I’m not terribly proud of this fact, but I respond just like Pavlov’s pooch.

In magazines, online, or TV; show me some type of carb with a creamy-looking dressing and I’m stopped dead in my tracks.

I guess that’s what they mean by food porn because that first glimpse has the power to pause me like a video game.

When I worked at my friend Bosco’s bookstore, there was a salad bar restaurant nearby.  For one price you’d get access to salad fixings, ready-made dishes, soup, a potato bar, bread and dessert.

I’d eat there every few weeks.  They had delicious homemade ranch dressing, so I’d make a spinach salad and add rotini pasta.

They also had this really yummy pre-made pasta salad.

It was made with fettuccine noodles, which is pretty unusual in itself.  But the other ingredients were a combination of things I’d never eaten in a pasta salad before.

When I was a kid, back when our nation was young, I hadn’t yet made the acquaintance of salad bars.  So I’d never even seen pasta salad.  My mother and her sisters made something similar, but it was called ‘macaroni salad’.

This was elbow macaroni made one of two ways.  Either a tuna and mayonnaise version (which is actually pretty darn good), or made like my mother’s potato salad only subbing in elbow; hard-boiled eggs, onion, and mayo.  Sometimes, if somebody was feeling culinarily adventurous, they’d toss chopped onions into the tuna fish mac salad.

But back to that restaurant’s salad.   In addition to fettuccine, it also had corn and garlic-Parmesan dressing.  I made it a few times just like that.  But as I became a more experienced cook, I turned it into a celebration of summer.  I now use cavatappi because it’s easier with which to work (plus it’s adorable).

Summer corn and pasta salad

Salad ingredients:

½ pound cavatappi (corkscrew) pasta, cooked al dente

4 ears fresh white summer corn, like Silver Queen or similar, shucked

1 pint cherry or grape tomatoes

5 or 6 green onions

5 pieces of bacon or pancetta, cooked crisp and crumbled.  Reserve 1 tablespoon fat from cooking.

Dressing:

Corn juice

1 tablespoon pork fat

3 cloves garlic, sliced

1 cup mayonnaise

½ cup grated Parmesan cheese

Juice and zest of 1 large lemon or 2 small

Handful of fresh parsley, chopped, with 2 teaspoons reserved.

Salt and pepper

Grill corn and green onions, either in grill pan or outside on barbecue.  Cut corn off cob, reserving corn juice for the dressing.  Chop grilled green onions.  Slice tomatoes in half. 

Toss pasta, corn, tomatoes, and green onions together.  Set aside.

Place reserved tablespoon of pork fat and garlic into small skillet.  Cook on medium until garlic is lightly golden.  Remove from heat, leaving garlic in pan, and allow to cool.  Once cooled, discard garlic.

Whisk together corn juice, garlic-infused fat, mayonnaise, cheese, lemon juice and zest, and parsley.  Add salt and pepper, and taste for seasoning.

Refrigerate for 1 hour.

After 1 hour, toss salad with dressing (you probably won’t need all of the dressing).  Let sit at room temp for 20-30 minutes.  Immediately before serving, fold in bacon.  Garnish with a sprinkling of parsley.  Serves 6.

My weakness for creamy pasta dishes is dreadfully ridiculous.  If I’d been Teddy Roosevelt, instead of doing any charging, I would have been sitting in the shade at the foot of San Juan Hill tucking into a bowl of macaroni salad.

Thanks for your time.

Once upon a time, there was a very big bunny.  He lived at a little brick grocery store in a magical village named the Bull City.  Everyone in the village knew and loved the very big bunny.

Years later a baby was born in the village.  The Mommy and The Daddy named the baby Boopie.

Around the same time the very big bunny moved to a larger space.  The big bunny liked it very much, because more people came to visit.  He made many new friends.

One day The Mommy took Boopie to the store.  As their shopping cart came around a corner, Boopie and the very big bunny saw each other for the first time.  The child’s eyes got very big and very round, and little hands began clapping for joy.

The very big bunny and the very small child became best friends.

Whenever The Mommy took Boopie to the store, the bunny would be waiting.  The very small child would run and hug the very big friend, and whisper secrets into its very big ears.

Years went by, and the very big bunny and Boopie stayed best friends.  And each visit would find the child, who was no longer so very small, hugging the bunny and sharing secrets.

