In Jennie's Kitchen

the road ahead—reflections on day 111

I'm staring at the keyboard, not knowing what to title this post. Needless to say, I've been a mix of emotions the last few days. I want to say we got through our first Thanksgiving without Mikey, but "got through" doesn't do the day justice. We spent it with a very dear friend and her family. I spent the day cooking, and for the first time in 109 days I felt really alive.

I was in my element, at the stove.

I made cinnamon buns for breakfast, then proceeded to make chocolate chess pie, brown butter apple pie, caponata, sauteed mushrooms, mashed potatoes, and roast turkey.

Even once they left, the calm that had settled over me remained, and I started to feel guilty for not crying. I mean tears are supposed to signify my sadness, right?

I woke the next morning, the day after Thanksgiving, and went back to the kitchen. This time I took out the White Lily flour MJ sent me, and made fluffy, buttery biscuits for bacon and egg sandwiches. The girls and I went to see the Muppets, and when we came home I headed into the kitchen again to make pizza for our Friday night ritual.

This was our first pizza Friday in the new apartment. We've eaten pizza here a few times now, but those were takeout. Those pizzas didn't count.

This pizza, the one with thin slivers of cacciatorini leftover from the Thanksgiving antipasto, those bits of dried sausage crisped up into what tasted like sausage chips.

He would've loved this pizza.

And as the girls sat in the next room, watching Olive the Other Reindeer, I wept. Soon the weeping led to a pool of tears sopped up by the cloth napkin in my lap. And that's when I realized that as much as cooking is my path to healing, the journey is going to break me first.

The walls need to crumble before I can figure out how to fix them. My memories will shore them up, as I rebuild my life and create a new foundation for new memories, memories that my life with Mikey will inevitably shape.

I will remember what happened as I made the apple pie on Thursday morning, and use that to soften the blows when my world seems to come crashing in. As I sliced apples at the counter, I felt a breathe of warm air on my neck, as if he were watching over my shoulder, and I smiled. He was near me in spirit, and in some crazy way breezed through the barrier of heaven and earth to make me feel his presence.

And so here we are, on a lazy Saturday morning. I took out some mixed berry conserves to spread on our toast, and read the date on the jar—July 2011. Mikey was alive when I made them. The sweet burst of summer reminded me of the day I went overboard buying berries, and decided to make a quick conserve out of them. That slather on my toast this morning bridged my past and present.

When The Food 52 Cookbook came in the mail last week, I felt happy and sad simultaneously. I have three recipes featured in the book—3 out of 140! He was so proud when I won the first contest, for my sweet and savory tomato jam. Then came my seriously delicious ribs, a wildcard winner. But the one I was most proud of was the one for my manicotti. As an Italian-American I felt especially reaffirmed that our culinary heritage is one to be embraced and respected.

   

Mikey didn't live to see this, the day when my recipes finally appeared in a cookbook. Recipes that were tested and given the seal of approval from two food writers and recipe developers I respect and admire, and voted as the best in their category from home cooks, people like me and you creating meals and memories for their families.

Yet on day 109, he came to me in the kitchen, with a whisper of warm of on my neck.

***

Jennie’s Homemade Manicotti

Serves 4

For the pasta crepes 

1 large egg

1 cup flour

¼ teaspoon salt

¾ cup whole milk, more as needed to thin the batter

canola oil, to lightly grease pan (see note)

 

For the filling

16 ounces ricotta cheese (here's my homemade recipe)

1 large egg, lightly beaten

1 teaspoon freshly chopped parsley, plus more for garnish

¼ cup freshly grated Parmesan or locatelli cheese

Salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste

 

To Assemble the dish

2 cups marinara sauce

¼ cup grated Parmesan cheese

 

Add the pasta ingredients to the bowl of a blender. Blend, adding more milk one teaspoon at a time, until batter is a thin, almost runny consistency. Heat a nonstick 8-inch skillet or crepe pan over medium-low heat. Brush pan lightly with oil, if needed (see note). Hold pan at an angle, and swirl pan as you pour in enough batter to coat bottom of skillet. Cook 30 to 45 seconds, flip and cook for 15 more seconds. And don’t forget, the first one or two might end up being sacrificial until you get the hang of swirling the pan. Transfer to a flat dish or tray. Repeat with remaining batter.

