In Jennie's Kitchen

chocolate pistachio madeleines {day 182}

My first attempt at making madeleines was only recently, just before Mikey passed away actually. I relied on a trusted source to guide me, and while the batter tasted amazing, and the finished product was quite good too, my madeleines looked like they'd been through a war. I broke a sweat trying to pry them from the pans with my offset spatula. Figuring I didn't use enough butter or flour to coat the pans, I immediately started a second batch. Mikey looked at me like I was nuts, but he knew my drive for perfection was ceaseless and I wouldn't give up that easily.

Then my second batch came out of the oven.

They seemed to stick to the pan, again.

So I did what anyone insane baker would do, and moved onto batch three immediately. This is where you'd add the explicatives because, yes, those little bastards still stuck to the pan. I went to bed tired, annoyed and feeling defeated.

I talked to my girlfriend the next day who's from the South of France. She grew up making madeleines the way we Americans are reared baking cupcakes. She asked me if I tapped the pan on the counter. I told her yes, gently, but nothing happened, so I had to practically chisel them from the pan. She then told me, no, not gently, give it a good bang on the counter.

And that's when I realized maybe making madeleines wasn't for me. Marina makes amazing ones from scratch, and there are two bakeries nearby that could cure any cravings. I just didn't have the courage to attempt a fourth batch. Banging is something we don't normally do in baking. We punch dough down, though really, a gentle knead, and sometimes no knead at all, will do. But that's about as forceful as we get when it comes to the delicate, precise nature of baking.

I brought home some madeleines after having coffee with Marina at Colson's last week. Along with the cakes, I brought home determination. I would conquer madeleines before the week was over.

I went back to the first recipe I attempted last summer. It was a stop and start affair, pre-empted by no less than three tantrums EACH from Isabella and Virginia. A few doors slammed, time outs were given, and all the while my friend Rosemary quietly read and didn't cast judgement on my parenting style, or lack of it at that moment.

Meanwhile, my eggs had been beaten until thick and creamy, and rebeaten as I was sure they deflated a bit during the girls' episodes. More than an hour after I started out, my madeleines emerged from the oven, along with a pit in my stomach—it was time to give the pan a whack. Honestly, I had enough frustration with the kids to get out, and fear has pretty much been stripped away since one of my worst came true on August 7th.

I gave the pan a bang against the counter, and two madeleines broke free. They were perfectly unharmed and intact. Another bang, and a few more joined the rest, magazine worthy, picture perfect on the cooling rack. Two or three more whacks and voila!—one dozen madeleines, ready to enjoy with our afternoon tea. The recipe was mostly fine all along, it was just missing the most crucial direction—bang the damn pan to release the cakes.

Tantrums subsided, Rosemary stayed for dinner, and once the girls were bathed, tucked in and Rosemary back in the comfort of her own apartment, I went back into the kitchen.

My intention was to make another basic batch of madeleines, but then I started thinking about Valentine's Day and what I would've made if Mikey were still alive. He loved pistachios, and since they're a great pairing with chocolate, it seemed only natural to create a new recipe for him—chocolate pistachio madeleines.

It was this time that I learned another little trick—let the batter rest a few minutes before filling the pans. The first batch, I only bake one tray at a time, was very delicate and the flavor was good but not as chocolatey as I'd hoped. I figured I'd go back into the test kitchen and tweak the cocoa-flour ratios. They were also missing the infamous "bump", but even Marina says hers don't always come out with one, so I didn't stress about it. When the second batch came out of the oven, not only did they have a better shape, but the color was deeper, more dark cocoa-looking than milk chocolate, and the flavor more intense. So, two cardinal rules of madeleine making—patience and aggression, an odd combination, don't you think?

I'm going to make these madeleines again come Valentine's Day. My main squeeze may not be here but I have two little sweethearts that will surely love them. As crazy as they drive me— single parenting a 3 and 8 year old is a non-stop marathon, they are the other loves of my life. Until, of course, the next tantrum.

Chocolate Pistachio Madeleines

makes 24

You want to chop the pistachios very fine, into a grainy, sand-like consistency. You can use a mini-chopper for the job, but I find it very therapuetic to do it by hand. I also only have one madeleine pan, so I just wash it as soon as the first batch is done, then dry it thoroughly before greasing and flouring for the second batch. It sounds like more of a pain than it is in actuality.

