Bad Home Cooking

Impress yourself

"You made that?"

I had half a loaf of chocolate-chip banana bread, neatly wrapped in plastic, held aloft as I rummaged in the refrigerator for milk. Luke had come by to see the kids. Per normal bedtime routine, tea was in the making. And as per usual, where there is tea (and two nits), there is something sweet to dunk into it. Hence the chocolate-chip banana bread I'd made a few days earlier.

Because I've known Luke for 12 years, I caught every ounce of meaning in that surprised exclamation. The skepticism, the arched eyebrow, which mostly boiled down to, and just when did you start baking things that look like actual store-bought baked goods? Luke has endured the worst of the worst. Little wonder he was taken aback.

But I'll take a compliment, even a back-handed one, anywhere I find it. "Yes," I smiled. "I made it. All by myself."

And truth be told I was a little taken aback at how good this bread came out myself. When I set out to make it, typically, I had only half the ingredients on hand; only two bananas, no granulated sugar, only super-pure, hard core cinnamon Kim had sent me. Somehow it rose above my incompetence. And the result was a really pretty kick-ass chocolate-chip banana bread that keeps well in the fridge. For, like, weeks!

Food blog fanatics won't be surprised to learn that I pulled this one off of the lovely Molly's always delicious food blog, Orangette. She in turn, gives credit to another blogger for the recipe. Who knows where it all really started. As long as we're grateful, and God knows I am. Here is the recipe:

pre-heat the oven to 375. Butter or spray an 8-inch square pan. I didn't have one, so I used a small loaf pan instead.

3 very ripe bananas (medium to large.)
2 large eggs
1 ½ cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1 cup granulated sugar
1 tsp. baking soda
2 tsp. ground cinnamon
1 tsp. pure vanilla extract
1 cup semisweet chocolate chips

For topping:
2 Tbsp. granulated sugar
1/8 tsp. ground cinnamon

Mash the bananas with a fork (I have some I can lend you) in a medium mixing bowl. Add the eggs and beat well to combine. Your kids can help you with this, especially if they're young boys and like the gross-out factor. Add the flour, sugar, baking soda, cinnamon, and vanilla, and stir to mix. Add ¾ cup of the chocolate chips, and stir briefly. Pour the batter into the prepared pan, and set aside.

In a small bowl, stir together the topping ingredients. Sprinkle the mixture evenly over the batter in the pan, and top with the remaining ¼ cup chocolate chips.

Bake for 35-40 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Let cool in the pan on a wire rack for at least 15 minutes before serving.

Molly notes: This bread, like many banana sweets, freezes beautifully. Sometimes I even like to eat frozen, cut into thick, cold, chewy slices. It’s the perfect snack for a hot summer afternoon. I took this suggestion. Yeah Baby!

Mine came out a moist, delightful little loaf, looking for all the world like a store-bought confection. The children ate it without comment, which is generally a good sign, and left smudgy, chocolate fingerprints all over my kitchen wall.

Hello Dal-y

My day job involves writing and editing about business. On Tuesday the Federal Reserve cut interest rates by half a percentage point, far more than the quarter point cut Wall Street and other financial pundits were expecting.

I know you don't care. But I get sucked in. It's a byproduct of the gig.

I also want you to know that a newly lowered interest rate has no effect at all on my ability to cook.

To wit: Last night I took it into my head to make a nice chana dal, using lentils I bought in Little India over the weekend (I also bought some bindi. And some burfi. Say the latter with a little roll of the tongue when you get to the middle of the word. Now, try channeling Homer Simpson: "Mmmmm. Burfi....")

Back in the day, when I lived in New York City and worked long into the night, I would run out at dinnertime and get me a big tub of chana dal from the Indian take-out place down the street. Oh, those chickpeas in a masala sauce, dumped over a bowl of saffron bashmati rice, oh, how they sustained me.

I have never been able to replicate that taste, of course. But that has never stopped me from trying, repeatedly, over the years.

This chana dal was not from chickpeas, but small yellow lentils. The recipe in Madhur Jaffrey's Indian Cooking says that of all the dals, this one has perhaps the "meatiest" taste, and that at its best, it also has a gentle sweetness. Given my level of ability, I couldn't hope for any sweetness, but I figured I could go for meaty.

Here's the recipe, (Indian Cooking, page 127)

1 1/2 cups chana dal (you really can only find these in Indian stores. Otherwise, yellow lentils will do, but they will break down differently.

5 cups water

1/2 tsp ground turmeric

2 thin slices of un-peeled ginger (whoops, I peeled them. No matter.)

1 tsp. salt

1/4 tsp garam masala

3 tbspns ghee or veggie oil

1/2 tsp. whole cumin seeds

1 or 2 cloves garlic, chopped

1/4-1/2 tsp red chili powder

Wash the dal and pick through it until the water runs clear. Put it and 5 cups of water into a heavy pot and bring to a boil.  Remove any surface scum with a small sieve. Add the ginger and turmeric and cover, leaving the lid just slightly ajar, and boil gently for a little more than an hour or until the dal is tender.

Stir every five minutes or so during the last half hour of cooking to prevent sticking. The water will cook/absorb away. Remove the ginger slices. Add the salt and the garam masala.Stir to mix.

