We interrupt this regularly scheduled food blog for a word about Michael Vic

I don't know what to do with this Michael Vic thing.   Have you seen the National Geographic documentary about the dogs they rescued from there?  It horrific.  The fact that he's going to play for the Eagles has got me, and in particular my youngest daughter really worked up.  My Mad is the biggest, most intense, dog advocate I know and I was so worried about how she would  react to the news that Vic will be here, in Philadelphia,  I didn't tell her for most of the day.  

I didn't tell her until right before dinner, and then the four of us had a big long discussion about the whole thing while we ate, and it was really interesting because we talked about whether Vic should be able to play,  about how he did something terrible, something wrong, he was caught, he was punished and he apologized.  Even if we can't forgive him because what he did to those dogs was disgusting, shouldn't we let him get on with his life?  

Because its not like we haven't done bad things (ok, not that bad, obviously), but when we do something bad, and we do the time and we apologize and try to make amends shouldn't others respect that and let us get on?  So if the Eagles are doing that, maybe it's good. At some point, there has to be an end to the punishment -- because most punishment is a finite thing.  I say that to the girls all the time:  you're sister has apologized for [wearing your favorite shirt/breaking your whatever/reading your emails] and she will [get the stain out/ spend her own money on a new one/ give her computer time up to you] and she will have some sort of consequence,  so now it's time to stop haranguing her for it. 

Except, does Michael Vic need to be paid 1.5 million dollars?  Couldn't the Eagles just have signed him for some more reasonable fee instead? And are they teaching the hundreds of kids who are super fans of the Eagles something about forgiveness, or are they saying that if you do something really bad, I mean really really bad, you still get to be famous and make tons of money and have people laud you if you happen to pay football well enough to win? Are we saying that winning is the most important thing here?  

And maybe the real reason we are all up in arms about it because it's hard to believe that someone who is capable of that level of cruelty can really completely change no matter what he's been through in those 18 months of prison.  However, I want to give Michael Vic the benefit of the doubt -- I want to see what he does now -- not on the field but in the world.  And this is what I ask of my children each time they do something wrong, or I do something wrong in their view: that we start anew, with a clean slate.  

It was a really good dinner time discussion, the kind where everyone has a good point to make and we all left the table still thinking about it.

Anyway,  it all boils down to this: Mads won't watch the Eagles this year, I don't know if I will be able to stomach watching them either, even though, intellectually, I know the man's paid for his crime.  It's an emotional thing, its a visceral reaction,  and it's such a bummer, because there is nothing better on a cold November Sunday than cracking a beer, making a plate of nacho's and watching the home team play.  

Just Dessert: Weird but Good

I loved my grandmother a lot.  She was very funny, she thought I was great even when I was a snarky teen and she gave me my "first" gin & tonic before I was even 18.   The one thing she couldn't really do was cook.  I mean she was ok -- nothing she ever plated up was burned, spoiled or inedible, but she didn't really care for cooking, it wasn't fun for her and so her food was just that, food, for dinner.  

Except this one time, we were at my grandparents for dinner and we'd just had Salisbury Steak, or some such thing, with an iceberg lettuce salad (which my grandfather loved), and it was time for dessert.  My sisters and I, expecting the usual orange sherbert, were stunned when she brought out something different.  Something, well, weird, in our book.  We weren't sure.  My mom had to execute a few well placed underthetable kicks before we'd try it, but to be polite, (and the four of us were nothing if not polite away from home) we did.  And it was great.  And it is one of my favorite simple desserts and today, even my picky kids love it.  

It is:

Pineapple chunks with brown sugar and sour cream.

Yep.  That's it.  That's all there is to it.  And it's weird.  I know it is -- but it is incredibly yummy and you should try it for dessert tonight.  Seriously.  Get yourself some pineapple, chunk it into a bowl, sprinkle a couple pinches of brown sugar over it, drop a spoonful of sour cream on top.  If you're feeling bold you can sprinkle a little more brown sugar over the whole thing.  Eat it up, yum.

The other day I was reading a recipe for grilled watermelon salad by another Philly cooking blog --  Figtree Appetizers -- and suddenly I thought: Grill the Pineapple!  So I did, and this is what it looked like all warm from the grill with the sour cream and brown sugar all melting together:

It was really really good.  Better, actually, because the pineapple got all carmelized on the grill and the brown sugar got all melty and I just loved it.  Soak some wooden skewers in water for 20 minutes, thread your pineapple onto them and grill over a medium heat for about 5 minutes per side.  Then slide them off, and add the brown sugar and the sour cream.

I put the pineapple into my other grandmother's tea cups and I think it all just looks so pretty -- and it makes me miss them both.  In fact, since it is "five o'clock somewhere" (as they both used to say when a cocktail was needed somewhat early) and My Husband just got home, I think I'll have a small gin&tonic right now, in their honor.  

Cheers.

Nifty New Kitchen Gadget: $21 Tongs

Monday was my birthday (we won't discuss the number), and to celebrate I went to Williams Sonoma with my Mom and bought a pair of $21 tongs.   Yes I did spend that on a pair of tongs, but as I said: it was my birthday.  These fabulous tongs are made by Rosle  Sure, you can buy a set of tongs at the hardware store for $7.50 -- but they won't have this awesome action: when you hold them downward and slightly squeeze, they open up gently.  Then when you hold them upright, squeeze, they close.  Very easily (no need to bang it's butt on the counter.)