Then the store moved once again.  Boopie, who was now a big child and The Mommy were excited to visit and explore the very big bunny’s new home.

But the very big bunny, Boopie’s very best friend, was gone.  He was taken to live on a very quiet, very lonely farm.  The big child’s big heart was broken.

As the years went by, Boopie grew up.  The big child graduated from high school, and went away to college in a very cold village, very far away.  But Boopie often thought about that bunny, and wondered about him, and missed him.

Finally Boopie finished school in the frozen village, and moved back to the Bull City.  The young adult had a new home, a new puppy, and a new roommate.

Boopie loved the Bull City very much, and loved to investigate the changes that had taken place while away.

The young adult discovered a bakery with a funny name; Monuts Donuts.  The shop became Boopie’s favorite place for coffee and donuts.

Then Monuts moved to a new space.  It had once been a little brick grocery store.  In fact, it was the very big bunny’s very first home.

One day Boopie visited the new little brick donut store for the very first time.

As the young adult came through the door, Boopie and the very big bunny saw each other for the first time in many years.  The young adult’s eyes got very big and very round, and bigger hands began clapping for joy

And the very big bunny and The very big Kid lived happily ever after.

In honor of the Bunny/Boopie reunion, I have invented a vegetarian dish for them both.

Bunny patch rice

1 pound carrots, peeled and cut into similar sized pieces

Big pinch Chinese 5 spice

1/8 teaspoon fresh nutmeg

Olive oil

3 ½ cups vegetable stock

3 tablespoons butter

2/3 cup broken pecans

1 small yellow onion, chopped

1 bay leaf

1 ½ cups jasmine rice

Salt and pepper

Preheat oven to 425 degrees.   Sprinkle 5-spice, nutmeg, a pinch of salt and pepper, and a drizzle of olive oil onto carrots.  Toss to coat.

Put on cookie sheet. Roast 20-25 minutes or until lightly browned.

Put cooked carrots and ½ cup of the stock into food processor and puree.

In a saucepan on medium, melt 2 tablespoons butter. Pour in pecans, season, and sauté until browned and fragrant.  Remove from pan, leaving any butter, and set aside.

Place onions into saucepan, season, and cook until water has cooked out, and they’ve begun to brown.  Add rice and final tablespoon of butter.  Gently toss to coat, and let rice cook until translucent.

Add carrot puree and the final 3 cups stock to rice and bring to boil.

Turn to medium-low, cover and cook 20-25 minutes or liquid has absorbed.  Take off heat, leave covered, and let sit 15 minutes.

Fold in pecans and check for seasoning.  Serves 6-8.

Thanks for your time.

Due to the insanely intensive labor during all phases of production, it’s the second most expensive spice in the world.  The plant only blooms for a few hours which is the sole period that pollination’s possible.  Most of the time it’s done by hand, because the one species of bee that can pollinate it is only found in one small spot on the globe. Then the pod must stay on the plant for nine more months.

After harvesting it’s necessary to literally kill it with either wet or dry heat.  Curing is the next step, which has many arduous steps and takes many long months.

The Totonacs of the Vera Cruz region of Mexico were the original producers.  The Aztecs conquered them and took control.  Then some Eurotrash dude named Cortez showed up and stole it, along with most everything else.

He called it little vine, or in Spanish, vanilla.

For 80 years, royalty and the mega-rich enjoyed it as an ingredient in drinking chocolate.  In 1602 Queen Elizabeth’s pharmacist, Hugh Morgan suggested using it by itself as a flavoring.  And the rest is delicious, delicious history.

Far from basic and boring, vanilla has over 250 natural flavor and fragrance components.  Plus it just makes everything taste so darn good.  And despite conventional wisdom, it not only works in desserts, vanilla adds spectacular flavor to savory foods and beverages.

Serve this drink at your next cook-out, and the ribs won’t be all they’re talking about.  And if you want to make an adult version with a shot of vodka in each glass, who am I to judge?

Vanilla Bean Lemonade

1 cup sugar

3 cups water

3 teaspoons vanilla bean paste or vanilla extract

Juice of 3 large lemons

Put water and sugar into saucepan.  Bring to simmer.  Whisk in vanilla.  Remove from heat.  Stir in lemon juice.

Strain hot syrup over 6 cups ice cubes, allowing them to melt down.  Serve over ice in a tall lemon-garnished glass.  6 servings.