Heat the ghee or veggie oil in a small frying pan. When hot, put in the cumin seeds. A few seconds later, throw in the garlic. Stir and fry until the garlic pieces are lightly browned - just a moment, really. Put the chili powder in and immediately remove the pan from the heat and pour the contents into the pot with the dal. Stir.

Serve over bashmati rice.

Meaty? If you like your meat on the dryish, chalky side, sure. Probably through my inattention, too much liquid was boiled off/absorbed, and my chana dal was pretty dry. I might add a cup more water next time, just because I prefer my dal on the soupy side.  Also, I accidentally dumped half a teaspoon of garam masala into the mix when the recipe calls for a fourth of a teaspoon. So my chana dal was kinda spicy, too. 

But it was edible. And as faithful readers of this blog know, that is a benchmark I am only too happy to reach, when I can. The kids were asleep in any case, and there was no one to feed but myself. I even finished up the leftovers the next day.

Perhaps I'll try this again when the Fed next cut the rate, sometime in October, they're saying. Unless the greenback is completely worthless by then in which case maybe I'll relocate to an ashram and learn how to make dal from the masters.

Roasted ambitions

There are days when even the simplest of tasks are beyond my skill set.

Yesterday was one of those days. Day three of ministering to two kids home sick with a vicious stomach flu. Tons of work piling up. No time to exercise. Boyfriend problems. PMS.

And I pick that evening to make a dish involving roast vegetables.

Bad. Bad idea. I should really have drank a bottle of wine and called it a night.

But visions of orzo with roast vegetables and feta cheese just danced in my head. Joey told me about this recipe weeks ago, and I've been ruminating on it ever since. A simple dish and the perfect antidote to the day's hassles. A reason to unclench my teeth. Plus a good reason to use my $7 block of glorious, creamy, tangy Israeli feta cheese.

The problems were manifest from the start. As there was no written recipe, Joey had described its ingredients and how to assemble them to me last week over dinner, and I had duly written them down, on the back of a receipt I found in my purse.

When I went to retrieve said receipt last night it was not there, although the other 47 slips of paper were all happily in place and easily identifiable. I had no choice but to try and recreate the recipe from memory.

Must you roll your eyes so? You read this blog voluntarily.

Next problem: A quick look around the kitchen revealed that I did not, in fact, have many of the ingredients I should probably have. No chicken stock to cook the orzo in, for example. I did find a can of vegetable stock, but the arguments pro and con over using it shut down my brain and I went to cut vegetables instead.

I had zucchini squash and asparagus, and garlic, and onions. No peppers. No carrots, nor potatoes. I chopped them up in pieces far too big to go with an orzo, then cut them again. Hope over experience.

I cranked the oven up to 450. I turned on the timer. I couldn't find my roasting dish so I set the veggies all out on a cookie sheet covered in tinfoil, brushed them with olive oil, dosed them with black pepper and sea salt. I shoved them deep into the oven. Then I went upstairs to stare into space.

I smelled the burning before I heard the timer ring.

You should have seen it. I can't even show you a photo. Draw your conclusions from the one I have used.

That temperature, for that amount of time, would have made lovely roast potatoes and carrots. Zucchini will shrivel into little black squares. And asparagus can be burnt away to nothing, apparently. The garlic head was lovely, though. I spread four or five cloves onto some bread and ate it, hoping to avoid the flu that had felled my children.

In the end, I aborted the mission. I didn't even try to make the orzo. And in the smartest thing I did all night, I called out for Chinese, ordering a hot and sour soup with known healing properties.

That and a cold beer made the night a little better.

Julie has two forks

There are two kinds of blogs: Those that reflect, opine, or ponder on the news and events of the day, and those that go blah blah blah. I like to think my blog does both.

My latest reflection: How does a woman reach a certain age, mother children, hold down a job and keep her car reasonably well maintained and still manage to find herself with only two forks in the household?

Two forks. One. Two. When last month I had maybe a dozen forks of various makes and vintage, a week ago I opened the drawer to find only two still in existence. None in the sink. None on the counter. None in the fridge (don't ask). None misplaced in any other likely drawer. Being a mother, I started a secondary search: Under the couches, out in the garden, under the beds. A physical body search of the children yielded nothing.

I had two forks in my household. There are three people living here. Right away you can see the problem.

The morning I realized I had only two forks, my daughter had a playdate spend the night. The next morning I made pancakes. My daughter, her friend, and my son, sat down to eat.

"I don't have a fork," said my son.

I quickly realized my dilemma. I searched my utensil drawer for something else. A creative plan B. They say the ability to use tools is what separates us from the lower animals.

"How about chopsticks?" I offered.

Hungry seven-year-old boys generally don't have the best sense of humor. I dug around some more. deep in the drawer I found a baby fork. It was tiny. It had a green plastic handle with a little dog on it. But it was a fork. I held it out to my son, who appeared to consider it briefly. Until the two older girls snickered.

I told the boy he'd just have to wait until one of the girls finished her breakfast, and he left the room with a look of profound insult. The girls proceeded to savor their pancakes at great length, and when they were done, the third pancake was cold.

That night I told Tony about my two forks, and he got up without another word (he did shake his head a little) and drove to Target to buy me two sets of new flatware.

I now have many forks. I still can't cook very well.

Blah blah blah.