiving, I just really wanted Buffalo Wings. Which, really, who doesn't? I also thought this would be a great Meatless Monday/Junk Food Binge meal. Who says vegetarianism doesn't have a naughty side? Nothing with a face went into this heaping pile of indulgence, so let this spicy, cheesy flavor-fest rock your vegetarian socks off.

Cheesy spicy potato goodness - Photos by Wasabi Prime

If you decide to make this beast of a meatless feast, take some yams -- peeled or unpeeled, the skins are fine if you leave them on -- and cut into fry-shaped wedges. Yams really are the best for this because of their intense bright orange color -- it really plays into the Buffalo Wings theme, and as they say, we eat with our eyes first. Toss with vegetable oil and some salt and pepper, and spread out on a baking tray lined with parchment paper, to keep them from sticking. Put the tray in a preheated 420-degree oven. High heat is good, it will roast the potatoes, pull out all that moisture, and help dry them out a bit. You can fry them, this would make them true fries, but deep frying is a pain in the rear, and this works in a pinch. I usually run the tray under the broiler for a minute or two, just to give it a little crisp, but they'll burn fast, so keep an eye on them. While they're still hot, toss the yams with your favorite hot sauce (Frank's is my favorite), and then sprinkle crumbles of blue cheese over it before eating with abandon. Baked fries aren't as crisp as deep-fried ones, but once they've got sauce and cheese on them, you'll eat them with a fork, so that's why I feel the baked vs deep-fried option is negligible.

My second Fry Binge was with sweet potatoes. I told you, I crave French fries A LOT, so I like having some options to make those unreasonable food bargains with myself to pretend the food isn't as rich and naughty as it truly is. This fry-binge was inspired by that fabulous creation from Canada, poutine. If you've never had poutine, it's Mana from Heaven -- crispy fries doused with gravy and topped with squeaky cheese curds. I don't know the backstory over how poutine was invented. I'm guessing it was probably the result of a very drunk beer-soaked night, but much like our own US-equivalent of pile o' drunk food -- nachos -- it's a cure for what ails when there's too many ales. This version is meatless -- no gravy -- just a basic bechamel sauce. I added spice by seasoning the sweet potatoes with a mix of extra pepper and cayenne before they were baked. While the spiced sweet potato fries are roasting in the oven -- same temperature as the yam fries -- I use the stovetop to make the bechamel, which just a basic white sauce that I add a mixture of cheeses to towards the end. I added white cheddar and parmesan, but you can add whatever cheeses you like.

How sweet it is - sweet potato fries with cheese sauce - Photo by Wasabi Prime

This of course results in yet another messy pile o' gooey food, but who cares, as it was delicious. Cheesy, spicy sweet potato goodness. The nice thing about sweet potatoes and yams is that they have a noticeable and distinctive flavor -- they're not neutral like a typical plain potato. The natural sweetness takes the addition of spice really nicely, the richness of a sauce and strong cheese doesn't drown out the potato. For the cheesy sweet potato fries, adding a healthy sprinkle of paprika before serving helps keep it from being pale, white food, and it reminds your eyes that you're eating something with a little kick.

So let the celebration of the holidays begin -- we can happily swaddle ourselves in heavy winter coats and Snuggies as we dig into all our favorite foods. At least until January first comes around and we can make all those pesky resolutions to eat carrot sticks for every meal.

UnRecipe: A Day Late, A Dollar Short, But Still Delicious

I get zero points for blogging about seasonal ingredients today. But at the time I made all this stuff, I was cooking with seasonal ingredients like a Mofo. Garden tomatoes and fresh oregano? Looking outside into most PacNW gardens, it's a whole lotta soggy earth, wilted plants and gray skies, but a month or so ago, we were all still enjoying fresh-picked goodness. So let's jump into the Way-Back Machine and pretend it's still summer, shall we?

Yes, more effing tomatoes! I love these little guys!! - Photo by Wasabi Prime

Gardening isn't ridiculously hard to do, but it's still a bit of work, so when you do yield even a modest harvest of edible goods, you want to celebrate them. Short of putting them in a glittery dress and making them learn to twirl a baton for an upcoming parade, you want to prepare them in a way that shows off their flavor and doesn't just drown them out as some supporting ingredient role. I didn't have a ton of tomatoes this year, but for the ripe lil' gems I got, I was celebrating the eff out of them. I went on a Pizza Rampage for a few weeks this summer -- not a bad thing to do, I admit -- and I was enjoying this magical food at several favorite spots, including The Station Pizzeria, which I happily shared many photos of their pizza-deliciousness. Working with fresh ingredients is what transforms pizza from cheap college junk food into something really special. I was particularly inspired by their spicy Cipolla, which has a mix of sausage, pine nuts, onions and fresh ricotta, as well as their Not So Classico, which had a sweet tomato confit, chevre and mozzarella, and a mix of arugula pesto and fresh arugula on top.

Inspired pizzas from The Station, and our own garden goods - Photos by Wasabi Prime

I wanted to make an UnRecipe - MacGyver pizza mashup of these pizza inspirations, using items from our garden, fridge and pantry staples and some CSA greens. I wanted to make everything as from-scratch as possible, so I used my go-to flatbread dough recipe from Epicurious, and that great homemade ricotta method using the microwave from Serious Eats. Fresh ricotta on pizza? To. Die. For. And making your own dough and fresh cheese isn't as much work as you'd think. The microwave method for fresh ricotta from Serious Eats has a lot of passive time, with the microwave zapping the milk and vinegar mixture, which is just enough time to throw together a batch of dough. You can use the dough hook attachment on your mixer or use your hands -- it really only takes fifteen minutes or so to put together a quick dough. You're just getting it mixed until everything comes together, you don't want to overmix and create concrete. Once the combined dough is balled up in a neat, clean round and placed in an oiled bowl covered with plastic wrap to proof, say Peace Out, and let it sit until dinner time when you're baking this bad boy. Same with the ricotta -- I made a double batch, based off the Serious Eats instructions, so it took a little more than double the time in our microwave to curdle and get cheesy. I drained off as much of the whey as I could, stirring the mixture through paper towels and a metal sieve, but once it got to Greek yogurt consistency, I set the cheesy sieve atop a big, empty measuring glass and set the whole thing in the fridge to just let gravity finish the job. I checked on it periodically throughout the day, stirring to agitate more of the whey to drain. The resulting ricotta wasn't as thick or crumbly, more creamy, like a thickened pudding, but because I baked the ricotta with the pizza, the oven evaporated a lot of the excess liquid.