Preheat oven to 350ºF. Spread ½ cup of marinara sauce into the bottom of a 9-inch by 13-inch casserole dish. Combine all the filling ingredients in a medium bowl; mix well. Lay pasta crepes on a flat surface and spoon an event amount of filling in a long strip down the center of each one. Roll crepes closed, and place seam-side down into the casserole dish. Evenly pour remaining sauce over filled crepes. Sprinkle remaining grated cheese over top and bake 20 minutes, until golden and bubbly. Garnish with fresh chopped parsley and serve immediately.

homemade nut-free nutella

I owe you all an apology. I promised to share my easy homemade mayo recipe, but I came upon a lovely surprise in the test kitchen recently and decided to put those plans on hold for the next post.

Actually, I put it to a vote, and asked what I should post next. Needless to say, the outcry for a homemade nut-free nutella kicked mayo's butt.

Before sharing, I should preface there's a few more things I'd like to try with this recipe. What you're about to see is a work in progress, but it is one that I promise won't disappoint you. As-is, I'm quite smitten with this devilishly delicious spread.

What would I do differently, you're wondering? For starters, I'm curious to see how it tastes with some vanilla bean, as I use in my regular homemade nutella recipe. And while I chose not to include powdered milk in that recipe, I do think it could work nicely in this nut-free version.

Yes, a few days ago I set out to make a nut-free version of Isabella's favorite food group—nutella. She started camp yesterday (finally!), and there's a strict no nut policy (obviously this applies to food, not the kids or parents). She loves peanut butter and nutella, so it has become my go-to sandwich when I'm feeling pressed for time on busy mornings—or just uninspired after packing more than 1,000 lunches over the course of her school career!

So many exclamation points—but it's homemade nut-free nutella, and that is cause for celebration!

Now, I'm going to let you in a little secret. Okay, it won't be a secret for long.

I don't like nutella. I realize I'm probably the only person who doesn't have a fondness for eating it straight from the jar. Added to things, like this frozen yogurt I created for Cuisinart, and I'm so there. On its own, though, it holds no allure.

What I did learn making this nut-free version is that I LOVE sunflower seed chocolate spread. It doesn't sound as sexy or catchy or nutella, but it's damn good slathered on a slice of baguette.

Homemade Nut-free Nutella

makes one generous cup

Before you get started, make sure your sunflower seeds are specifically labeled nut-free if you have a nut-allergy, or are making this as a treat for someone who's allergic. This means the bulk bins are off-limits, since there's too much risk of cross contamination. A quick search on Amazon, came up with these raw sprouted sunflower seeds that are nut-free, gluten-free, wheat-free and vegan.

If dairy is an issue for you, then by all means try this recipe with a dairy-free chocolate, but do keep in mind I tested it with 55% Guittard chocolate discs. I can't vouch for using a dairy-free chocolate, but would love to hear the testing results if you do, so please share in the comments.

1 cup ( 138 grams) shelled raw unsalted sunflower seeds

4 ounces (112 grams) bittersweet chocolate discs, melted

1/4 cup confectioners' sugar

1 to 2 teaspoons vegetable oil

Add the sunflower seeds to the bowl of a food processor. Pulse until it becomes a fine, almost powdery, consistency. Add 1 teaspoon of vegetable, and process until it forms a smooth paste. You may need to add the additional teaspoon, depending on the sharpness of your food processor blades.

Pour in the the melted chocolate, and pulse until smooth and well-mixed. Add the confectioners' sugar and process until it forms a smooth, spreadable consistency, scraping down the sides as needed to make sure it is well mixed. Store in a tightly sealed glass jar and use as desired.

