A while ago, my husband’s grandmother (Bubbie) shared with us some of her Le Creuset pots. We accepted the pots without hesitation as we only had one that we got as a wedding gift, they’re super expensive when new, and we love using ours. When Sophia started eating solids, I made them almost always in one of Bubbie’s pots as it was one of the smallest ones we had. At first, it was just a happy coincidence that I needed a smaller pot and now it has become a happy tradition. A happy yellow pot that Sophia will grow up to love and cherish as it will mean homemade, warm and comforting meals. Today’s menu: peach and summer corn soup.
{this moment} – A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.
I probably should have written about this earlier, but time flies when spent outside in the warm summer days… Pancakes are a sure favorite around our house. In fact, there are few things that are better than feather light buttermilk pancakes doused in sweet maple syrup except maybe spicy breakfast burritos. Hubby and I cook these up once in a while for a special occasion breakfast/lunch –> brunch. My in-laws were visiting us on the way back from a trip two weekends ago and we decided that was reason enough to whip out an old favorite. In a nutshell: a tortilla filled with an egg omelet, guacamole, cheese, pico de gallo and small fried potatoes. In reality, it is the perfect food as it contains sweet, savory, spicy and crispy components. It is a special occasion food because it requires a fair amount of dicing and once everything is cut, cooked and served, it disappears off the table faster than you can blink. That also explains why we didn’t even snap a finished wrapped tortilla product.
I finally had the chance to make ahead a few of Sophia’s meals. Until now, I would whip up her lunches and dinners à la minute. However, I find it difficult to whip up a healthy and delicious meal for our little eater especially since she sometimes is in the mood for something other than what is on the menu. While hubby and I agree that we will not give into Sophia’s temperamental eating habits, we are being more accommodating until she can speak her mind. Once she can talk, she’s eating what’s for dinner!
I also promised myself that I wouldn’t turn into my own mother (not that there is anything wrong with that) and serve my child soup every single day of her life. And this is exactly what is happening: I am turning into my mother and serving my child her daily dose of delicious soup. So, this past Friday I purchased potatoes, carrots, zucchini, broccoli, spinach and corn and my mom brought her chicken soup. I cooked the potatoes and zucchini in the chicken soup and then put that through a little child grinder not unlike this one. I put chicken meat through the same food mill, mixed in enough chicken brother to bring everything to the right consistency and proportioned everything into little ice trays. Variety is the spice of life and so I made another variation of the soup with just chicken and broccoli. While putzing with the chicken soups, I steamed spinach, carrots and corn and pureed those separately. I froze those off as well and they’ll become welcome sides to the soup during the coming weeks.
Here is hoping that our little diner enjoys her gourmet meals!
… the loss of our beloved tomato fruits from the top of our tomato plants. The only thing that can help console our sadness is the knowledge that they must have been great eats for the herd of deer that roam our neighborhood and the adjoining state park. I hope that the deer made their feast complete by nibbling a little on the nasturtium and chives. I mean, if they are to go to all that trouble to push our garden fence in, they should at least make their meal memorable. Alas, next year, we’ll make our garden and fence larger. Lesson learned!
{this moment} – A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.
Inspired by early summer, beautiful weather and enabled by my wonderful Mother-in-Law who visited and played with Sophia, I took on the challenge of making Pirozhki for the first time ever. Since Late Spring/Early Summer is in the air and strawberries are sweet, the rhubarb is tart they together will comprise my Saturday pirozhki filling. The dough was a yeast-based dough with butter (what could be better than puffy, buttery dough?) and the filling was just diced strawberries, rhubarb and a bit of sugar. I am still practicing my crimping skills… maybe a few hundred more batches and my parties will be uniform…
As Sophia is still too little to really enable us to travel to far and exotic destinations, but a vacation was an absolute must, we decided to have a stay-cation. That is, we planned not to go anywhere (far) and enjoyed just being out and about locally. My parents offered for us to come up so that they could babysit in the evenings and we could go out and catch up with friends. We accepted without hesitation. The Friday before we left, I got an email that my local farm opened with pick-your-own strawberries and tart cherries. I happily ran over to pick some for the road and as a hostess gift for my parents. Ten pounds of strawberries later (with obvious signs of heat exhaustion not to mention sunburn, I opted for the pre-picked tart cherries).