You got the White Stuff, baby. Making cheese and bread - Photos by Wasabi Prime

I wanted the finished pizza to have a spicy mixture of pickled and fresh vegetables. I skipped the meat just because I thought sausage flavoring might overpower the vegetables and I wanted to highlight the freshness of everything. But if I were to add a meat, prosciutto would be a good candidate. I pulled some fresh oregano leaves and chopped them up super-fine, mixing it with some olive oil, balsamic vinegar for a basic dressing. This was tossed with halved fresh cherry tomatoes and pickled goodies like chopped kalamata olives and pickled peppers. Once the dough was proofed and rolled out to make a rustic, aka, lopsided and butt-ugly, shaped pizza, it was covered with the vegetables and dollop-bombed with the fresh ricotta. Into a hot oven the whole thing went.

Garden-delicious with pickled olive and pepper goodness - photos by Wasabi Prime

It was a pretty heavily-laden pizza, but luckily this flatbread recipe yields a sturdy crust. The oven pulled a lot of the extra liquid from the ricotta and gave it a little color, but kept it creamy. If you had more crumbly ricotta, you could probably wait until adding it towards the tail-end of the baking, just so it wouldn't get rubbery. Once the pizza was finished, I sprinkled chopped fresh arugula on top to give it a peppery, green finish.

Pizza from scratch, from cheese, to bread, to tomatoes - so worth it! - Photo by Wasabi Prime

The result was, of course, fantastic. While not something I'd make every day, it's good to make a meal like this now and then to remind your palate of what homemade tastes like. You never realize how much pre-packaged food we eat, even the stuff you get from restaurants -- if it's a big chain, chances are, some of the ingredients they use are premade. Granted, no one's going to die if you have a $5 takeout pizza now and then, but consider the notion that if you're going to treat yourself with some comfort-junk food, make it slightly less junky by making it yourself.

More garden-delicious delights - Photo by Wasabi Prime

I got struck by the Homemade Bug again when I had more ripe cherry tomatoes and was getting tired of just having them in a salad. I had an image pop into my head of the whole tomatoes baked into an herbed cheesy bread. Sounded like a good idea as any. Short of The Voices in Your Head that ask you to do evil, bad things, the ones that suggest a cheesy tomato bread is a far more socially acceptable option.

Cheesy tomato bread rewarded by a spot on Sunset's website - Photos by Wasabi Prime

I used the same flatbread recipe, but mixed in finely chopped herbs and shreds of Parmesan cheese right before baking it. I formed it into more of a loaf than a flat pizza dough, so that it would yield thicker slices. I used a mix of herbs -- oregano and rosemary, as that's what was left in the garden, but a dry mix of thyme, oregano and red pepper flakes would work just as well. I made little divots in the dough and pushed the whole cherry tomatoes in. A quick drizzle of oil and more cheese over the top, and into a hot oven it went to bake. The tomatoes caramelized, shriveled and popped, which doesn't sound good but that's what I wanted. They stayed sunk into the bread, binding with the dough, and they were a nice fruity bite as you ate the herbed dough.

It was a complete UnRecipe tomato cheesy bread, because I didn't really have any set plan over how it would come out, just a vision in my head of what the finished result could be. And I was glad to see it pretty much matched the picture in my mind. I was so pleased, I entered it into Sunset Magazine's photo contest, where they would showcase harvest-worthy images. I was pleased to see the bread made it online, which of course is all that's left of this loaf, as it was gobbled up without a trace. Will definitely make this again, maybe using olives, since we're at a loss for truly garden-fresh tomatoes these days.

And there ends our trip in the Way-Back Machine of Summer. No lush gardens to pluck fresh produce from at the moment, but we can still dream of seasons to come and how to celebrate those harvests in the kitchen for future meals.

UnRecipe: Nacho, Nacho Man... I Want to Be a Nacho Man...

The ability to endlessly drop quotes from The Simpsons is like a superpower. A lame, proof-of-no-social-life superpower that would likely not get any consideration from the Justice League if they were ever taking resumes. But my lame superpower is a real thing. Because I was singing Homer Simpson's "Nacho Man" song (to be sung in the tune of The Village People's "Macho Man," if you didn't already suss that out) in a constant loop while I was making a heaping plate of nachos not long ago. It also helped that I had the power of Duffman with me, because I was a little tipsy at the time. More like drunk as a skunk, and it was all for the sake of a social experiment, proving why nachos are the Perfect Food. Because be you blissfully inebriated or stone-cold sober, you can't get them wrong. Bless you, Nachos. Bless you.

The "control" part of the experiment - Sober Nachos - Photo by Wasabi Prime

I've never claimed to be the Queen of Intelligent Decision-making Skills. In fact, I somewhat relish the messy imperfections of life, a la 30 Rock's Liz Lemon, or a marathon of Chelsea Handler rants because I appreciate people -- women, especially; even TV characters -- who just fumble through life and just say whatever they're going to say. Cluttered, sloppy anarchy appeals to me. I love Martha Stewart crafts and the picturesque lives portrayed on other blogs, and I stare at them dreamily as I drink the last few guzzles of wine straight from the bottle because dammit, I just don't want to wash another glass. "Perfect" is a tricky word. It's as subjective as ice skating or child beauty pageants or any number of annoyingly loathsome things. But I dared to seek out Perfection when I had the monster-craving for nachos after a particularly long day and a thankful abundance of fresh produce.