With all the lemons around, you’re going to have a boat-load of lemon zest available.  The Kid loves my vanilla bean shortbread.  I’ve recently come up with a variation which is rich, buttery, and not too sweet.  It’s spiked with lemon zest and freshly grated nutmeg.  I discovered this tasty combination on a field trip to Old Salem with The Kid.

Brothers’ House Shortbread

3 cups all-purpose flour

3/4 cup sugar

1 tsp salt

1 cup butter, chilled

Seeds from 1 vanilla bean

2 tablespoons lemon zest

¼ teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg

Preheat oven to 350F.

In the bowl of a food processor, combine flour, sugar and salt. Pulse a few times to blend.

Cut butter into large chunks and add to food processor along with vanilla, zest, and nutmeg. Pulse about 15-20 times, or until dough has a wet sand appearance and starts to clump together.  Pour into ungreased 9-inch square pan and spread into even layer. Use a measuring cup to press it down firmly, creating a smooth, compact surface.

Carefully slice with a knife, 4 rows by 8 rows, patting down any dough crumbs that are raised.

Bake 30-35 minutes, until shortbread is lightly browned all over.

While the shortbread is still hot, dock each slice with a fork.  This gives it an authentic Scottish shortbread look.  After 10 minutes or so, gently remove pieces and let fully cool on a wire rack.

Store in airtight container. 

My final recipe is a ham glaze.

Vanilla bean glaze

3 cups apple juice

1 vanilla bean

¼ cup Dijon mustard

2 tablespoons Balsamic vinegar

1 tablespoon soy sauce

¼ teaspoon Chinese five spice powder

½ teaspoon dry thyme

Pinch of salt & pepper

Scrape the seeds from the pod and set aside.  Put apple juice in saucepan along with emptied pod and bring to a boil.  Reduce until it has a syrupy thickness.  Stir in vanilla seeds. 

Take off heat and whisk in rest of ingredients.  Refrigerate overnight. 

Enough glaze for one large ham.

So think about using vanilla in more dishes.  I suppose it’s possible to over-do it with that yummy pod, but I haven’t figured out how.

Thanks for your time.

“Bo that was the best pizza I’ve ever eaten!”-me, at my best friend Bo’s for dinner.

“Aunt Debbie that was the best pizza I ever had!”-my niece, Hannah.

What did those pies have in common?  The dough.  It was focaccia.

Focaccia is Italian hearth bread.  It’s simple peasant bread that’s quick and easy to make.  It’s the kind of thing that hard-working women have been baking for hundreds of years to feed their hungry families.

The bread’s delicious with subtle sweetness and hints of fruity olive oil.  The outer crust is crisp, but not overly so.  Focaccia is very versatile; it’s awesome for sopping up olive oil or sauce, and split open it makes a dandy sandwich.  But the pizza…oh, the pizza.

Focaccia pizza dough

2 packages active dry yeast dissolved in 1 cup lukewarm water

3 cups bread flour

1/3 cup olive oil plus more for oiling

2 tablespoon sugar

1 ½ teaspoons salt

Place water and yeast into bowl of mixer.  Add half the flour, sugar, salt, and mix until smooth.  Add remaining flour, and blend with dough hook until fully incorporated.  Remove to floured countertop and knead for 5 minutes or until smooth and elastic.   Place in an oiled bowl, and rub a bit of oil onto exposed dough.  Cover very loosely with plastic wrap and allow to rise for one hour, or doubled in size.

When it’s doubled, punch dough down and place onto floured countertop.  Cut into 2 equal pieces.  Shape dough into a round.  Gently pull, pat, and stretch until dough is a circle 9-10 inches across, and about 1 inch thick.

Place on parchment covered cookie sheet.  Cover dough with thin layer of olive oil.  Place a second piece of parchment on top.  Place in oven, turned off, but light on.  Repeat with second dough ball.

Let rise about 1-2 hours or until doubled in height. 

Before baking press down center of dough with fingers, leaving a ½ -1 inch ridge around edge.

I stumbled upon a technique for home baking that is the closest thing to a commercial pizza oven you can get.

Pizza baking procedure

Pre-heat oven for 20 minutes at 450 degrees with pizza stone or cookie sheet inside.