Storage note: My batch is only three days old, and since it doesn't contain any dairy, I'm opting to stow it away on my counter top.

ricotta recipe, revisited

The last week has been a blur, and I suspect the next two will escape from me as quickly too. Isabella's last day of school is Tuesday. Starting at noon that day, my mommy and work worlds will collide, the dust not settling until Isabella starts camp on July 12th. So goes the life of the work from home mom.

While I have a moment to breathe, I wanted to share a new tip for making homemade ricotta. I've been meaning to try it for weeks now, but just didn't have the chance. I make ricotta weekly, but had been shy to take the risk of ruining a whole pot. I finally found the time, and nerve, on a somewhat quiet Sunday morning.

A little backstory is in order. I'm addicted to shopping at farmers' markets. As far as addictions go, this is one I highly recommend and don't think your friends and family will feel an intervention is order, unless you're not good about sharing your bounty.

My obsession means that once I try something I love, I get hooked and have been known to travel distances for my favorite ingredients. Such became the case with buttermilk six months ago. It was right around then that I first tasted Hawthorne Valley Farm's buttermilk. I'd previously reconciled to buying buttermilk from the supermarket because my local farmers' market didn't carry it. Then someone innocently told me about HVF's, so I made the trip on a Wednesday morning.

There was no looking back.

I even started cheating on the Grand Army Plaza (GAP) market during the winter months to shop at Union Square on Saturdays—Hawthorne Valley Farm is only there on Wednesdays and Saturdays. As spring took shape, and the season became robust again, I longed for my GAP family of farmers. Then my schedule got so crazy the last three weeks, and visits to Union Square on Wednesdays became impossible.

Then the unthinkable happened—insert dramatic pause here.

My ricotta making went on hiatus!

Yes, I heard the thud as you fell out of your seats.

Me, the queen of ricotta, as Maggy now calls me, stopped making ricotta because I couldn't buy one of the three ingredients I needed.

It was insanity, I tell you, on many levels. Sure I could've bought a container of buttermilk from the supermarket. In fact, I had to breakdown for recipe testing purposes, but that fresh, tangy buttermilk from HVF ruined me. I'd always used local cream and milk in the past since finding them had never been an issue. Now that I knew there was the potential for local buttermilk too, I found myself incapable of measuring out the supermarket stuff to make ricotta.

If you're thinking I could've just used lemon juice, then you're correct. The problem is I don't like using lemon juice to make ricotta. If asked, I would never recommend it either. After much experimentation, I've found lemon juice produces a slightly tougher curd. Not inedible, and certainly fine in a pinch, they're just not the creamy, pillowy curds I've come to love.

So for weeks, I've been wondering if I could use pourable yogurt in place of the buttermilk. It seemed an acceptable substitution from a chemistry perspective—swapping in an acid for an acid essentially. I do it all the time for baking recipes.

The final push came from Travis—you know him if you go to the Milk Thistle stand on Saturdays at GAP or sundays in Carroll Gardens. I bought some cream this week, and he kindly gave me a bottle of Milk Thistle's pourable yogurt to try. He asked me to let him know what I thought.

I can now scream from the rooftops, letting the whole world know that if you have access to good-quality pourable plain yogurt, then you can still make my ricotta recipe. It's an even swap of yogurt for the amount of buttermilk. So yes, I love that freakin' pourable yogurt.

Does it taste the same, you're wondering, right?

There's a subtle, and I mean very subtle tang. You need to have a super palate to really notice.

Does it cook differently, you ask?

The biggest difference is the curds are smaller and the yield about 10 to 15% less. Unlike making ricotta with buttermilk, where larger curds pop to the surface as the milk solids separate, the curds from ricotta made with yogurt are tinier. We're talking a difference the size of a pinhead, literally, but since you asked, I thought I'd report back in explicit detail.

All in all, my test had a happy ending, at least until I find another obsession.