Salsa that isn't made in New York City (New York City?! Get a rope.) - Photos by Wasabi Prime

As mentioned before, this was an experiment of sorts, where there were two Nacho Sessions: one platter where the ingredients were carefully selected and crafted with care, and a second platter where Duffman thrusted in my general direction with boozeahol and I attempted to make another nacho platter while completely drunkfaced. It all started out with a can't-go-wrong base: homemade salsa. I had a variety of fresh fruits and vegetables, including tomatoes, a red onion, fresh cilantro, tangerines, mangoes -- boom, into the salsa party they went, chop-chop-chop. It takes a few hours, or even better, overnight, for the salsa to really come together in terms of flavor. It was great on its own with some plain tortilla chips, but I knew the citrusy-fresh salsa would be dynamite with a cheesy nacho platter. 

Fresh salsa and chips - had to taste-test to make sure it was good, right? - Photos by Wasabi Prime

So I constructed the Nacho Perfection in a clear-headed state, using the fresh salsa and making a batch of white cheddar cheese sauce, versus shreds of cheese. Fancy, no? But worth it, because the fondue-like sauce won't set up like tree sap once it starts to cool, and being more viscous, it drips and oozes through the layers of piled-up chips. Sexy, right? To really get the ideal salsa/topping-to-corn chip ratio, it's better to spread a layer of chips, then the salsa, then another layer of chips over that, and so on. Gravity will ensure the cheese sauce gets to where it needs to go. A finish of chopped fresh avocado over the top, and it's true Nacho Perfection down to a science. I loved every bite of it and wondered, why don't I make this more often? To which my sober mind ruefully answered: because you'll get huge, stupid. Better go for a run after this. Damn you, Common Sense. Damn you to hell.

My momentary junk food high got me thinking, what is it about corn chips doused with cheese and a random smattering of vegetables that really speaks to the teenage stoner in all of us? I think that sentence sort of answers itself. But there is a casual comfort in eating a literal pile of food on a plate with your fingers.  It's meant to look like a mess, fancying it up would be missing the point, there's an endless number of customizations and it's the food you overdosed on in college because it was super-easy to make in the microwave, especially after a raging kegger. And it always tasted good, that mixture of gooey cheese, crispy chips, salty-salty madness. And even when the cheese cooled, forming a Nacho Pangea of chips and solidified fake cheddar, you just ate it like a pizza before passing out on the couch.

Sobriety, Interrupted. The Drunk Nacho Experiment with equally delicious results - Photo by Wasabi Prime

Those blissful memories of my early twenties and a much more efficient metabolism were with me when I had a brewski or twoski. Or maybe it was wine. Or liquor. I lost track. It was for SCIENCE, I told myself. And then I thought of that Simpsons episode where Homer is at a baseball game and gets a giant sombrero-top hat hybrid made out of corn chips, where the top is full of liquid cheese, and the idea is you break off a bit of the brim, dip into your cheesy hat-bowl, and enjoy, whilst singing "Nacho Man." You can't make this stuff up. This is why The Simpsons is a treasure for our troubled age. So that was in my head while I tipsily threw together a second batch of nachos, this time with the addition of bacon. Because I wanted to reserve the bacon fat. Because I wanted to use it to make a batch of cheese sauce, but with the power of bacon. Because... because... I love you, maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan... *burp*

The Drunk Nachos weren't as prettily put together. The bacon got a little burned. The cheese sauce was a little grainy. The settings on the camera were out of sorts. But by golly, the nachos were still delicious. Imagine a BLT version of nachos. The leftover salsa made it in there somewhere, but this version was mostly cheese, due to my overeager drunkenness. I didn't care, my tastebuds rejoiced and I had a satisfyingly indulgent dinner where my Common Sense Inner Voice was rufie-d silent from laying an exercise guilt trip on me. As Homer would say: Beer... now there's a temporary solution.

Admit it, you want to be a Nacho Man, or possibly Duffman - Photos by Wasabi Prime

What did this prove beyond my love of The Simpsons, alcohol and cheese-covered corn chips? Not much, but I was pleased to test the unbreakable power of nachos. Promises get broken, civilizations fall, but know that Nachos are Forever.

UnRecipe: Spread 'Em

Every year I seem to go through a food phase. Last year I was making ice cream once or twice a month, a phase which continues to this day and could now be classified simply as "normal." A few years ago it was discovering the craft cocktail revival, imbibing new things and filling our cabinets with a worrisome amount of liquor, also a thing that I would consider "business as usual" in present times. This year I have to say I'm definitely in a phase of making savory jams and spreads, a behavior that will soon evolve into daily life and seem about as everyday as making morning coffee. Which isn't such a bad thing when you've got a jar of caramelized onion bacon jam at your fingertips.

Jamming with caramelized onions and bacon - Photo by Wasabi Prime

I never jumped on the Canvolution bandwagon, where everyone was preserving and jamming to their Portlandia heart's content, but I totally get it. For all the stuff we grow in our gardens and the surplus of summer's farm fresh goodies, there's no reason to let any of it go to waste when you can properly preserve it like Joan River's Botoxified visage. I just don't have the know-how or equipment to properly seal the things I make, so the best way to describe the keeping savory jams, marmalades is: freeze the extra jars before the mold grows! In the case of an onion jam, it's almost the opposite -- cooking down a mountain of sliced raw onions into sweet, caramelized little mushy-ribbons of flavor is like the equivalent of Spacebags for food. If you have more onions than you know what to do with, you can cook them down to fit into a couple of clean salsa jars, and you are rewarded with one of the best flavors known to mankind.



Onions are magical, much like unicorns and wizards who make bourbon - Photos by Wasabi Prime

On their own, caramelized onions are divine. You don't need anything beyond an f-ton of raw onions sliced thin and a little olive oil to help them cook down until browned and mushy -- but not burned. It needs patience, Grasshopper, low and slow is the way to go. Add salt and pepper to taste and you've got the starting point for French onion soup, a wicked topping for burgers or hot dogs, intense flavor to add to a grilled cheese sandwich, or just mix with your morning eggs. For my super-duper onion jam, I rendered the fat from a few leftover slices of bacon, set them aside, caramelized the onions in the bacon fat and then added the crumbled bacon bits back in towards the end when the onions were mostly done. I even added a splash of bourbon (one for me, one for the jam) for a little extra depth of flavor. The perfect mix of sweet and savory, but with that dark flavor profile of something that has been cooking for a good amount of time, awaiting like a cobra to strike with deliciousness instead of deadly venom. A much better option, wouldn't you agree? What to do with this rainbow of onion-bacon flavor? I slathered it on some bread with melty mozzarella and let the toaster oven work its magic. I also topped a burger with it to make a crazy version of a Locomoco with weird fridge leftovers like cotija and breaded zucchini. Yeah, our fridge is full of all kinds of crazy sometimes.