Leaving it on parchment, slide one pizza onto stone or sheet, turn oven to low broiler, and cook naked crust for 5 minutes (par-cooking will prevent sogginess).

Remove dough from oven and turn temp back to 450 to keep oven very hot.  Put toppings on pizza.

Return to oven and turn back on low broiler for 8 more minutes. 

Turn oven back to 450 and cook for 2 more minutes.

Remove from oven and let sit for 5 minutes before cutting.

Depending on taste and mood, you can top it with anything you’d like.  With a crowd, it’s fun to have a pizza bar with various toppings.  Beforehand pre-cook the naked dough so your guests can get right to work tarting up their pies.

And the title comes from the fact that after I finished making pizzas tonight, my oven blew up.  It came complete with a boom (maybe more like a pop), smoke, and a scary fireball about the shape and color of a navel orange.  It also knocked out our electricity.

After Petey flipped the circuit breaker and got our lights on, we dusted ourselves off, checked to make sure we still had our eyebrows, and fixed the oven all by ourselves.

Except for the blowing up part, aren’t we awesome?

Thanks for your time.

My personality is riddled with a virtual Encyclopedia Britannica of bad habits.

Ask anyone who knows me or has even spent a modest amount of time with me, and they will all agree, “Yup, that babe has numerous unique issues.”

My peccadillos concerning the culinary cover at least volumes C-L.  I eat way too fast.  I eat too much salt, sugar, and fat.   I’m terrible at sharing, especially candy.  I get hangry (hunger which morphs into snarky anger).

I don’t clean my oven often enough.  When I visit the supermarket hungry, I turn into the Tasmanian devil.  If my grocery list has less than five items, I always come home with at least ten. But one of my food faults usually ends up turning out well.

When I go to the farmer’s market or a store with an interesting produce department, I go into shoe-shopping mode.  If it’s cute, colorful, or diminutive, I put it in my basket.  Doesn’t matter whether it’s on my list, or if I know what I’m going to do with it, or even if I’ve ever seen it before.  If it’s unbearably adorable, it’s going home with me.

Last week we had one meal with two of my ‘Precious’.

At the Durham farmer’s market, I picked up a pound of charming baby squash.  And then the next day I was at Lowes Foods (8100 Brier Creek Pkwy, Raleigh).  They have a pretty nifty little produce section.  One of the things that I love is their potatoes.  They have about eight different kinds, including a multi-colored selection of walnut-sized baby spuds. I chose some Lilliputian Peruvian potatoes, drenched a deep, inky purple.

During the same visit I scored some pork loin chops on sale for a dollar apiece.  I decided to do a homemade shake-n-bake, and have the squash and amethyst taters as sides.

Both side dishes and my pork all cook at the same temp, to reduce the crazy.

Brown butter roasted baby squash

1 pound baby yellow squash

4 tablespoons butter

Salt and pepper

Blanch the squash: Cut tops and bottoms off squash, and cut in half long-way.  Fill saucepan with heavily salted water.  Bring to boil on high.  Lower heat to medium and gently drop in squash.  Cook for 3-5 minutes and remove to large bowl of ice water.  When completely cool, put in colander and pat dry with paper towel.

Pre-heat oven to 400. Melt butter in saucepan.  Watching it the entire time, cook until it has become caramel colored. Pour everything but 1 tablespoon of butter into the smallest casserole you have that all the squash will fit into in a single layer.  Place in squash, cut side down.  Brush squash tops with remaining butter.  Season with salt and pepper.

Bake for 20 minutes.  Serves 3-4.

Purple Manchego au gratin

3 pounds purple potatoes, washed and left unpeeled, sliced into 1/4 inch slices

1 large or 2 small shallots, thinly sliced

3 tablespoons butter

3 tablespoons all-purpose flour

1 ¼ cup skim milk

1 cup whole milk

½ teaspoon dry mustard

1 cup finely shredded Manchego or Chapel Hill Creamery Hickory Grove

¾ teaspoon kosher salt

¼ teaspoon fresh cracked pepper

Heat oven to 400, and butter an 8X8 casserole dish.

Melt butter in saucepan on medium.  Whisk in flour and cook a couple of minutes. Stir in milk, mustard, salt, and pepper.  Whisk continuously until it just comes to boil.  Pour in all the cheese and begin whisking.  Take off heat and whisk until the cheese is totally melted.  Taste and re-season if needed.