And don't get worried. I'm not disappearing until July 12th. I'll be back in a day or two with my recipe for strawberry rhubarb crumble with an oat, hazelnut and lemon thyme topping. You really don't want to miss this recipe, especially if you're in charge of dessert at any BBQs this weekend.

∞ In Jennie's Kitchen—June 2010: summer farro salad ∞

∞ In Jennie's Kitchen—June 2009: spanakopita (Greek spinach pie) ∞

In case you need one more push to make homemade ricotta, I'll be sharing this recipe for cannoli cream puffs soon. You'll need ricotta to make the filling, and the homemade stuff really makes this dessert shine.

Creamy Homemade Ricotta

Makes 2 cups

print this recipe

4 cups whole milk

1 cup heavy cream

3/4 cups buttermilk or pourable plain yogurt

1/2 teaspoos fine sea salt

Add the ingredients to a 4-quart pot. Bring to a very gentle boil over medium heat. Meanwhile, line a sieve or fine mesh strainer with a few layers of cheesecloth and place it over a deep bowl or pot.

Once the curds begin to separate from the whey (you'll see little specks of white bob to the surface), stir gently and set heat to the lowest setting (see NOTE). Cook for 2 more minutes, then remove pot from heat and set on an unlit back burner for at least 30 minutes, and up to one hour. (this will help the curds further develop).

Gently ladle the curds into the cheesecloth-lined strainer (this helps produce a fluffier, creamier curd, than pouring it into the strainer). When all the curds have been spooned into the bowl, pull the cheesecloth up the sides to loosely cover the ricotta in the strainer. Let sit for 10 minutes to drain (this will yield a very moist ricotta. If using for a cake recipe, you may want to let it drain longer for a drier consistency).

why i cook

My relationship with homemade ice cream is a love-hate one. Part of it has to do with the incessant hum of the ice cream machine. If you've never made it before, imagine a power drill going non-stop for 20 minutes.

Yet, here I sit, trying to concentrate and string words together as it whirs in the background. There weren't originally plans to make ice cream today, but you know what they say about drastic times. I was at the Time Warner Center staring at a shiny new refrigerator Vanessa Williams unveiled for Samsung when I saw I missed a call from Mikey.

Then came a text—his mother had fallen at home and he was rushing to catch the express bus to the Bronx. It felt like the worst case scenario we'd planning for, traveling in midday traffic to the Northeast Bronx. She'd apparently taken a fall while City Meals on Wheels was making their daily delivery. When EMS came she refused to go to the hospital. When the social worker tried calling, there was no answer. This went on for 20 minutes until they called Mikey, him being their only child and their emergency contact.

All the alarms were for naught. Halfway into his bus ride, the social worker called to say his mother was okay. She'd gone to the basement of their building right after the incident to finish the laundry. While we prepped ourselves for the worst, she was folding clothing.

There's more to this story, but as I typed the words, I realized it is not mine to tell. This is Mikey's story, and my role is the one I've been playing for the last 16 years. I'm here to be his best friend and confidant. I'm here for him to lean on. To help carry the weight when it becomes unbearable.

To hold him in my arms, stroke his head and say it will be okay.

We will be okay.

My Bronx boy and this here Brooklyn girl, we're made of strong stuff.

Knowing he'd need a big hug on coming home today, I also decided to brighten his evening with that chocolate chess pie I mentioned last time. While it was in the oven, I decided to make some deep chocolate frozen yogurt with toffee bits and a peanut butter ribbon—just in case we need heavy artillery to combat the swirling emotions.

I hate the sound of that damn ice cream maker, but I love him more. Twenty minutes of that headache inducing motor were worth it. The frozen yogurt tastes amazing. An intense chocolate flavor only valrhona cocoa can deliver, studded with milk chocolate covered bits of toffee and swirls of creamy peanut butter. I'll share the recipe soon.

The pizza you see above is for another love in my life—my mom.

As I thought all the worst thoughts before we found out Mikey's mom was fine, I started thinking of my own mom and how we've been trying to get together for weeks now. She's on her way down as I write, and we're going to surprise the girls at school pick up.