Onion and bacon jam Locomoco, because that's how we roll - Photo by Wasabi Prime

Admittedly, the bacon and onion jam doesn't last long enough to be threatened with deep freeze storage. But one thing I do end up making quite a bit of during the summer months is pesto. Traditional pesto is usually basil, parsley, pine nuts, Parmesan cheese, garlic and olive oil, all blended to make a rich paste that can be used as a spread or a sauce. If the slugs hadn't eaten my basil plants to pitiful nubs, I'd be in much better shape, but pesto can be made with... well, almost anything. In our garden, we have a lemon balm plant/bush/forest that I have often referred to as the Thing That Will Surely Take Over Earth. It started out as a plant about the size of a little flower pot and it's since grown like Mothra, threatening world domination and smackdown date with a giant lizard from Japan. I cut it back liberally on a regular basis, leaving me with handfuls of lemon balm bouquets. I don't keep the stems, they can be a little spiny, but the leaves are tender and big, like giant mint leaves (no surprise, it's a close relation to mint), with a fresh herbaceous flavor of citrus, hence the name. Most of our garden pesto is made up of lemon balm, so it's got a refreshing zing to it, and I usually add a bit of whatever else we have, which could mean chives, oregano, even a little rosemary. I blend everything up with whatever nuts I have on hand (insert boy joke here), usually almonds and sometimes pistachios, which give a very pleasant sweetness to pesto if you haven't already tried this. I'll add Parmesan or Asiago cheese, plenty of garlic, red pepper flakes and a lot of olive oil. I prefer my pesto's consistency to be on the loose side, plus the heavy coating of oil slows down some of the browning of the fresh herbs, especially nice when I have to freeze the extra jars. For this recent batch, I had some fresh lemons whose juice also helps the herbs stay evergreen.



Pesto is Best-o with pasta, of course - Photo by Wasabi Prime

 
I slathered the pesto over a thinly-pounded steak, which I threw under the broiler for a quick cook on both sides. I also tossed the pesto with some pasta and peas. Aside from the fact the pasta "looked like a spider's nest," as Brock called it, after it was smothered in a heavy sprinkle of cheese, it still tasted divine. No spider's nest pasta for you, Brock! I still had plenty of leftover pesto, and the same application of the onion jam could be used for the pesto: eggs, grilled cheese, burgers, etc. For a while I was just calling it Hulk Pesto, as it was Hulk-Smashingly tasty, and I probably still had the image of Mark Ruffalo as The Hulk in my head from The Avengers.

Even the Hulk could appreciate this green creation - Photos by Wasabi Prime 

The versatility of flavor in a jar, aside from the benefit of using up excess produce and garden herbs, is especially  nice in the summer. You don't want to be sweating over a hot stove when the temperature rises. This robs you of valuable cold beer time. Chilled pesto with a little mayonnaise makes for a simple raw vegetable dip. Grilling meat or vegetables brushed with some pesto adds easy flavor. I'm a longtime fan of toaster oven cooking, mostly because it doesn't generate much heat and a few slices of bread toasted with onion jam and cheese is a perfect lazy summer meal. So all hail savory spreads, jam and pesto. Intense flavor, not a lot of effort and summer-long rewards.

Flavortown, population: my appetite - Photos by Wasabi Prime

 

UnRecipe: I'm Bringing SundayDinnerBack

Nowhere near as rhythmic or booty-shaking as JT singing he's bringing SexyBack, I would still like to make an appeal to anyone who takes a look at this post, to please consider bringing SundayDinnerBack. Not that it was missing. I just think it's a pleasant weekly ritual to encourage at least one meal, fresh out of the oven or off the stove, that brings everyone to the table.

Eat this, Norman Rockwell - Photo by Wasabi Prime

I'm the first to admit, weekend meals are my "cheat" days -- the biggest question being, Burger or Pizza? I tend to cook quickly-prepared dishes during the week to supply us with a bevvy of dinner leftovers and Tupperware lunches, so by the time the weekend comes, I'm spent and just want to lay down for a while and have my nutrients brought to me, preferably in a cocktail glass. But when motivation kicks in and the fridge is well-stocked, I'll get a bee in my bonnet to make something that I can savor cooking as much as I can savor eating. Case in point, right around St. Patty's Day, corned beef was on the brain. I enjoy corned beef, but I have not, in fact, ever made it. I perused the meat section at the store, but people must have nabbed all the brisket, because all that was left were these bagged, pre-brined cuts of meat that kinda scared the bejeezus out of me. When I think I need a PhD to recognize, much less pronounce the chemical preservatives they put in brining liquid, the Food Angel on my shoulder says, Throw it back, lest ye be better preserved than Cher in a nuclear winter. Maybe being Cher isn't such a bad thing, but not as a result of eating Mummified Corned Beef.

A not-so-traditional corned beef, but Indy didn't mind - Photos by Wasabi Prime

To the Interwebs, Robin! I used Alton Brown's brine for corned beef; I didn't have saltpeter, which is the chemical you use to preserve the pink color of the meat, and I didn't have juniper berries. While the lack of juniper berries probably removed a degree of flavor potential for the meat, I wasn't disappointed -- I quite liked his use of whole cinnamon to perfume the meat, and the other flavors combined nicely. As always, good job, Alton Brown! Given the absense of non-scary brisket at the store, I did have a cut of round steak, aka London broil as some labels are apt to call it. It's a large slab of beef, somewhat tough and not a lot of fat marbling through it -- kind of like a flank steak. Since it's a bit on the gnaw-gnaw-gnaw side, round steak isn't a terrible substitute for corned beef, as the slow cooking will most certainly break down the sinewy bits, rendering it fork-tender. The slow cooker worked its magic on the brined beef, leaving me time to prepare a wonderfully rich and sinful side dish -- cheesy potatoes. Whole red potatoes, cut into large chunks, boiled just shy of fork-tender, then tossed in a cream and cheddar sauce before getting set into a casserole dish and shoved into the oven to finish off. I sprinkled some panko crumbs over to make a nice crust, but it all gets ooey-gooey mixed together when you spoon those potatoes onto a plate with slices of corned beef. I made a sauce for the beef, reducing the liquid left in the slow cooker, adding a splash of marsala and some pre-soaked wild mushrooms. I know, not so Irish, but we didn't even have this on St. Patty's Day, it was days after, as the brining process recommends over a week's time. When you see Alton's recipe saying it takes 243 hours, that's the brine talking. But consider a dish like this for the Sunday a week from now -- so get that herbed soak going on a slab of meat today!