Place half the potatoes in dish.  Sprinkle on shallots in single layer.  Neatly lay the rest of the potatoes on top.  Pour sauce on top, spreading evenly. Cover with parchment paper, then foil.

Bake 30 minutes covered, then uncovered for 30 minutes more or until browned and bubbly. Remove from the oven and let sit 15-20 minutes before plating.  Serves 4.

Both dishes were nicely complimented by the lean, baked pork.

This time my foible paid off. It would be great if my propensity for singing loudly and badly along with the radio resulted in a Grammy someday.

Thanks for your time.

My mom’s an Italian girl from Jersey, so growing up we spent quite a bit of time up there (yeah, yeah, I know; insert Jersey joke here).

Say what you want about the Garden State, but those folks have tons of awesome diners, turning out delicious eats.

At least once every trip we would eat at The Millbrook Diner in Holmdel.  I’d usually order veal Parmesan.  Whisper thin pieces of veal, with a golden, crispy coating nestled onto marinara topped with melted mozzarella.  It was served with spaghetti drenched in more sauce.

I’ve always had very little love for red sauce and pasta, so I’d order my noodles with butter.

Then when I got older, I discovered Northern Italian cuisine (my family comes from Sicily, I think).

Those folks up north know how to party.  Instead of tomatoes, these geniuses use cream.  In place of olive oil?  Butter!  That’s when I found out about Marsala sauce; a creamy delight with mushrooms and Marsala wine.  And goodbye buttered noodles; this stuff is addictive on pasta.

Veal Marsala

You can also make this recipe using thinly sliced chicken or pork.

For Veal:

1 pound veal cutlets

2 ½ cups flour, divided

1/3 cup shredded Parmesan cheese

2 eggs

1 cup skim milk

1 teaspoon Salt and ½ teaspoon pepper

Oil for frying

A couple hours before cooking:

Put Parm and ½ cup flour in food processor and run until the cheese/flour looks homogenous. Put in a shallow dish with 1 more cup of flour

Put other cup of flour and salt and pepper in zip top bag.

In another shallow dish, beat eggs and milk together.

Bread the veal; first flour, then egg wash, and finally Parmesan flour, making sure it’s well-coated.

Refrigerate until ready to cook.

To cook, heat ¼ inch of oil in non-stick pan on medium until it shimmers, or a drop of flour sizzles.  Cook veal on one side until golden, flip and cook the other side.

Keep warm in a 180 degree oven on a cooling rack set over a sheet pan.

Marsala Sauce:

2 tablespoons butter

1 pound mushrooms, cleaned and sliced

½ yellow onion, chopped

4 cloves garlic, sliced

1 teaspoon dry thyme

Salt and pepper to taste

2 tablespoons tomato paste

½ cup Marsala wine

1 cup chicken stock

¾ cup heavy cream

1/3 cup skim milk

Heat a skillet (not non-stick) on medium high. Melt butter, then add mushrooms, onion, and thyme.  Cook until all the liquid has come out of the veg, and cooked out.  Add tomato paste and garlic.  Cook, stirring until the paste has coated all, and deepened in color.

Pour in Marsala, scraping up bits stuck in pan, and cook until wine’s evaporated. 

Pour in stock, cream, and skim milk.  Bring to boil, and let reduce until it’s thickened into an unctuous sauce.

Spoon over veal, and the accompanying starch (I love fideo noodles with melted butter and fresh, chopped parsley).  Place a handful of pea shoots or baby arugula on top of the pasta, for freshness and texture.

Serves 4.

Sometimes I’ll make the meat, and instead of Marsala sauce, I just give it a squeeze of lemon and top with greens.  It’s really good this way with fresh veg and a baked potato.

Of course on those nights, Petey being the six-year-old that he is, likes cheese melted on top.  And being a Southern boy from a Southern family, likes his cheese to be Velveeta.

Thanks for your time.

I am so grateful for many things in this life.

That The Kid lives here in town, and my folks are close by and doing ok.  This weekly forum in the Herald Sun is also very high on the list.

I appreciate my beloved Bull City with its funk, charm, and all the unique, amazing people that live here.

And I’m so thankful for Petey, who has put up with and supported me (emotionally and financially) for over 30 years.  But there is something else very special about my spouse.

I’m hugely grateful for his love for eggs.

It sounds weird, but hear me out.