Here are some pictures of me doing this very thing:

Though I won't be winning any awards for photography, I think you get the idea.  These tongs are also very grippy and did a great job of lifting my fried wontons from the pan without shredding them.  (See previous post about wontons)  However, I have to say that while these tongs are nifty, if it hadn't been my birthday and if I hadn't been feeling generous toward myself (not to mention slightly depressed about that number I won't mention), I'm not sure I'd have bought them.  I mean, really, $21 is quite a lot to spend on tongs no matter how cool.  If you've got the money, I say go for it, otherwise head to the kitchenwares section of your local hardware store and save yourself $13.50.

Our Beloved Monster and Me

Our oldest daughter has been on the verge of 13 for about 3 years -- though now that the actual birthday is only two months away  she seems to have ramped up the process.  

For instance, yesterday: I thought we’d make a quick jaunt to the bookstore before picking Mad up from camp.  About halfway there we got into a discussion about why I wouldn’t leave her alone at Borders for the forty minutes it would take to pick up her sister.  I might (though probably not) have done it if she’d had both her cell phone and a friend with her -- but without those two things, no go. And so I found myself stuck in the car with Em in full politician mode: alternately arguing her case and accusing me of not trusting her.  There was some name calling on her part.  Without her realizing it I turned down a side street and drove back toward our house, parked the car in the driveway where I turned off the ignition and waited for her to finish before asking her if she’d like to stay home while I picked up her sister, or go get something to do in car while we picked up her sister because we sure as hell weren’t going to the bookstore now.

And this morning: I go to wake her at about 8:30, as I always do, and she asks me to snuggle, a rare request, so of course I want to snuggle, which I do for a few minutes, but I have several things to do (make lunches, put over laundry, walk the dogs, take a shower) before we leave for camp so I give her a kiss and remind her to get going and I’m half way down the steps to the kitchen when I hear: MOM! MOM! -- and I rush back up thinking something’s wrong (bloody nose?).  I get as far as her doorway when she says, “can you pull my blankets up for me?  I’m cold.”

This child, who can’t pull her own blankets up, is indignant that I won’t allow her to go to the bookstore and hang out by herself.

Sigh.

There’s more, but I won’t bore you.  It’s enough to know she hates me/she loves me/ she needs me/ I’m an idiot.  I’ve been on both sides of this equation now, and frankly, if I had to choose, I choose my present (parental) side because nothing could make me go through those teen years again.  I’m getting whiplash alternating between sympathy for my girl and complete engulfing frustration. Living with her  right now is like trying to balance on a surfboard: We’re at the top of a ten story wave an

d my only hope is to plant my feet and keep my head so I don’t flip both of us beneath the foam.

But last night: we had fun.  She took a cooking class recently, so last night she gave us a quick tutorial in the art of fried wontons which we filled with chicken and broccoli and sauteed up in a pan of grapeseed oil, then ate, piping hot, with our fingers.  Em says this is a great way to use up the leftovers in the fridge, and I totally agree.  A pack of wontons is not more than a few dollars at the store and you can fill them with whatever you like.  We just threw ours into a fry pan last night, but when we make them again, I think we’ll steam them a minute first then plonk them in the hot oil because then you only need to cook one side.  They were crispy, golden, delicious.  Her dad and I dipped our wontons in soy sauce, but Em liked hers plain.   These would make great appetizers.

Here are Em’s instructions on how to do it:

1. Cook some chicken (I seasoned 2 boneless chicken breasts with sea salt and pepper then poached them in 2 cups of water with several dashes of low sodium soy sauce, a bay leaf and some gratings of ginger.)  Or use some leftover chicken.
   
2. Thaw about 1/2 cup of broccoli and roughly chop
   
3. Using only small pieces of broccoli and chicken fold them into individual wontons.
4. Seal the wontons by dipping a finger in a glass of water and running your finger over the 4 sides of the wonton and then folding the wonton into a triangle, or make a little pocket book by gathering the four corners together or roll it up and seal the ends by folding them over.
5. Plonk them into hot grape seed oil.  Fry until they are golden on all sides. (see notes)
   

Notes:

• I use grape seed oil because it can safely get very hot -- without catching fire (unlike olive oil).
  
• Em’s cooking class threw them into a deep fryer -- which I don’t have -- but which would effectively cook all sides of the wonton all at once --
  
• Which is why I’d steam them first.  I don’t have a steamer so I stick a colander in a large stock pot of boiling water and put a lid over the whole thing.  Steam them just for a minute - maybe even less- so the wonton dough cooks a bit before tossing them in the oil.  Then just cook one side up crispy and golden.  We cooked our wontons in batches because we don’t have a fry pan big enough to accommodate
  

Make as many fried wontons as you have the patience for.  We used about 3/4 of a pack before Em got bored and hungry and we all just started shoving the cooked chicken and broccoli into our mouths until it was gone.  

Goat Cheese

Last night I went out to dinner with my friends Laura and Michelle and we had goat cheese for appetizers and goat cheese in the main course.  We were sharing everything, and I expressed my insecurity about ordering too much goat cheese, when Michelle, who is a very wise friend, said, "there can never be too much goat cheese."

I think this is one of the great truths of the universe.  Goat cheese rules.  So, this afternoon I ran myself over to the farmer's market and bought a bunch of gorgeous heirloom tomatoes (because my sad few on my sad vine aren't red yet) and a fat hunk of goat cheese.  I chopped those tomatoes and threw them in a bowl with a bit of sea salt and let their juices leach out and settle. Then I cooked up a bag of ravioli I had knocking around my freezer, along with the last bit of a box of pasta,  sprinkled it with olive oil.  Ran outside to cut some basil, which is doing very well, thank you very much, and threw it all together with goat cheese while the ravioli was still warm.  Oh yeah, I also tossed in a few sprigs of parsley and a several grindings of pepper.

Perfection.  Because we all know, there can never be too much goat cheese.