Saucy, cheesy, bacon-y good -- who needs to live forever? - Photo by Wasabi Prime

Like everyone else, I get inspired to make things by magazines, books, and TV, and I saw this recipe for Roast Chicken with Romesco sauce from Martha Stewart. I love romesco sauce, that peppery, tangy sauce from Spain that's pretty much good on everything. I could seriously just eat it on its own, just a little bit of bread, call it done, it's so good. I used the basics of St. Martha's romesco recipe, but of course added my own touches -- I put in finely-chopped preserved lemons, just a little to heighten the tangy flavor. And I totally goofed when I was opening cans of what I thought were tomatoes -- I opened a can of chickpeas instead. Whoops. I could have left them out, but I didn't have anything in mind for them later in the week, so I said, eff it, and in they went, during the sauce's finish. Completely crazy, I know, but I added some mushrooms in there too, so it made the sauce almost like its own side dish, there was so much stuff mixed in there. And beneath everything was some seared chicken. I swear, it's under there somewhere.

Chicken n' mushrooms n' romesco sauce - Photos by Wasabi Prime

I've said it before, but I like buying whole chickens and just breaking 'em apart myself. No, not Hulkamania where I tear through it like some rabid animal, I use a knife. I'm awful at butchering my own meats, it literally feels like I'm butchering the butchering process, but I get there one way or another. As a result, there's a serial killer-like supply of chicken carcasses in the freezer for stock and all the broken down parts ready for Sunday Dinner. It feels productive to be able to do this yourself, it's cheaper, and you have enough time to practice your chicken dismemberment on a weekend. Duh, Winning. A good cast-iron Dutch oven is perfect for searing the chicken to a toasty brown color. I deglazed the pot with a little stock before adding the romesco sauce and stowaway chickpeas and mushrooms. The chicken was nestled in and it was covered up and shoved into a preheated 350 degree oven for maybe 20 minutes, just to finish off. Set it, forget it, moving on... 

Bacon makes it better and faux-Mac n' Cheese - Photos by Wasabi Prime

Aside from asparagus making your pee smell weird (well, it does), it's delicious and the perfect size for making little bundles and wrapping slices of bacon around them. What would I call such a thing -- Aspara-bacon Haystacks? Pork Torches? A-spear-a-Bacon?  Who knows, but they're an indulgence to add to a plate, just to make sure you're not eating too healthily. I've seen this done with individual asparagus spears and prosciutto -- equally good -- but since the bacon is thick, having a bundle of mid-sized spears together helps lengthen the cooking time, giving the bacon a chance to render and tighten. I threw a whole tray of these bad boys into a 375-degree oven and it probably took about 20 minutes, give or take. Having the asparagus tossed with a light drizzle of oil helps them along, and I like these with a lot of pepper.

Because everything for this Sunday meal was so comfy-cozy, I craved macaroni and cheese, but I went with cauliflower and cheese instead. I would say it's a healthier dish, but not really, as the cheese sauce is pretty rich -- full cream, shreds of cheddar, the works. The cauliflower is just an easy pasta-swap, since it holds up well and doesn't have too-strong a flavor to counter the sauce. I cut the cauliflower into bite sized pieces, added to boiling water for just a few minutes, just to lightly soften, and then quickly drain before tossing with the cream sauce. Much like the cheesy potatoes, the cauliflower-cheese combo gets put into a casserole dish, a sprinkling of breadcrumbs and extra Parmesan if you have it, and into the oven it goes to finish.

Yes, it was quite a rich meal, but it felt so fancy-schmancy to have multiple courses at home and it made having dinner on a Sunday special and something to enjoy. The Mister works late and I often eat early, so our meal schedules are always out of sync -- weekends are when we can really appreciate a meal together, without the pressure of time or the onset sleepiness from a busy workday to intrude. So come on, bring SundayDinnerBack.

UnRecipe: Pardon Moi, Monsieur

For all the Tastespotting/FoodGawker food porn bloggery perfection, cooking is a constantly evolving experiment. Nothing ever comes out perfect on the first try, there's always push and pull when you want to try something new, even if it's something simple. So, to heck with perfection, I wanted to share a work-in-progress dish I was playing around with: a Croque Monsieur casserole. Oh, and by the way, all those well-intentioned resolutions about eating healthy? Throw 'em out the window -- much like this dish, nobody's perfect.

Resolutions are for suckers! Wasabi's answer to clean, healthy living - Photo by Wasabi Prime

Croque Monsieur Casserole?? You're thinking, What-the-whaaaaat?! And also, Pass the Lipitor, this looks like a widowmaker. This was a large-scale attempt at putting the classic French comfort dish through the Brunch Casserole-ification Machine. Not unlike the cardboard box Transmogrifier that Calvin and Hobbes would use. When I go out to brunch, a Croque Monsieur is like the perfect meal -- slices of ham, sandwiched between slices of cheese and thick bread, grilled to crispness, topped with more cheese and a bechamel sauce, finished off under a broiler to make the melty top all crispy and caramelized. Heaven, right? There are variations of this, you can have the Madame variation with an egg, I've seen different meats used -- it was never a fancy, fussy dish, meant to be made with strict adherence to a recipe. Like a lot of comfort favorites, it was an inexpensive meal meant to use pantry staples and welcome interpretation. And interpret I did!