First, eggs are exceptional in a myriad of ways.  Dollar for dollar, they are the cheapest high quality protein you can buy.  They’re full of vitamins and minerals, and only 70 calories apiece.  They can stay in your fridge for 4-5 weeks without going bad.  Naturally low in carbohydrates, eggs are a great food for diabetics and the carb-phobic.

And, except for vegans, everybody’s diet can include eggs.  Almost every nation in the world uses eggs in their cuisine.  There are no cultural or religious taboos against them.

They’re crazy versatile, and quick to prepare.  Some nights when there’s not much in the cupboard, or I don’t have what it takes to put together something more complicated, we eat breakfast for dinner.  The side dishes vary according to mood and provisions, but the main course is almost always scrambled eggs; either straight up or in a sandwich.

My way produces moist, fluffy eggs every time.  And there are no gross white streaks.  If you don’t have a hand blender, a regular blender or food processor works almost as well.

Scrambled eggs for two hungry egg lovers

6 large eggs

2 tablespoons butter

½ teaspoon salt

¼ teaspoon pepper

Put eggs in a large bowl and mix with a hand blender until slightly lighter in color and foamy.  Heat non-stick skillet on medium and melt butter.  When the butter’s nice and bubbly, pour in eggs, and season.

Start moving the eggs around with a wooden spoon or silicone spatula, bringing up the cooked and exposing uncooked to the pan.  When the runny liquid is gone, but they are still very moist, serve.  Don’t cook them until dry because they’ll continue to cook after leaving the heat. 

I like mine with a spritz of fresh lemon juice—after cooking, though.  Lemon juice will curdle raw eggs.

Recently I’ve expanded my repertoire with a Korean egg dish called gyeran jjim.  Custard-like, they’re as smooth and silky as a pot du crème, but there’s nothing in it except eggs and water.  Steaming produces the texture.  I blend up the eggs like I’m going to make scrambled, then stir in the water by hand.

Korean-style steamed eggs

4 large eggs

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 cup water, plus more for filling pot

2 teaspoons snipped chives

1/2 teaspoon toasted sesame seeds

Combine 2 blended eggs, salt, and 1/2 cup water in a small heat-safe bowl.  Then repeat with another bowl.  If desired, stir in any combination of shredded cheese, sautéed veggies, and cooked bacon, sausage, or ham. 

Place the bowls in a pot. Fill pot with water to come halfway up the sides of the bowl. Bring to a simmer, cover pot, and cook over low-medium for 12 minutes, making sure the water stays at a gentle simmer.

Sprinkle the chives and sesame seeds on top and continue to cook for 3 minutes or until the eggs are just set. They should be firm but jiggly.

Carefully lift bowls from pot and serve.  Serves 2.

In many ways, Petey and I are very different.  He doesn’t understand the need to own more than three pair of shoes, and of course, that’s just ludicrous.  His patience knows no limits–I fear and loathe any type of waiting.  I’ve known him for 36 years, and only seen him yell twice.  I yell twice before breakfast.

But when it comes to a big steaming plate of scrambled eggs, we both turn into hungry eight-year-olds.  And for that, I’m as grateful as a pregnant lady in a pickle factory.

Thanks for your time.

Maybe somebody has blown you away with their kindness or generosity. It might be a birthday or anniversary.  It’s possible you’ve screwed up big time.  Or perchance you’re trying to coerce favors or manipulate behavior.

Then show up with this cake.

My chocolate toffee cake is the culinary equivalent to an amusement park.  It is completely unnecessary, but boy, is it fun.

Years ago, Petey’s nursing colleagues on the weekend shift had a potluck every Sunday night.  I took it upon myself to produce the dessert each week.  Most of the time it was a pleasure.  Every six or eight weeks, though, the idea well would run completely dry.

Asking Petey for suggestions would produce only the tilted head, confused look your dog might give you when asked to do calculus.  No help there.

So I put together a collection of dessert cookbooks, some of the cake mix variety.  And when Sunday morning would roll around and I didn’t have a plan, I’d thumb through them and usually come up with something.

One of these cakes was a total fraud.  It not only originated with a cake mix, the frosting also came from a can.  But it looks and eats like an expensive confection from a trendy patisserie.  I took it, gave it some culinary alterations, and it became a big hit with Petey’s co-workers at Duke.