16 tablespoons (6 ounces) unsalted butter, plus more for greasing pans

4 large (200 grams) eggs

Pinch of fine sea salt

2/3 cup (135 grams) granulated natural cane sugar

1/3 cup (41 grams) raw pistachios, chopped very fine

2/3 cups (96 grams) flour, plus more for coating pans

2 tablespoons (14 grams) good-quality dark cocoa powder

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Confectioner's sugar, for dusting (optional)

Preheat the oven to 350ºF.

In a small pot, over medium-high heat, melt the butter until it becomes brown and fragrant, but not burned, about 10 minutes. Remove from the burner, and set aside to cool while you proceed with the rest of the recipe.

In a medium bowl, whisk together the pistachios, flour and cocoa until well mixed; set aside.

In a stand mixer or deep bowl, beat the eggs on high speed until they are thick and have tripled in volume, about 4 minutes. With the mixer still on high speed, slowly pour in the granulated sugar. Once all the sugar has been added, beat for 2 more minutes.

Lightly sprinkle the flour mixture over the egg mixture. Using a rubber spatula, fold until the batter is just mixed. Pour in the melted butter and gently fold, just enough to mix the batter until there are no pools of melted butter. Let the batter rest for 15 minutes.

Meanwhile, generously grease the madeleine pans with butter—I mean really generously, get into all the grooves as well as the top rim of the pan. Coat with flour, tapping off any excess.

Gently spoon batter into one of the prepared pans, filling the molds about 2/3—do not overfill. Bake for 14 minutes, remove from oven and vigorously tap (code for bang) pan on the counter, which will release the madeleines from the pan. Set on a wire rack to cool completely.

Fill the second pan with batter, then bake and remove from pan as directed above. When cool, sift Confectioner's sugar over the madeleines, if desired, before serving.

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clementine rosemary marmalade {day 175}

Week 24 kicked my ass. There's no way to put it nicely. It's as though a storm cloud settled over my emotions when the first snowfall came a week ago, and it took the better part of the week to dig myself free. I've undoubtedly had many moments the last 175 days that have tested my resiliency, but I'm generally good about shaking them off, rolling up my sleeves and tending to the work at hand.

Not this week.

Mikey's birthday is weighing heavily on my mind. On February 7th, he should be turning 52.

Should, but now his ashes are ageless. No wrinkles to be seen. No more flecks of silverish-grey to slowly weave their way through his dark brown hair.

I thought my birthday would be the tough one, but the thought of his passing is more crushing. At least I was alive for my birthday. I've thought about making a cake for him, as I always did, but I feel like it's silly. I also know it would be tough for the kids to see me doing that. I figured plan B could be I make a cake, take a bite, cry profusely, then toss it in the garbage before they come home from school.

But, that's borderline irrational, and a waste of good ingredients. I'll have to face his birthday head-on, and we already have plans to spend the evening surrounded with friends who loved him too.

The cake still confounds me, though.

As I felt the blues tip toe into my soul last Sunday, I decided to make something he loved so much—marmalade. He loved eating it anytime, but especially when he wasn't feeling well. Toast with marmalade and tea. I was always amazed at how he could down a cup of blazing hot tea in minutes. By time it was cool enough for my first sip, he was putting the kettle on for his second cup.

I needed to find a way to be close to him last Sunday, and all I had around was a bag of clementines. I'd picked up fresh rosemary at the farmers' market the day before, and thought the two would be a good pairing. When I was done I realized I'd gone a little overboard for someone who doesn't eat a lot of marmalade. I'm more of a berry girl when it comes to things of a jammy nature. So the jars sat on my counter, almost laughing at me, reminding me he was gone.

As the week went by, I found new homes for the marmalade—one of my best friends, my sitter, my other sitter, and finally one of my other best friends. Now, just one lone jar sits atop my counter, like me, wondering what exactly its fate will be.

Clementine Rosemary Marmalade

makes about three pints

I used my recipe for meyer lemon, ginger & mint marmalade as a base for the ratios. As with that one, I'm going to try stirring a spoonful into some boiling water for a homemade herbal tea. A nice way to use up all this bounty, unless you decide to share a few jars with friends too.

Testing note: when I made this I added the rosemary needles whole, but after eating it for a week now, I realize I'd rather have chopped bits of rosemary in it, rather than whole needles, so I've tweaked that part of the recipe for you.

8 clementines (725 grams)

6-inch sprig fresh rosemary, needles removed and chopped

3 cups (600 grams) natural cane sugar

3 cups water

To prepare the clementine, cut off each of the ends. Slice the clementines in half lengthwise, then cut the halves into very thin slices—you should have about 5 cups worth.