The many stages of a casserole-in-progress - Photos by Wasabi Prime

All the ingredients for a classic Croque Monsieur are breakfast-friendly and I thought it could translate into a casserole form, almost like a savory bread pudding, topped with a creamy sauce. I got a loaf of bread and sliced it down. I lightly toasted the slices to remove the moisture, but I think if I make this again, I'll leave it soft and spongey. I wanted it to really soak up an egg custard and drying the bread out means it needs a little extra time to drink up the liquid. I layered the slices in a casserole dish, slipping chunks of ham between the slices. When I make this again, I'll use thin slices of ham and maybe some turkey as well. The chunks are great, but I wanted even layering of meat between the slices and the chunk ham wasn't providing that consistently meaty bite.

Instead of Gruyere cheese, which is the typical choice, I had a spicy habanero-spiked white cheddar. For this early attempt, I just used what I had on-hand and I happened to have chunks of ham and a large wedge of spicy aged cheddar. What can I say, our kitchen is weird and I have an unholy love of Costco. The spice was a nice addition, as was the use of aged cheddar, so I think it's fine to let cheese be a bit of a wild card. The shuffled bread, meat, cheese combo was baked for about 15 minutes for the cheese to get melted and the bread to crisp a little, then a bechamel sauce was poured over the whole thing and the broiler got turned on to brown the top of the casserole. When it's served, the big charred center on a large baking dish isn't the prettiest thing in the world, but sliced into large ooey-gooey squares and served up on a plate, it's not so bad. Despite the in-progress status on this, the first attempt was still delicious. I just wanted to further improve on the texture of each bite and make the bread feel more custard-like, soaking up more of the egg and milk mixture before the slices are shuffled between the meat. I'm definitely looking forward to making this again, improvements considered, to give it that perfect Croque Monsieur experience, in an easy large-scale size for sharing over brunch, as I think this has the potential to be a real winner alongside a mimosa.

Mixed Plate: Keep Calm and Have a Brown Butter Bar

The health experts usually say it's an unhealthy sign when you have an emotional relationship with food, but sometimes you just need what you crave to get through a tricky time. While the going gets tough, the tough make rich and creamy macaroni and cheese and a tray of brown butter bars. It's way cheaper than therapy, right?

Macaroni and cheese, better than Prozac - Photo by Wasabi Prime

It must be something cosmic or a sign that summer and I don't have the best relationship; I remember around the same time last year, things were so hectic, I had to put a hard-stop to everything and just hole-up for a bit, just to recharge and tamp down that moment of, "What the hell am I doing? Maybe I should've been an x-ray technician." I don't really know what an x-ray technician does, beyond fiddling with x-rays, but it sounds like the sensible sort of job that one takes to make the family feel more at ease than the current answer, which is, "living 'in-the-now' as a graphic designer/blogger/writer/photographer." That's the answer that makes Mom and Dad ponder in bewildered silence: four year university... for this? Self-doubt and personal crisis aside, this latest bout of excitement in Wasabi-World has been a combination of usual workaholic shenanigans, topped with the 1-2 punch of a wee car accident. No major injuries, everything's fine, but it's the Supersized Big Meal Deal of Compounded Crap no one needs that really takes the Mickey outta you. But I had the Power of Carbs to see me through. Glory Hallelujah!

It gets kind of annoying how many recipes for macaroni and cheese are out there. There's a million "ultimate," "best," "greatest," or "most amazing" mac n' cheeses in cookbooks and on restaurant menus, to the point where you want to scream. But maybe it's a case of not blaming the messenger -- there's a good reason this comfort food is so ubiquitous. Maybe we all need a little comfort now and then, and having a bowl of cheesy, noodle-y comfort at every turn makes it a lot easier to take a moment to get centered and eat heartily. While I didn't go out to a restaurant to order this cheese for my whine, I can see why it's such an easy, quick meal to make from scratch, since you probably have the basic ingredients handy: pasta, milk, flour, and cheese. This version had some bacon crumbles, but even without the smoky divine swine, making a basic bechamel sauce and loading it full of different cheeses was a pretty direct route to a happy, calm state of food coma-ville. And at least for a little bit, I didn't have to think about anything beyond the feeling of a full stomach.

Great book and tasty methods for getting to one's happy place (with help of Miss Indy) - Photos by Wasabi Prime

Another big savior for my sanity was this dessert from Keren Brown's new book, Food Lovers' Guide to Seattle. It's a great insider's guide to all the great restaurants, specialty ingredient shops and even a calendar for food events. It's also got the extra bonus of recipes shared by local chefs. Highly recommended by the author herself, I had to try the Brown Butter Bar recipe from Pastry Chef Heather Earnhardt of Volunteer Park Cafe, which is like the classic favorite Blondie Bar, but with a sophisticated twist, browning the butter to give the batter a toasty, nutty flavor. The finished bar is an ooey-gooey sweet treat. The recipe reminds you to not overbake the bar, and I tend to extra-underbake things like brownies, so my resulting Brown Butter Bars were probably heavier on the ooey-gooey factor, but I didn't care. We don't make treats like this to be some impossibly perfect dessert. Much like the pasta and cheese combination, we want our food to mainline Happiness into our system and spare the window dressings.

It was also a delicious reminder over how amazing brown butter, aka beurre noisette is. The toasted, nutty flavor is distinctly rich and hazelnut-like. I tend to use it more in savory dishes, but I forget how lovely it can be for baked goods. Turn off the Calorie Counter Voice in your head as you throw a few sticks of butter into a saucepan, and simmer n' bubble your way to golden-brown deliciousness. But this isn't something you walk away from -- butter goes from brown to yucky-burnt in the blink of an eye. It doesn't need babysitting, it needs P-Diddy/Diva-like attention and nurturing. It's a bit like making ghee or clarified butter, as you're cooking the butter itself, toasting the milk solids, developing that nutty flavor, but you stop the process before the butter is totally separated. The basic stages were captured on-camera: the butter will melt down to a foamy, golden elixir before starting to slowly darken, and when you can smell that nutty (but not burned) fragrance, shut the burner off and take the pot off the heat, as it will continue to cook just from the residual heat of the butter itself. I mean it when it says it goes from brown to burnt in an instant -- when the color starts to develop, it's wicked-fast and you have to make sure you're quick on the draw to remove it from the heat. But the extra step is worth it, and it's what makes the bars from Keren's book so worthwhile for your sanity.