Devil’s food toffee cake

½ cup butter

¼ cup heavy cream

1 cup packed brown sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla

¾ cup slivered almonds, lightly toasted in dry pan

1 box devil’s food cake mix, mixed according to directions on box

2 cans fluffy white frosting (not vanilla, the kind that actually says fluffy white—it’s very similar to old-fashioned minute frosting)

5 full-size Heath bars, chilled then smacked on a counter and broken into shards of various sizes

For cake: Preheat oven to 325.  Mix butter, cream, brown sugar, and vanilla in saucepan.  Cook on medium, stirring occasionally until butter is melted and everything’s well combined.  Divide and pour into two ungreased 9-inch round cake pans.  Sprinkle ¼ cup almonds in each pan.

Carefully spoon half the batter into each pan, without disturbing sauce or almonds.  Smooth with a spatula.

Bake 35-45 minutes or until toothpick comes out clean, but moist.  Cool 10 minutes, then run knife around edges to loosen and turn out onto cooling racks, almond side up.  Cool completely.

Frosting: Empty cans into bowl and mix in 4 of the chopped candy bars.  Frost top of first cake nut side up, place on second layer, nut side up, and thickly frost it.  Scatter pieces of the 5^th candy bar and final ¼ cup of almonds on top. 

Cover and refrigerate at least 2 hours but not more than 24 before serving.  Store lightly covered in fridge.

Serves 12.

Don’t be tempted to frost the sides of this cake.  First, you want to be able to see the caramel-almond layer.  And with everything happening in this cake I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but it would just be too much.

This delicious deception is impressive and transformative.  I believe this cake has the power to leave Rosie O’Donnell speechless, teach Arnold Schwarzenegger humility, and make Kanye crack a smile.

Thanks for your time.

The Kid likes to tell a story about a long-ago cooking lesson.

At about 9 years old, already a lover of food and cooking, my child decided to learn how to prepare risotto.  The Kid came to me and I purchased supplies and found a recipe that would be easy for a novice to use.

I made sure that everything needed was available, and left the kitchen but stayed within earshot.

A delicious, text-book risotto was produced.  The Kid had increased culinary confidence and a back-pocket recipe that never failed to shock and awe.

The point to the tale was that I didn’t alarm or dampen enthusiasm with dire warnings of the complexity and difficulty of making risotto.  I also didn’t frustrate by hovering or taking over, and make my child observer instead of creator.

So, am I just an awesome mother?

Yeah, not so much.  In my natural state I’ve a touch of the micromanager.  With me at mission control, Jim Lovell and the guys on Apollo 13 would have given up just for some peace and quiet.  If I’d been Shakespeare’s mom, he would have gone back to writing poems for greeting cards.

But I only do it out of love.

So here’s the shabby but true explanation: until 10 days ago, I’d never actually made risotto.  Never.  And The Kid didn’t know.  Until last week, when I confessed.

And the response to my embarrassing admission? “You know, I’ve always thought that was a little out of character…”

I wasn’t totally clueless about risotto.  I’d studied it extensively and was well-versed in technique.  The lecture portion of the dish was mastered; I’d just never taken the lab practical.

Last week I scored some Arborio on sale at Williams-Sonoma and made a pretty rocking batch of risotto.  Like The Kid learned years ago; as long as you don’t let yourself get psyched out, risotto only requires elbow grease.  Honestly, it’s not difficult to make.

Mommy’s risotto secret

1 tablespoon olive oil + more to coat rice

1/2 yellow onion chopped

2/3 cups dry mushrooms reconstituted in 3 cups water spiked with fresh rosemary, thyme, 10 peppercorns, and 1 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon dry thyme

1 1/2 cups Arborio rice

4 cloves garlic sliced

1/2 cup Marsala or white wine

6 cups stock-3 cups mushroom, and 3 cups other

4 tablespoons butter

1/2 cup shredded Parmesan

1 cup frozen peas

Salt and pepper to taste

For plating:

Baby greens

Place mushrooms into pot of herbed water.  Bring to boil, and let boil for 3 minutes.  Remove from heat and cool.  Strain, keeping newly made stock for using in risotto.  Discard herbs and peppercorns.  Chop mushrooms into bite-size pieces.

Put both types of stock together into saucepan and bring to simmer.