Add the clementines, rosemary and water to a deep pot. Bring to a rolling boil over medium-high heat, and cook for 30 minutes until the rinds are very tender. Add a few splashes of water to the pot if the level falls too low and starts to dry up too much.

Stir in the sugar and bring back to a boil. Reduce the heat to a simmer and let cook until it thickens, 60-70 minutes.

Spoon the marmalade into clean, sterilzed jars and store in the refrigerator or process in a hot water bath for long term storage.

 

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whole wheat chocolate chip cookies {day 169}

My mind feels about as soft as the cookie dough I've been obsessed with the last two days. It is a swirl of activity, and some days focusing feels so out of reach.

January 25th, this Wednesday, marks 14 years since my father died. 1998—what an intense year it turned out to be. I hadn't even thought of my real dreams until that fateful year. Nothing like your dad dying rather suddenly at the age of 49 to rock your core.

He was a Michael too, and all these years later the image of him taking his very last breath is still engraved in my memory.

I was 24 back then, and couldn't have imagined the domino effect his death would have on my life. It was the push I needed to follow my dreams, but that's a story is for another time and place. After he died, I decided some personal housekeeping was in order. Mikey and I had been together three years at that point. It had been a roller coaster ride, in many ways because he was 35 when we started dating—I was only 21, still in college, in fact.

We broke up a few months after my dad's death, but stayed very close friends. I knew I loved him from our first date, but I was still very skeptical about the benefits of love. Growing up, I only saw the detrimental, sometimes harmful effects love can have on a person and a relationship. So, I walked away. 

I was supposed to go to Italy that year, having been wooed by a friend's George Clooney doppelganger cousin to go visit him in Turin. The temptation continued with a trip to Sardinia. I spent that summer on the phone, trying to remember if Italy was six hours ahead, or six hours behind.

All the while, Michael and I remained in constant contact, He knew I loved him, I knew he loved me. But after three years of battling about our differences in just about everything, the puzzle pieces felt like we were forcing them to fit.

He was a punk rocker, I grew up with 80s music.

He read contemporary fiction, I'm more a Tolstoy and Chekhov gal.

He loved Indian food—I'm not a fan of curry.

On paper we didn't make sense, so I booked my plane ticket to Italy. All the while we continued to talk and see each other. We were supposed to go to Napa Valley for a wedding the same time of my trip, and in the eleventh hour, Mikey called me to ask if we I would consider cancelling Italy. He couldn't imagine his life without me.

It took three years, a death and a break up, but he finally realized all those differences were nothing compared to what we had in common. This would be the first of many hurdles our love would have to soar past, yet it was a monumental baby step.

Hell, it was a leap. A leap of faith that love didn't have to be the same kind my parents shared. It didn't have to hurt all the time. It would never be perfect, but it would be real, genuine.

That summer feels so long ago, and yet like yesterday. Time can be kind when you're counting the years pass together, then swift-handed and cruel when you're watching the days float away since you last held each other.

The picture above is from a walk I took over the Brooklyn Bridge a month or so after Mikey died. I'd been admiring the bright moon, full in the deep blue night. As I neared the Brooklyn side of the bridge, I looked up, and there it was, life summed up perfectly in just 19 characters "Uneven Surface Ahead".

It was uneven then, it's uneven now, and it's sure to be uneven again, even after this year of firsts is far behind me. And yet, I remind myself every day it has to get better. I remind myself I want to be happy, and even if I'm not today, I will be again someday.

Until then, I'll settle for what I do know—how to make cookies. I was at one of my best friend's houses this weekend, and walked in to find her making a batch of my favorite—chocolate chip. Can you believe it's been months since I made a batch myself? The last time is when Penny arrived in New York, back in September.

I watched Erin mix the dough with her wooden spoon, and the thought of warm chocolate chip cookies was akin to curling up in a comfy blanket and fuzzy slippers. It only felt natural to make them myself when I came home yesterday feeling blue. All the Perillo Girls were blue, having experienced the first snow fall without Mikey.

And how our moods all changed as I took out the chocolate chips. Virginia squealed, Isabella jumped up and down, and my heart fluttered a bit, feeling like it was alive, not just beating because it had no choice.

All that emotion from a humble cookie.

Tomorrow I'm visiting Mikey's old office for one last time, before BET packs up and moves to the Times Square area. I went to say hello a couple of months ago, but couldn't bear to pack his office then. Now it's the eleventh hour, again, and while his boss has offered numerous times to pack his things and send them to me, this is something I need to do. It's slowly closing one more chapter to the amazing life he lived.