I'm surprising her with homemade pizza. I was going to just order a pie tonight, but wanted something more special for the woman who has always been my biggest fan. For her I will turn my oven to 500 degrees on this sultry first day of summer.

And that is why I cook.

The nourishment and cost-saving reality are often an afterthought. It's really about giving a piece of myself to the people I love most in this world.

Continue to get the recipe for grilled pizza.

 

the glorious pasta of italy

I grew up eating pasta—lots of it.

Actually we called it macaroni, and I don't think anyone in my family has called it pasta in all the years I've known them. My nana was born in the states. In Brooklyn to be precise, and she lived her life just a few blocks from where I now live with the Mr. and girls.

My family is Italian-American, through and through. We are a different breed from Italians hailing from the homeland. I'm a third generation Italian-American, and really only half since my father was Finnish and Flemish. Yet, I've never considered myself anything but Italian, my words flecked with the hurried hand movements and gestures for which my people are so well known. 

My connection to my family and heritage is one I've never questioned, and I just assumed my children would always feel this strong bond too. The first time Isabella asked "what are we mommy?", I replied "human beings". Frustrated, she sighed threw her hands in the air and said "no, I mean where do we come from?".

Again, I thought this was some existential question, and replied "well, some people believe God created us, but there's scientific proof that life started as a few cells millions of years ago". A few more stomps of the feet, and I realized what she meant. Isabella was asking what country we came from, and was obviously looking for an answer to a more important question. She knows one of her best friends is Jewish, another is from France. She senses they have a connection to something that extends far beyond her Brooklyn stoop.

My heart sank a bit at this realization. Have I been doing something wrong? How was it possible my daughter didn't know she was Italian? She understands without doubt that she is Jewish. I serve apples with honey at Rosh Hashanah, fry latkes at Hanukkah and prepare an entire meal sans leavening agents for Passover. She understands these food rituals represent a link to the traditions and background of her father and grandmother.

Yet,  every time I put a plate of pasta in front of her, the eyebrows raise and a sigh of disappointment escapes her lips. Isabella just doesn't feel the fondness for pasta that I do. She may as well stick an uncooked strand of spaghetti through my heart.

In her defense, I will take some of the blame. I can easily fall into a rut when it comes to pasta. A delicious one, made with fresh tomatoes, spicy basil and fragrant browned bits of garlic. To a developing palate though, perhaps she seeks something more than the bowl of comfort food I'd gladly eat every day for weeks before boredom might possibly set in.

Then a few weeks ago Domenica's book came. As I flipped through the pages, it was clear we share the same passion for our food heritage, though I couldn't help but feel her's is more authentic having spent summers in Italy with family. My first and only trip didn't happen until just a few years ago. Still I long to go back. I felt like I was finally home as the ferry made it's way to Venice, even though my mother's family is from Naples and Sicily.

After curling up with The Glorious Pasta of Italy two things happened. First, excitement set in since I knew I'd actually get to meet Domenica a few weeks later at Eat, Write, Retreat. Then I pondered which recipe I'd make first. It seemed apropos to begin with the Classics Worth Keeping chapter. Italian-Americans are often mocked by real Italians for our bastardization of their food culture. I don't how we evolved to scatter Parmesan on our linguine with clam sauce (a big no-no), or decided spaghetti should swim in a pool of red sauce.

Not Domenica, though. She doesn't mock me. She doesn't make me feel inferior. She just makes me want to cook the food that binds me to a culture I want my girls to love as fiercely as I do. The Glorious Pasta of Italy is a lovely bridge of what I know about Italian food, both past and present, and a reminder of all I still have to learn.

Spaghetti Alla Carbonara

from The Glorious Pasta of Italy by Domenica Marchetti (Chronicle 2011)

serves 4 to 6

One might say I'm a tweaker by nature when it comes to cooking. While that is true, my changes to Domenica's recipe were simply because I knew I could swap in acceptable substitutions. I'm including her recipe as-is here for you. I didn't have pancetta in the house, so used a smoky bacon I'd bought at the Italian market instead. And while she calls for two types of grated cheese—Parmagianno-Reggiano and Pecorino-Romano, I'm sure Domenica will forgive us all if we decided to just use all of one or the other (I just used Pecorino-Romano).