In a large heavy pot, heat olive oil on medium.  Sautee onions and mushrooms until lightly caramelized.  Add rice and enough olive oil to coat the grains.  Toast until the rice just starts to brown.  Add garlic and cook until you can smell it.  Pour in wine and stir continuously until it all evaporates.

Adding hot stock about 1 1/2 cups at a time, constantly, gently stir until it’s all cooked in and then add the next amount.

Keep this up until the rice is cooked through, but not mushy (about 20-30 minutes and you may have stock left).  You want it to be creamy when you remove it from the heat; similar to the consistency of freshly made grits.

Remove from heat and add butter.  Keep stirring until melted, so it doesn’t separate.

Mix in cheese and still-frozen peas.

Spoon onto plate and top with a large handful of baby greens.

Serves 4-6.

Lastly, make sure to use Arborio, or another high starch, short-grain, like Carnaroli or Acquerello.  With the prolonged stirring, any long grain rice will break up and turn into an unappealing gruel.

I realize this may have made me sound a little “Mommy Dearest”.

So the true risotto lesson is to give The Kid (and everybody else) the space to stretch, grow, and maybe even stumble.  That way the accomplishment will be all the sweeter.

I need put the bossiness down and step away.

Thanks for your time.

There are two kinds of enthusiasts.

The first type is an indiscriminate lover of anything having to do with the object of their affection, despite its worthiness of veneration.  Crazy cat ladies and UNC fans come to mind.

The second is extremely selective; they consider themselves something of a connoisseur.  They have stratospherically high standards and eschew inauthenticity or subpar quality.

Sometimes this can turn the devotee into a giant pain in the keester.  Think amateur wine experts or Renaissance Faire enthusiasts.

When it comes to potato salad, I am in the second camp (except I’m always absolutely charming about it; never having once pained a keester).

I do, however, have somewhat strong opinions.

Celery and mustard are abominations.  It should never be refrigerated; the potato starches crystallize and ruin both flavor and texture.  Hot is not an acceptable temperature.  While German potato salad is a perfectly fine spud side dish, it is not and never will be potato salad.

Most store-bought and restaurant versions have no justification for existence.  I can count on one hand the acceptable commercial varieties.  It is such an infrequent occurrence that I remember each one.

There was one in a deli called Kangaroo Sandwich Shop in La Jolla California.  Years ago Belks had an in-store restaurant in which they served a delicious potato salad.  And a Greensboro diner makes a deliciously different one with lemon.

It’s a little peppery for me and unfortunately, chock-full of celery.  So I dumped the stuff I didn’t like, enhanced what I did, and filled in the recipe blanks.  I also used a few techniques from America’s Test Kitchen, and came up with an original bowl of potato love.

Lemon kitchen potato salad

Potatoes:

3 pounds Yukon gold potatoes

Skin of 2-3 lemons, yellow part only, peeled off with a vegetable peeler

Juice of 1 lemon

1 tablespoon olive oil

Salt and pepper

Dressing:

3/4 cup mayonnaise

¼ cup lemon juice

1 hard-cooked egg, finely grated

1/4 yellow onion, grated

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 tablespoon chopped fresh dill

Salt & pepper to taste

Potatoes: Place potatoes and lemon skin into large saucepan of heavily salted water.  Bring to boil and cook until a fork easily pierces the spuds.

While the potatoes are cooking, whisk together lemon juice and olive oil, season with big pinch of salt and pepper.

When potatoes are cooked, drain, mash about half of one tater and stir it through.  This will add texture and make the sauce cling better.  Then mix in lemon/olive oil, draining off any excess.  Let cool completely.

Whisk dressing ingredients. Taste for seasoning, and re-season, if needed.  Cover and refrigerate until ready to mix with spuds.

1 hour before service: Fold dressing into potatoes until well coated.  Taste and season. Cover and let sit for an hour before service.

Serves 4-6. 

This is only one of about a dozen potato salad recipes I use.  When you eat it as often as I, you have to mix it up.

It really is a gift from the gustatory gods.  I love it.  I love the words “potato salad”.  I love the sound it makes when you mix in some delicious Hellmann’s mayo.  I love the anticipation when it’s what’s for dinner.  And I love that something so simple brings me so very much joy.

Does that sound pathetic?  I’m not obsessed; I do love other things…like the sound of rain, cute shoes, Scott Joplin, and Mad magazine.

Thanks for your time.