Tomorrow will be a chocolate chip cookie kind of day, no doubt.

Whole Wheat Chocolate Chip Cookies

makes 48 three-inch cookies

I like to throw a generous amount of chopped nuts into my chocolate chip cookies, so feel free to toss a cup or two of toasted nuts into the batter with the chocolate chips. On this last batch, I decided to add walnuts and pecans. I was worried for a moment that this might be too much, but me and my little taste testers agreed that the combination was just right.

This is a riff on my original chocolate chip cookies, which has quite a devoted following in the twitterverse. I usually "dry-age" my cookie dough, you can read about the why and when in the original post, but desperate times call for cookies stat! I also swapped out all the white flour for whole wheat pastry flour and love the extra nutty-note it adds to the flavor. I'm even going to convince myself they're healthier so I can indulge in one or two extra.

4 cups (490 grams) whole wheat pastry flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon fleur de sel

2 cups (400 grams) granulated natural cane sugar

2 sticks (8 ounces) unsalted butter, softened

2 tablespoons (30 ml) molasses

3 large eggs, at room temperature

1 1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

12 ounces chocolate chips

Preheat the oven to 350º. Line baking sheets with parchment paper.

In a large bowl whisk together the flour, baking soda and fleur de sel.

In a separate, clean bowl, beat the butter, sugar and molasses until light and fluffy. Add the eggs and vanilla extract. Beat until well mixed. Add the flour mixture and mix on low speed until just combined. Stir in the chocolate chips.

Scoop or gently form dough into 1 1/2 to 2-inch balls and place 2 to 3 inches apart on prepared baking sheet. Bake for 15 minutes on the center rack of the oven. Remove from the oven and let cool on the pan for exactly 2 minutes. Transfer cookies to a rack to cool completely, or at least until cool enough to eat without burning your the roof of your mouth or tongue.

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slow-roasted tomato soup {day 166}

This past week, we started group therapy with a "feelings check-in". I said mine are a never-ending game of ping pong. Sure, I've had some very good, downright funny, moments throughout the days, weeks and months since Mikey died, but at the core lies a gaping hole where my deep-rooted happiness used to gently simmer.

I was anxious about starting group last week, but decided to take the leap because I convinced myself it was more for Isabella than myself. The group is organized by a non-profit called A Caring Hand, and is first and foremost to help children understand and manage their grief. Obviously, parents have a great impact on how their kids handle a traumatic event like this, so while the kids are in smaller groups, by age, the parents talk about parallel issues the kids are working on that week.

I went into group feeling confused. I really didn't think I had anything to offer anyone, since I barely know how to help myself on some days.

Yes, I dress. I make my kids breakfast, pack lunches and most days get them to school on time.

I do all the things I have to do to survive "on paper". But the broken bits of my heart—I don't know how to fix that. It often feels like my body is on life-support, the difference being I have compleyte brain function, and instead it's my heart that is being sustained so the rest of my body can function. And the whole "time heals" phrase, please just don't say it, because the further I get from August 7th, the further removed I am from when he was a living, breathing, magnificent man, friend, father and husband.

it's all happening...{day 155}

I look at this photo of us, sharing a kiss during a Cape Cod sunset, and it reassures me he was happy. People have a way of losing themselves in parenthood. It's a constant juggle, and often one half of the couple is left feeling they have more than their fair share of balls to keep in the air.

We were no exception.

But the way his eyes are closed in this picture, the way his lids rest gently on his lower lashes, they tell me he found peace with me. The same deep brown eyes that, when open, spoke volumes when not a single word was being uttered—they do the same thing in this moment captured, but they are closed.

Months after Michael and I started dating, I remember snuggling my head in his chest, and saying it was my favorite place in the world. I continued to tell him that as days turned into years, and the other night I found myself burrowing my head into his pillow, in search of the warmth that crook of his chest gave me for 16 years.

A few days after this past Thanksgiving, an email came from my literary agent. The subject was simple, with just two words—"an offer". My breath stopped momentarily. Then a tingling sensation spread to my fingertips. I happened to be in our old apartment at the time, working while the sitter was at our new home with the girls.

It felt very fitting, and surreal to call Stacey back and talk about the offer. That kitchen was where it all started, the seedlings of an idea nurtured, Michael's words always encouraging me to dream big. Now, I have the chance to move forward on my terms.