Whatever you do, don't skip the wine! I'm an avid carbonara maker, and this was an eye-opening addition. It adds a fruity undertone that helps to cut through the pontential heaviness of the sauce. And in case you're wondering, Isabella loved this dish. There is hope for her yet!

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

1/2 teaspoon kosher or fine sea salt

2 large cloves garlic, lightly crushed

Freshly ground black pepper

1/2 cup (55 g) freshly grated Parmagianno-Reggiano cheese

1/2 cup (55 g) freshly grated Pecorino-Romano cheese

4 to 5 ounces (115 to 140 g) guanciale or pancetta, cut into strips

1/3 cup (75 ml) dry white wine

2 tablespoons finely chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley

4 large eggs, lightly beaten

2 tablespoons heavy/double cream

1 pound (455 g) uncooked dry spaghetti

Bring a large pot of water to a rolling boil and salt generously.

While the water is heating, warm the olive oil and garlic in a large frying pan placed over medium heat. Saute for 5 minutes, pressing down on the garlic occasionally to extract its flavor. Remove the garlic as soon as it begins to brown and discard it. Add the guanciale and cook, stirring from time to time, for 5 to 6 minutes, or until it has rendered some of its fat and is slightly crisp. Raise the heat to medium-high and pour in the wine. Let it bubble for a minute. Turn off the heat and cover to keep warm.

In a small bowl, whisk together the eggs, cream, salt, and lots of pepper. Stir in both cheeses and the parsley.

Add the pasta to the boiling water, stir to separate the noodles, and cook according to the manufacturer's instructions until al dente. Drain the pasta in a colander set in the sink, reserving about 1 cup (250 ml) of the cooking water.

Return the pasta to the pot and place it on the burner, but do not turn it on. Slowly pour in the egg mixture, stirring vigorously with a wooden or metal serving fork as you pour. Don't let up, as the stirring will ensure a creamy, rather than scrambled, sauce. Add a splash or two of the cooking water if necessary to loosen the sauce. Add the guanciale, along with any drippings in the pan. Toss the spaghetti to incorporate the ingredients. Transfer the pasta to a warmed serving bowl or shallow individual bowls and serve immediately.

Italian easter bread

Last night I hosted a Passover seder for my in-laws. Today my Easter Bread recipe is featured on The Washington Post. It's a poetic juxtaposition of the two worlds I float between.

But I have Kim in my head, whispering "be happy for the moment". So I will let my quandry of how to raise the girls with a spiritual guidance rest for just a few minutes.

I will push that feeling of limbo, my wonders of what really happens in the afterlife—if there is an afterlife, to the recesses of my brain for a few moments and enjoy what I have worked hard to achieve.

Sure, I've been published before, but this Washington Post article is something special. When I was in college, I subscribed to the paper. I figured what better way for a local gal, studying journalism at Brooklyn College, to start taking her craft seriously.

Why did the Washington Post feel more important than the gospel of my hometown, The New York Times?

Maybe it was because it represented a wider world, someplace further from where I grew up and settled for college—my mom and I knew nothing about scholarships back then.

I took courses day and night to fit in three jobs so I could pay for college. Between classes I was a nanny to a child model and actress, tutored ESL students at the campus language lab and was a stock girl at the Gap on nights and weekends. I even pushed a popcorn cart at the local movie theater during one summer.

There were no silver spoons. While it may seem easy now, looking in on my daily life, peeking to see what simmers and stirs in my kitchen, my story is truly one made from scratch. The memories of my past serve as sustenance to keep me working towards my dreams for tomorrow.

And little bursts of sunshine like this one in The Washington Post are an important reminder.

Almost 20 years later, after a very winding, and sometimes uncertain path, it looks like I really am gonna make it after all.