So take a moment when you need it. Keep calm, carb-out, and if you have a fuzzy friend like Miss Indy who will quietly listen to your woes and likely drool for a nibble of pasta or brown butter bar, all the better. And when you see Keren Brown's book on the shelf, by all means pick it up! Get twelve copies and send to friends who may be considering a trip to the Northwest, as there's great restaurants and insider-track notes about what to order or buy when you're letting your stomach be your guide in a city. Whether or not you live in Seattle, the recipes alone are definitely worth it, as I think the Brown Butter Bars speak for themselves.

It's like BUTTAH! - Photos by Wasabi Prime

UnRecipe: Rolling With the Meaty Punches

A few years ago, I remember seeing a preview for a John Woo movie called Paycheck, where Ben AFLAC-Affleck is this super-geeeenius who can reverse engineer technology from other companies and he sells this information to the highest-bidding competitor for gobs of moolah. How many zeroes in gobs? A lot. There was also a lot of stuff blowing up, high-tech looking computer animation to visually represent the interworkings of  The Affleck's mind under the suspension of belief that he can do this all in his noggin' without pausing to count using his fingers, and a whole bunch of fast cuts to try and hide the fact that the movie probably wasn't very good, its adaptation from a Phillip K. Dick short story notwithstanding. Honestly, has Hollywood done anything right with Philly-D's work? But I digress. The movie was silly, yet the even sillier reverse engineering aspect came into play when Mr. Wasabi described a meal he had and I decided to try and recreate it from description alone. The result? Proscuitto-Wrapped Cheesy Steak Rolls.

Reverse engineer this, Ben! - Photo by Wasabi Prime

Fine, so it's nowhere near as exciting as high-tech futuristic espionage directed with a Hong Kong-style action flair. Was it more satisfying than watching a half-baked sci-fi adaptation with The Affleck? Yes. Don't get me wrong, I love me some Good Will Hunting, Chasing Amy, or even a silly romp with a giant meteor hurtling towards the planet with Michael Bay-melodrama, but Ben-jammin trying to get all reverse engineer on me? Hell-to-the-no. But I put memories of bad movie previews to good work when Brock described a meal he had with friends that was, as he described it, "steak pinwheels," involving spinach, cheese and bacon-wrapping. I don't care if the bacon trend is "so yesterday," bring on a log of hog any day.

From his meal description, I used some thinly-sliced steak, laid a thin layer of cooked spinach over the top, rolled them up, wrapped with proscuitto, and baked before pulling them out when they were still rare. Letting them cool slightly, I cut the beef logs into thinner slabs, laid them flat with a sprinkling of cheese and placed them under the broiler to finish off. Placed artfully over some roasted asparagus, anything can look all artsy-like. But steak pinwheels, I have conquered thee. And found you to be delicious without the help of Ben Affleck's reverse engineering movie brain.

FoodTrek: Fear and Loathing at a Lar-D-Q

I don't think I've given the impression that this food blog is anything particularly gourmet or precious, and if anyone did get that impression, I apologize, as this post will most assuredly dash that high-falutin' assumption. But let it never, ever be said that the Prime doesn't love a good time. Mr. Wasabi and I were most fortunate to receive an invitation to an event to inspire arteries to constrict in both fear and loathing. Friends Mr. and Mrs. J + B were both hospitable and inventive to host a Lar-D-Q party, where they purchased several gallons of liquid porcine gold, two frying appliances, and an open call for all things sweet and savory to cast within the bubbling cauldron of fat. There was much food, much alcohol, and Johnny Depp's voice as Hunter S. Thompson in the back of my mind whispering: We can't stay here. It's bat country!

Welcome to Thunderdome - is there a doctor in the house? - Photo by Wasabi Prime

I have to give J + B a lot of credit, as they are true foodies at heart who understand quality meals and ingredients, but bless 'em, they are creative buggers with a wicked sense of humor. They set out on a quest throughout Seattle to find massive quantities of maneca, a natural, non-hydrogenated lard, and they found a supplier at a carniceria, a Mexican meat market, that sold chicherrones, which require the maneca to get the pork rinds to crispy, fried deliciousness. The carniceria tends not to do full deep-fat frying, so it took a couple of weeks for the market to save up enough for the party, but J + B were able to procure several gallons' worth in time for the party. In the words of The Simpsons' evil corporate mastermind Montgomery T. Burns: Excellent.

I seriously thought my heart would stop. And that was early on, when we were throwing battered strips of bacon straight into the fryer. Mr. J had wisely set up a card table on the porch with two frying appliances heating the lard to the perfect temperature. The cold of the night kept all the items in the fry-queue safely chilled. One of the first items that got fried were doughnuts -- a delicious pumpkin cake dough (gluten-free to boot). Hitting the pristine lard, they fried up nicely, ballooning into perfect golden rings. After that, it was a free-for-all of savory items. Anything you can think of, guests brought. It was like a glorious battle, full of vigor, pathos and agony. And hunger.

Scotch egg, lumpia, fried jalapeno, bacon and Bakon Vodka - my chest hurts! Photos by Wasabi Prime

The roster of items that took a lard soak included: breaded cheese, onion rings, potato fries, stuffed jalapenos, chicken drummetes for spicy hotwings, ravioli (yes, they worked grand!), breaded macaroni and cheese balls, and the aforementioned bacon strips. Some of the night's superstars were Mrs. B's heavenly lumpia, which were so popular, I didn't get a chance to take a photo of them after they were fried; and the almighty/unholy Scotch Egg. It's the perfect protein bomb, as it's a hard-boiled egg wrapped in ground sausage meat, breaded, and then fried. Given that the majority of guests were members of the Eastside CrossFit gym and are card-holding members of Team Protein, the Scotch eggs were a home run. Much like some mythic beast of Nessie or Yeti proportions, the Scotch egg was an entity often talked about, but seldom seen. I managed to have a slice or two, and the myth became a reality. I think my chest tightened a little, but I fought it back with a swig or two of beer.