Tart cherries hold a special place in my heart. My mother’s mother had a beautiful fruit and vegetable garden. Aside from apples, pears, apricots, peaches, strawberries, red and black currants, rhubarb, gooseberries, and rasberries, she also grew tart cherries. Tart cherry season meant one thing when I was little: Tart Cherry Vareniki. Hot out of the water, tart, sweet, oozing with syrup — there are very few dishes that are better in the early summer. We used to pick them ourselves, gallons of cherries, their red juice squirting everywhere in our little hands. They were probably a little worse for the wear and fewer in numbers by the time they got to the house when we picked them as kids, but that made them perfect for varenniki.
Anyway, apparently tart cherries aren’t as available here. In fact, I’ve only seen them at farmer’s markets in Philadelphia and at the local farm. We’ve begged my mom to make the varenniki with them for years and even used hubby as a ploy. My sister, her husband, my dad and I would say “Come on mom, E. hasn’t had these, EVER…. don’t you want to show off your culinary prowess with dumplings?” She would always say “Get me real tart cherries, come help and I will do it”. Well, the day had finally come. Too hot, tired and dirty from a very wet strawberry field, I picked up two quarts of cherries and ran quickly to my car as if the cashier at the farm was going to demand her cherries back. To excited, I called my mom and told her of my acquisition. She was in disbelief and probably slightly disgruntled but very much up to the challenge. So, in true multi-cultural fashion, we decided to make them for Memorial Day to supplement the remainder of our pretty typical BBQ menu. Since I acquired the cherries and essentially was the cause of this, I volunteered to pit the cherries. Two hours later (my mother was so sure she would NEVER make these here in the States that she does not own a cherry pitter), I was done albeit already ready to be done with cooking. I helped make the dough and learned how to form them. You’ll see in the pictures that mine are the much uglier and misshapen and my mom’s are beautiful and uniform. Nonetheless, they were D-E-L-I-C-I-O-U-S and hubby declared that they were amazing and worth waiting for. All in all, not too difficult to make, but they disappear into hungry bellies much faster than it takes to make them. I’ll make them again, and again and always remember my childhood summer memories as I cook them. When she is older, I’ll tell Sophia the stories of my childhood over a plate of varenniki.
{this moment} – A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.
As I sit down in a Chinese restaurant and start to look over the usually large and comprehensive menu, my eyes are immedeately drawn to the “Chef’s Sauce” or the “Chef’s Special Sauce” items. Usually, different proteins are offered in the special sauce that I suppose is meant to be the specialty of the house. That magic sauce is often what draws people to a restaurant, although I must confess that I rarely every order anything in the special sauce.
At home, in my mother’s kitchen, there are many things that are the house specialties I crave and for which I come home for. It has become a tradition that when my parents expect us for a visit, they call and ask what we’d like to eat. Usually, I don’t make many requests because as I put it “beggars aren’t choosers” and everything is typically delicious. However, on occasion when we’ve stayed away long or when I crave comfort, I request “Sous“. In Russian, it simply means “sauce”, but it is much more than that. It is a dish onto itself, a complete meal that leaves me stuffed to the brims with content and happiness. To this day, I do not know if whether I love “Sous” because of the dish or because my mom made it.
What is it? you may ask. Well, if you remember, I spent the first nine years of my life in Baku, Azerbaijan. There, my mother learned local specialties and among them is a dish they call “Sous”. The dish is essentially a summer-time chicken stew with eggplants, tomatoes, and red peppers. Through the modern miracle (or plague) of hothouses and refrigeration, we now make it year-round. It is a one-pot wonder which is easy to assemble and cook. The flavors are delicate, and the chicken and vegetables are succulent. I’ve gotten the recipe and tried to cook it on my own, but even though delicious, it does not compare to the genuine article.