Italian Easter Bread

Makes one 12-inch ring

I've noted the ingredients here by weight, so everyone can enjoy this recipe. For the full directions and to read my article, please visit The Washington Post All We Can Eat blog.

4 teaspoons (17 grams) active dry yeast

6 cups (900 grams) all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon (4 grams) kosher salt

1 cup scalded milk, cooled to 110º

8 ounces butter, softened

1/2 cup (4 ounces) sugar

4 egg yolks

1 teaspoon lemon extract

4 to 6 eggs, optional

1 egg white beaten with a splash of cold water

1/4 cup simple syrup, to glaze

Multi-colored nonpareils, to decorate

kale, white bean & ravioli soup

I'm a perfectionist, and while I know there's really no such thing as perfect, it's the drive that propels me forward each day. The problem is, I often feel like life is moving in slow motion, all the while my brain shuttling fast forward to the end game.

Sometimes I need to be reminded to stop and breath. I owe a big thanks to each and everyone of you for your emails, messages and comments. I'm eternally behind in email and if I didn't actually tell you how much your words of support and cheers meant, then forgive me. Honestly, every word has reinvigorated my energy and made me ready to roll up my sleeves and forge ahead.

In addition to spending last week launching Simple Scratch Cooking and clearing the mental cobwebs, I also decided to take a break from eating meat. If you've been reading for a while, you know many of my recipes are meat-free anyway. Five years ago I stopped eating commercially produced meat and made the switch to locally sourced options from farmers using ethically sound ways to raise and process their flock. It has affected the way I allocate dollars when shopping. The bottomline is animal protein is costly, as it rightfully should be. Raising animals in harmony with the earth, and treating them respectfully during their life cyle is an expensive venture when done thoughtfully.

I've tried meat from many different farmers and my trust for eggs, chicken and beef is whole-heartedly with Grazin' Angus Acres. Flying Pigs Farm offers the most flavorful and conscientious pork products I've ever tasted.

Am I going to become a vegetarian?

I really can't answer that question right now. As a matter of fact, there's a chicken thawing in the fridge, destined for tomorrow night's dinner. I'm already feeling anxious about eating it. The cooking part is no problem, but I'm not sure if I want to eat it.

This isn't an ethical issue. Something just happened on New Year's Day. I made a simple breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon. As I sat at the table, I looked at the dish and had no urge to eat that crisp slice that normally brings me much delight. I felt no remorse for it having once been alive. I just didn't crave it. I'm pretty sure the Mr. was ready to dial 911 the moment I uttered the words.

It's an interesting crossroads.

Between cutting out meat and eating more whole grains, I felt pretty awesome last week—headcold aside. From a physical perspective I felt less bloated. One would think loading on up beans and whole grains would have the opposite effect, but not at all.

From a cooking perspective, it's like I suddenly opened my eyes and started seeing ingredients in a new way. My go-to flavor boost had always been bacon. There's a reason they say it makes everything taste better, and if you've had Flying Pigs smoked shoulder bacon, then you know what I'm talking about.

There's one kink in this new path I'm headed on—my carnivorous kid. See, I've raised a meat eater for the last 7 1/2 years. I was also in a soup mood last week. Winter aside, I love soup. I don't need cold weather to justify making a pot. Isabella on the other hand, rolls her eyes at the thought of soup.

A week without meat AND a week of soups was perhaps her worst food nightmare. Not willing to cede defeat, but accepting I had to meet her halfway, I realized there was thing I could do that would act as a culinary white flag of sorts. I made sure every soup had a grain in it she liked. A crusty loaf of soda bread and butter were also plentiful, arming her with foods in her comfort zone. Since I love dipping bread into my soup, and she loves to be my mini-me, she eagerly follows suit too.