For the next two years, as I write two books for Running Press, there will be an invisible tether between my two lives—the one with Mikey, and the one without. I think these two amazing projects will allow me to weave a bridge with words to eventually feel like a whole person again.

I've been working on the cookbook proposal for two years. It is a part of the life we shared together. Mikey is even the one who came up with the title City Girl, Country Kitchen. I racked my brains for countless hours, and then in one five minute conversation I explained my goal for the book to him and the words City Girl, Country Kitchen rolled off tongue with such ease, I was envious.

Mikey, this is what I would've had waiting for you when you walked in the door as a toast to this very big dream we both shared. I love you baby.

The Celebration

serves one

I've been on a non-alcholic cocktail spree for a week now. I love how a drink can be complex, and filled with layers of flavors but nary a drop of liquor. Go for "top shelf" ingredients here, as you would if making a boozy elixir.

Freshly squeezed juice of 1 blood orange

1/2 teaspoon good quality maple syrup

2 dashes of orange bitters

Seltzer, to top off the glass

Burnt orange peel, for garnish

Fill a cocktail shaker with ice. Add the juice, syrup and bitters. Seal the top and shake vigorously until beads of sweat form on the outside of the shaker. Pour into an old fashioned cocktail or martini glass, garnish with the burnt orange peel to serve.

 

How to make a burnt orange

Just before serving the cocktail, light a match, or use a lighter, to release the essential oils from the orange peel. Do this by holding the peel with the white, pith side up, and waving the flame underneath over the outer skin of the orange peel.

toasted vanilla bean muesli {day 149}

I'm sitting here, pounding away at the keyboard when I should be sleeping. It's not too late, just shy of 11:00pm, but I had two back-to-back baking flops, and don't take defeat lightly.

I've also had muesli on my mind, and figured I could go out on a high note with a no-cook recipe before showering and tucking in.

But then I decided to toast the muesli, so there went the no-cook idea. Truth is I tried to like muesli a year ago, last January in fact. I decided to start 2011 on a healthy note. It was more about listening to my body—it was in need of a makeover. I decided to get more daring with whole grains thanks to inspiration from galleys of Heidi's Super Natural Everyday (that cookbook, by the way, is a must own). I began with an oat soda bread, wet my feet more using whole wheat pastry flour in these brown butter pear and meyer lemon muffins, oat ricotta pancakes, and cheddar rye muffins. I even started an affair with kale which is going strong to this day (this soup is still one of my favorites, and the girls love it too).

I spent the first quarter of 2011 eating vegetarian. I simply no longer craved meat, and lord did it drive Isabella crazy. The girl's first love, next to her daddy, is bacon. I still cooked meat, and bacon, for Mikey and the girls, I just made sure to include lots of vegetables and sides to satisfy my own tastes.

I also started waking up early to meditate and go running. In order to do that daily, it meant going to bed early, long before my night owl Mikey lay his head to rest beside me. I felt really good then, I remember it so clearly. It's as though someone had stuck a bobby pin into the reset button hidden in the recesses of my mind and body.

I've had this nagging feeling lately, and I know I need a jumpstart like that again.

Except everything is different now.

And yet I can still stay in control, right? I just have to shed the "all or nothing" attitude. I need to accept just because things are fundamentally different, I don't have to give up on that energizing, centering feeling I captured a year ago, albeit with a much heavier heart.

I know the meditation will be good for me. My nerves are a mess these days, and I often feel like I will burst at the seams. There is a lot going on right now, more than I want to share or burden your thoughts with. Some of it not so great, but the truth is some of it is really amazing. The only way I can manage it all is to take deep breaths—it's meditation my body is craving. My inner core needs to find a place of peacefulness since it was plunged into the unimaginable on August 7th.

For now, I'm not going to beat myself up for staying up too late, again. I'm going to give myself a break because writing here offers me so much peace and solace. You may not realize it, but if I had more hours in the day I would answer every one of your emails and comments personally. It pains me to see how you all take the time to care and check in, yet I don't have the moments needed to say two simple words personally: thank you.

I can see a glimmer of my old self peeking out in this post, as I've completely digressed from I what I set out to do—share a new recipe, so back to the muesli!

Tried as I might last January, I couldn't fall hard and fast for muesli—it was meh, compared to granola or poached eggs. But still, it's been on my mind, and as I was reading through some of Heidi's older posts, I came across one with a recipe for toasted muesli. The recipe was from Michele Cranston's The Essential Guide to the Kitchen, and while it sounded intriguing it had too many ingredients.