You'll notice in one of the photos there is a bottle of Bakon Vodka. On a random alcohol spree, I picked up a bottle and hadn't quite figured out how to use it yet, and the Lar-D-Q seemed the perfect event to crack it open and let the Bacon Freak Flag fly. It's a locally-made spirit, a product of the Pacific Northwest, and probably should be spoken about in hushed tones so as not to frighten the children. Their website lists several recipes, and the only drink we used it for that night was a classic Bloody Mary. It was quite grand for that, providing a nice smoky flavor that I quite liked. But after a few of those and several glasses of sangria later, I decided to give it a try straight up, and I can say this was an example of impaired judgement due to alcohol. Definitely a mixer spirit, not to be sipped on its own.

Can I offer you a frosty beverage... or seven? - Photo by Wasabi Prime

Mr. Wasabi avoided my spirited mistake and enjoyed a glass of Johnnie Walker Blue Label as he supped on fried, breaded goodness. I think his favorite was the Scotch egg, which I'm sure goes well with whisky. As the gentlemen sat back and savored their prized liquor amid greasy fingers, the party turned its attention towards dessert. And by then, I think the divine inspiration of several drinks took over and macabre delights issued forth from the fryers, like creatures from a Hieronymous Bosch triptych.

There was pancake batter and several packages of cookies. That, and two deep-fryers filled with hot lard, and it's a recipe for the Manhattan Project. I must say the deep-fried Oreos were molten deliciousness, and the doctors insist the skin on the inside of my mouth will, indeed, grow back. There were also fried Twinkies as well -- thankfully no sponge cake explosions. Things got especially unruly and awesome when the cookies were being wrapped with bacon, battered, and then fried. I Tweeted one of those photos and in all likelihood, the internet melted down in a fury of confusion and terror. I did not partake in the battered bacon Oreo cookie, but I hear it was quite a gastric adventure.

Fry, my little pretties, FRY!!!! - Photos by Wasabi Prime

I must extend thanks yet again to the frying team of J + B, as well as the whole burly mass of Spartan glory that is Eastside CrossFit for lending their skills, stomachs, and livers for a thoroughly outstanding night. When my doctor gives me the clean bill of health and the staff of Mercy General takes me off the machines that are currently keeping my blood pumping through my heart, let's definitely do it again.

UnRecipe: I Can Haz Cheeseburger Meatloaf and Squash Gratin?

Oh, LOLCats, your childish humor and bad spellingz will never cease to entertain me. The only thing more appealing to people than cute animal pictures is violent gore, so this post has already gotten off to a stellar start. In the process of making a very humble but delicious dinner of Cheddar Meatloaf and a Creamy Prosciutto Squash Gratin, the Prime had an epiphany: blades on mandoline slicers are sharp. Damn sharp. And this meal reheats marvelously after waiting a few hours for an open wound to clot. Lesson learned.

Meat, Cheese/Cheese, Meat! - Photo by Wasabi Prime

We'll go with the good news first: meatlof is a simple way to incorporate a lot of leftover goods sitting around the fridge. Because we're getting ready for a vacation, I tend to clean out the refrigerator and cook up whatever perishables are sitting around. A chunk of cheddar from the Au Revoir, Gourmet gougères post was shredded down and incorporated into a basic mix of ground beef and turkey. The cheese adds plenty of fat, along with a raw egg, so I opted for the other-other white meat instead of the usual addition of ground pork. A few splashes of worchestire sauce, salt and pepper kept the seasonings simple, and the loaf of meatiness was formed on some parchment paper on a cookie sheet and put into the oven for baking.

So far so good. A béchamel sauce was whipped up for the squash gratin -- butter, flour, milk, some salt and pepper. No problem. Enter the scary serial killer music that lurks at the base of a movie score's orchestration, slowly starting build as I pull out the new mandoline slicer from the drawer. I envisioned it as the perfect tool to render bright golden table squash from the local farmer's market into wafer-thin slices. The plan was to spread the discs of squash evenly, sprinkle chopped prosciutto in between each layer, topping each level with the white sauce before a final layer of sprinkled cheese.

The house of cards came tumbling down when a slip of the plastic guard with the odd-shaped squash caused my thumb to run across the blade and a flip-top lid was born. Crap. Thumb was pressure bandaged, and the awkward ballet of trying to make food with one's unfavored hand began. Unfortunately, the ballet was interrupted by several intermissions of "There's blood on the floor. Crap, it's my blood," and multiple wound dressings. A lumpy, but gore-free left-handed squash gratin baked in the oven and finished along with the meatloaf. Despite The Incident, the meal was delicious, so that should be a tribute to the comforting power of meatloaf and cheese. The meatloaf had the satisfying familiar flavor of a cheeseburger, sans bun, and the gratin was creamy, savory, and the squash roasted down nicely in the oven. Was it worth the mutilation of an integral member of the Right Hand Family? Don't be ridiculous, of course it is. I've got eight more perfectly good fingers and one more thumb to go through before calling it quits.

Left-handed squash gratin and accomplices in The Incident - Photos by Wasabi Prime

UnRecipe: Au Revoir, Gourmet

It's the understatement of the week to say that Conde Nast's decision to shutter Gourmet magazine is a mournful day in our epicurean times. Well over 60 years of printed recipes and stories that developed a meaningful dialogue between people and food, all coming to an unceremonious end. I honestly can't find the words to say much, other than it's a sad and disapointing thing. It feels like someone special has passed on, because the lonely feeling of their absence is already setting in.

Thank you, Gourmet magazine, for decades of food memories - photo by Wasabi Prime

I had made some gougères the week before, and meant to post sooner. I was looking through several recipes including one from Gourmet. In typical UnRecipe style, I still broke from the recipe to use some ingredients I already had on-hand, but I'd like to think that Ruth Reichl could appreciate the edible spirit of adventure and understand.

Good food doesn't have to be complicated or fancy to be delicious. I can't offer anything more than a lop-sided cheese puff to commemorate the loss of Gourmet magazine, but maybe comfort is all we can accept right now. To bake up your own simple puffs of cheesy comfort, please use this miniature gougères recipe from Gourmet in 2008.