This soup I'm serving up today was my absolute favorite last week. I eagerly greeted the leftovers each day come lunchtime. The mini-ravioli were from the local Italian shop, and while I initially included them to appease Isabella, I can't imagine the soup with any other way. It had a lovely balance of comforting flavors to steadily guide me through a week full of many new beginnings.

ricotta spaetzle

Growing up has its advantages. I can eat licorice whenever I want, and sip egg creams before bedtime should I choose. The downsides include nagging my seven-year old to do her homework. Another reality is that as your children take husbands and wives, their priorities change. Suddenly holidays become a jigsaw puzzle, and fitting the pieces together to make sure you see everyone you love feels like a feat of epic proportions.

For various reasons, some too complicated to go into here and now, my mom hasn't been at our Thanksgiving table the last few years. Neither has my sister. On Thursday, we will finally be together again.

This year, my sister and I are hosting a joint Thanksgiving at my house. A first for us. She came late to the cooking game, and her mashed potatoes were an on-going joke for many years. I hear she's a good cook now, but wouldn't know because our relationship has been an on-again, off-again one for the better part of our lives.

In spite of it all, this is shaping up to be the lowest-stress Thanksgiving (mother-in-law aside), and it has nothing to do with the menu. I'm practicing the art of letting go, and focusing on the important aspects of the day.

basil pesto: summer fest 2010

My appreciation for pesto developed in my early twenties. While my aunt's gravy was killer—I still haven't figured out her secret, her pesto was always a bit bracing and more reminiscent of a garlic fest. Then one day I went to a friend's house to visit her newborn daughter.

Parents know enjoying a homecooked meal seems more like a treat in those early days. Personally, we ate take-out for the first month after Isabella was born. It was all the Mr. and I could do to keep our heads above water. Lack of sleep for weeks on end will do that to you.

Diego being from Northern Italy had a different connection to food. They rarely ever ordered in. Sleep deprivation seemed to bring out the best in his cooking. He also had a simple approach to preparation, and knew just a few fresh, good-quality ingredients were really all you needed to delight your tastebuds and leave a comforting feeling in your belly.

On first glance, pesto may seem a humble, peasant-like dish. That pretty much ends with the main ingredient, basil. The other defining ingredients are pignoli nuts, also called pine nuts, and extra virgin olive oil—both carry a hefty price tag.

grilled pizza

It's Friday, and that means pizza night here at The Perillo house. A few weeks ago I started experimenting again with the grill. My past attempts have ended in tears or doughs that are cooked through with a crisp bottom but rather unattractive pale white surface. So, when the weather creeped into the upper 80s a few weeks ago, I decided it was time to trade my own for the outdoors and give it a try again. Practice makes perfect, right?

This last time, the figurative lightbulb went off and I decided to treat my pizza more as a flatbread to prep the crust. After shaping the dough, I placed it on a preheated grill until it started to puff slightly and the bottom got some nice grill marks. I should've taken a picture to show you, but with a hot grill and two kids after a long week, let's just say it was better to limit my multitasking. Once that side was ready, I took the crust off the grill and that bottom now become the top—see those gorgeous grill marks in the picture of the finished pie?

It was time to flip the crust and add some sauce, pecorino and mozzarella to that nicely charred crust—the other side would get its chance on the grill in a few minutes. If I was better prepared I would've had all my ingredients outside to simply scatter atop. But I wasn't, so I had to go inside to add my toppings. This is a great example of why even homecooks should always have their mise en place set. It makes for much smother sailing.

Now, this is where it gets tricky—or at least always has for me when grilling pizza. If put over direct heat, that bottom is going to be ready in about a minute. Hardly enough time to melt the cheese, even with the grill cover closed.

It's time to understand and embrace indirect heat. It is your absolute friend in the world of home gas grilled pizza. Need a crash course in direct vs. indirect heat? Go read this article I wrote, featuring Elizabeth Karmel, the ultimate pitmistress.

So, I turn off the center gas burner, left the outer two on and in a few minutes, voila. Enough heat circulated to melt the cheese, and the crust was cooked just right.

I should've been happy.

But I wasn't.

See, I like a golden bubbly finish to my mozzarella.