I need simple right now, and my mind needs easy. The recipe did give me an idea, though, on how I could change my muesli from meh to magical—toast the oats and nuts, well seeds in this case. It was an easy step, but I had a very good feeling about it.

Hard to believe, but my pantry is in need of restocking, so there was no fancy dried fruit to use. My choices were a pitiful amount of dried cherries, which would've been my first choice, cranberries or raisins. Since I love a bowl of hot oatmeal with plump raisins, I figured they'd make a nice pairing with my muesli—I fully intended to add some steamed milk to it in the morning.

On first glance, this seems like a humble bowl of oats, pumpkin seeds and raisins, an oddball combination really. A little flare in the form of vanilla bean, cinnamon and fleur de sel, give this muesli street cred, though, and in my book it's a good first step for finding the old me under the new circumstances.

Toasted Vanilla Bean Muesli

makes 4 cups

made on Tuesday, January 3, 2011—day 148

Feel free to make this based on what you have on hand or like. Swap in an equal amount of your favorite nut or seed for the pumpkin seeds, and same goes for the raisins. Next time, I plan on adding a tablespoon of flax seed too, and sesame seeds would no doubt add a nice crunch.

Oh, if you wondering how muesli is different from granola, it wasn't obvious to me at first either. Then I realized a key difference is sweetener. Granola is usually sweetened with syrup, honey or sugar. Muesli relies on the sweetness from the dried fruit and a little drizzle of maple syrup or honey when you serve it, usually with milk or yogurt. Most muesli recipes don't toast the oats either, but we already know how I feel about that approach.

One last note, if you want to make this dairy free or vegan, then try swapping in canola or grapeseed oil for the butter, and skip the melting step. While I haven't tried it this way, I'm pretty confident it'll work well (and leave a comment if you do, so we can all learn together!).

4 tablespoons (2 ounces) unsalted butter

3 cups (319 grams) old fashioned oats (not quick cooking)

1 cup (141 grams) raw pumpkin seeds

1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise and seeds scraped

1/4 teaspoon (1 gram) fleur de sel

1/2 teaspoon (2 grams) ground cinnamon

1 cup (130 grams) raisins

Turn the oven on to 300ºF. Place the butter into an oven-safe ramekin or small pot and place in the oven to melt while it preheats; remove and set aside.

In a deep bowl, combine the oats, pumpkin seeds, vanilla bean seeds, fleur de sel and cinnamon. Stir to mix well. Pour the melted butter over the mixture, and stir until well coated. Spread the oat mixture onto an 11" X 17" rimmed baking sheet.

Bake for 25 minutes, stirring once halfway through. Remove from oven, stir in the raisins, and set pan on a wire rack until completely cooled. Store in a tightly sealed jar for up to one week.

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.

spiced scented cranberry sauce {day 106}

Thanksgiving preparation has officially started, and I wasn't sure what to expect as I set out to make the cranberry sauce. I'd bought the cranberries last week, and there they sat in the fruit drawer of my fridge. I'd stare at them each time I opened the door, and think "maybe tomorrow the mood will strike to make it".

Well, Thanksgiving is only three days away, and this year I'm blinking in disbelief at how fast this fall has gone by. I go to bed each night thinking of how I found him when I heard he had collapsed. I replay this scene over in my mind before I go to sleep to remind myself that this is really my life, my reality.

I've written about being thankful, and I encourage the girls every day to remember how fortunate we are in spite of this sad truth. For now, my goal is a short term one—get through Thanksgiving. A reader who has also suffered this kind of loss, commented that the anticipation leading up to the "day", be it an anniversary, birthday, or holiday is sometimes harder than the day itself. I've hit two big "days" so far, and I believe that to be true too.

So, I'm glad I didn't turn my back on Thanksgiving this year. As I poured the cranberries into the pot and measured out the spices, I felt normal. I felt like the old "Jennifer". The one who did these things without blinking an eye before August 7th.

Spice Scented Cranberry Sauce

Makes about one quart

A few of you asked about my recipe, so I figured I'd share it with you again. I created it two years ago, and it was featured on the blog I used to write for Relish Magazine last November.

One 12 ounce bag fresh cranberries, rinsed and picked over

1/2 cup water

1/2 cup granulated sugar

3/4 cup packed brown sugar (light or dark is fine)

1/2 teaspoon sea salt

1/4 teaspoon ground ginger

1/8 teaspoon allspice

1/8 teaspoon ground cinnamon

Freshly ground black pepper, to taste

Add all the ingredients to a heavy-bottomed 2-quart pot, and stir to combine. Cover pot and bring mixture to a boil over medium-high heat (keep a close eye because if it boils over it'll make a mess of your stove—I speak from experience and too much multitasking!).

Remove lid, reduce heat to a simmer and let cook, stirring occasionally, until thick and jam-like, about 15 to 17 minutes. Let cool to room temperature or chill before serving. May be prepared and stored in a glass container 3 to 4 days in advance.

preserving cherries {part three}

I promise you we're getting closer to that cherry slushy I keep promising you. I must confess, this whole idea of posting a series on cherries seemed like a good idea when I first started out. The problem is I get easily distracted by all the new finds at the farmers' market each week. I'm also a little distracted after the past weekend's festivities. Those of you who made it to Big Summer Potluck this weekend know what I'm talking about, and if you didn't, then I've got some lovely people to introduce you to soon.

But back to the cherries, before the season ends.

This week's theme for Summer Fest 2011 is...drum roll please...cherries! So not only do you get the joy of making this conserve, but you get a whole list of links for more cherry recipes too. It's a win-win, when you think about it.

Oh, what is a conserve a few of you are asking, right? Don't worry I had no clear idea either until I came across this recipe for strawberry conserve from the Canal House Cooking folks in the June issue of Bon Appetit—you know, the one with Gwyneth on the cover (and while I know there are naysayers, I for one, really love the direction Bon Appetit is going in editorially).

Again, though, back to the beloved cherries.

I've been playing a lot with this method of making conserves. In fact, I haven't made a single jar of real jam since the start of strawberry season. The idea of simply slicing fruit, sprinkling it with sugar and letting it take a time out while the sugar slowly coaxes out the fruit's natural juices is just too easy for words. Why, I ask, would I want to deal with jam making when my time and attention can be better spent on great new things like this?

Okay, maybe I haven't abandoned my microwave jam method for good. Perhaps this is a just a phase, and I just need to get this obsession with making conserves out of my system. For now, there is no end in sight. I've put up jars of apricot-lemon thyme conserves, blueberry conserves, strawberry-rosemary conserves—and peaches are next in my path of conservation. Get it? Oh, nevermind. Just go buy some cherries, and make this conserve—slushies are in our future.

I promise.

p.s. a reader asked about methods for pitting cherries last week. I use this OXO cherry pitter, and think of Olga every time I do since she gave it to me. Does anyone have another technique to share?

p.p.s. The picture above is of those cherry slushies I keep talking about. Can you believe in all my busyness I haven't actually taken a picture of the conserves? I'll pop one into this post as soon as I have a chance. UPDATE 8/4/11—I made another batch of conserves today—it's the second picture in this post!

Cherry Conserves

makes 2 cups

print this recipe

Delicate fruits like apricots and strawberries surrender their juices in just 2 to 3 hours. Cherries are more stubborn, so this recipe is a good two-part project. Set the bowl up with the cherries to macerate before going to bed, and you'll be ready to finish the recipe when you wake up.

2 cups (9 1/2 ounces/269 grams) cherries, pitted

1/2 cup (4 ounces/100 grams) natural cane sugar

Two pieces (19 grams) of orange rind, each 3 1/2 inches long

1/4 teaspoon almond extract

Slice the cherries in half and add them to 2-quart pot. Sprinkle the sugar on top, then add the orange rind and extract. Stir with a spoon until the fruit is well-coated with the sugar.

Cover the bowl with a flat dish or piece of plastic wrap and let sit for 6 to 8 hours, until the cherries have slightly broken down and released their juices. Bring the mixture to a boil over medium heat, and cook for 2 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the cherries to clean, sterilized glass canning jars.

Reduce the heat to a steady simmer, with bubbles popping gently to the surface. Cook until the juices reduce into a thick syrup, 5 to 10 minutes depending on how much juice the cherries released. Evenly spoon the syrup over the cherries in the jars. Cover the jars with clean, sterilized lids and screw on the rings. Process them in a hot water bath for 10 minutes for long-term storage, or let them cool and store in the fridge for up to one month.

Summer Fest is a season long, bi-weekly event where Food Network editors team up with blogs to share tips and recipes about what's available at the market. Join in the tasty fun and share your favorite cherry recipe link in the comments below, and be sure to check out more cherry-inspired recipes from our Summer Fest friends.

 What’s Gaby Cooking: Cherry Chocolate Truffle Ice Cream
Big Girls Small Kitchen: Cherry Cornmeal Cake
Cooking With Elise: Roasted Cherries with Lavender and Almond Panna Cotta
Daydreamer Desserts: Cherry Crumble Cake
Ingredient Challenge Monday: Black Forest Ice Cream Done Two Ways
Spices and Aroma: Dilkush with Cherries
And Love It Too: Cherry-Pecan Chicken Salad
FN Dish: The Ultimate Cherry Pie
Daily*Dishin: Simple French Cherry Clafouti
Glory Foods: Collard Greens and Cherry Reduction
Virtually Homemade: Dark Chocolate Cherry Kuchen
The Sensitive Epicure: Gluten-Free Cherry Almond Clafouti
Cooking Channel: Very Cherry Sangria
Napa Farmhouse 1885: Cherry Balsamic Vinegar
Mooshu Jenne: Rainier Cherry Panna Cotta
Food2: A Very Cherry Recipe Round-Up
Virtually Vegan Mamma: Fresh Cherry and Almond Scones
CIA Dropout: Italian Cherry Cake
Sweet Life Bake: Honey-Tequila Pickled Cherries
Cooking With Books: Cherry Cooler

preserving cherries {part two}

I lost my maraschino virginity about seven years ago.

I remember the day, as any girl would one that changes her life forever. I'd been browsing through Barnes & Noble when I saw a new cocktail book, and immediately recognized the name. It was by Nick Mautone, the guy who gave me my break in the New York City restaurant scene. I saw an ad in the New York Times back in 1999 for a hostess and reservationist opening at Gramercy Tavern. I'd been personal cheffing for a year, and decided it would be a good idea to learn some front of house skills to roundout my knowledge of what it takes to feed people.

Restaurant experiences are about so much more than the meal. I appreciate this now even more when a sitter is on the hook for $15 an hour.

But I digress.

Gramercy Tavern, GT as everyone who works there comes to call it, holds so many special memories for me. I've worked with some of the best chefs and restaurateurs NYC the world has to offer, and no other restaurant has replicated the feeling of being part of that team.

It was there that I also came to appreciate the art of cocktail making. Back then Nick was the General Manager and always had an amazing twist to add. The Ginger Tonic started with a homemade base of ginger-steeped simple syrup. Bloody Mary's—Mikey's favorite brunch drink, was reinvented as a Pickle Mary with housemade bread and butter pickles chopped up, and swirled in.

By time Nick's book came out, I was onto working with Drew Nieporent for a brief stint running his now-shuttered bakery in Tribeca. But those cocktails left a lasting impression, and I bought the book so I could start making them at home.

As I flipped through the pages, his recipe for maraschino cherries stopped me in my tracks. In all the years I'd been going to GT, even after I stopped working there, I never remembered ordering a cocktail with those cherries.There was clearly a lot of lost time to make up for here.

I've pretty much stuck with his recipe as written, with a tweak here and there. I nixed the star anise, wanting to keep my flavors a little less exotic. Recently, I came across pure black cherry juice at my local supermarket, it's this one from R.W. Knudsen, and decided to swap it in for the grape juice in Nick's recipe for a more intense cherry flavor. Although Nick calls for frozen bing cherries, I've been using this recipe to preserve the fresh bing one's coming in from the Pacific Northwest right now. If you planned ahead and already pitted and froze some cherries like I mentioned in my last post, then just add 2 to 3 more minutes to the cooking time.

Speaking of cooking time, if you're planning to can these using a hot water bath, then I suspect you should undercook the cherries since the boiling water will cook them a bit inside the glass jars.

More things to do with your cherries:

How to Freeze Fresh Cherries

Sweet Cherry Hand Pies

homemade maraschino cherries

makes one quart

adapted from Nick Mautone's book Raising the Bar

1/2 cup (125 ml) water

1/2 cup (125 ml) black cherry or concord grape juice

1/2 cup (4 ounces) natural cane sugar

Freshly juice (3 tablespoons/1 1/2 ounces/50 ml) of 1 lemon

1/2 teaspoon pure almond extract

2 cups (9 1/2 ounces/266 grams) sweet bing cherries, pitted

Add the water, cherry or grape juice and sugar to a 2-quart pot. Bring to a boil over high heat and let cook 1 to 2 minutes until the sugar is completely dissolved. Reduce the heat to medium-low. Add the lemon juice, extract and cherries. Cook 5 minutes to let the cherries absorb the flavors, then remove the pot from the heat.

Transfer to a clean sterilized jar and process in a hot water bath for 10 minutes for long-term storage, or just pop the jar in the fridge if you plan on using them within one month.