This Little Piggy

Posted on June 5, 2011 by marigold

The first sleepover camp I went to was in Rochester, VT. Skyhollow Farm was a mini-farm with chores–caring for chickens, turkeys, one calf, horses (hotly contested) and pigs as part of the daily schedule.  The pigs  (three, what else?) were cute and you could practically see them gain weight over the summer. We did not discuss their future which, I’m sure, was to end up as pork chops and bacon (but think of Wilbur in Charlotte’s Web who lived happily ever after.) We also did not discuss the source of dinner protein in my home where mentioning what the lamb chop had been before it arrived at the table was a sure way to be asked to leave the room.

Fast forward to Memorial Day which marks the start of our cooking out season in Vermont.  For dinner guests on Friday, we served what we refer to as Pork a la Peche, although the New York Times, source of the recipe, called it more prosaically Grilled Pork Chops with Glazed Peaches.

The Times recipe called for a charcoal grill; mine is gas so the instructions are modified to make it work.  Ideally, use fresh peaches (even hard ones because the heat cooks them) but, in a pinch, I’ve used canned. The only peaches I could find last weekend were on the small side and a challenge to pit–bigger ones are worth the hunt. Go piggy…

 

Rib pork chops

Pork a la Peche (Grilled Pork Chops with Glazed Peaches)

This amount serves 4.  To increase, double or triple the number of chops and do the same with amounts of other ingredients.

2 T butter, melted

¼ cup molasses (buying this always  makes me feel very Little House on the Prairie-ish)

Juice of one lime

4 peaches halved and pitted

1 T olive oil

4 1 ½ inches thick pork chops –rib or loin

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

 

Mix butter and molasses together.  Add lime juice and set aside.

Make a fire in your grill and get it hot. Oil the cut side of the peaches. Sprinkle chops and peaches generously with salt and pepper.

Put peaches on grill flat side down and cook for five minutes.  Flip peaches and move them to a warm area on grill, preferably where they are not directly over the fire. Baste with sauce.

Put chops on the hot part of the grill and cook about ten minutes one side, eight on the other for medium. (To check degree of doneness, cut a tiny slit in the meaty part of one chop and take a peak. We like them with the tiniest glow of pink; you can always add another few minutes of cooking time.) Baste chops on top side when first put on grill and again once they are turned over.

Arrange cooked chops on platter and surround with peaches. Baste all once again.  If you have extra sauce, put it in small dish and serve alongside.

Pork a la Peche with a side of asparagus

I served the pork with steamed asparagus and orzo with butter and lots of freshly ground Parmesan mixed in. For dessert we had a Lemon Lulu from Manchester’s Mother Myrick bakery, (to my mind, one of the the ultimate lemon cakes), with vanilla ice cream laced with raspberry swirl, fresh blueberries and raspberries and homemade raspberry sauce.

 

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Elephant One/Rhino Zero

Posted on June 2, 2011 by marigold

Sorry readers–when last I tried to post got into technical difficulties.

Some years ago, my husband and I went to the Gaida Wildlife Camp in southern Nepal. The terai is the name given to Nepal’s southern plains that are very close to India.  One section of Gaida serves as an elephant R&R station where working females come to chill for a few months. (The rest of the year they haul teak and other heavy burdens.)

Gaida Wildlife Camp, Royal Chitwan National Park

Our guide took us to the corral to meet the six resident lady pachyderms and their mahouts, the men who look after them. The mahouts were busily preparing elephant “M & Ms.”—large leaf-wrapped packages of dense nutrients including enormous vitamin pills. An elephant in the wild eats between 200-400 pounds of vegetation a day depending on its size and how active it is, so the packages served as elephant Ensure to help the girls regain their strength.

We tossed the packages to the elephants who snarffled them up with their trunks.

Gobble, gobble

 

Then a mahout demonstrated how to get onto an elephant via the animal’s uplifted foot which transported him upwards like a living elevator. Once at forehead level, he gracefully stepped to the elephant’s head, turned around and sat behind her ears.

“Now it’s your turn,” he announced. “Who will try?”More guts than brains, I volunteered. Up went the foot but when I got as high as the elephant’s eye,  panic struck.

“Climb up to her head,” the mahout directed  I was so frozen, it took what seemed like an hour to inch my way over her broad forehead. Finally, I made it but ended up face to face with the mahout instead of behind him.  Slowly, I maneuvered until—eureka– I was seated where I was supposed to be. The whole episode was a hoot for the audience below and it’s too bad it wasn’t videoed. Would have been pretty funny on YouTube.

Then four of us rode another elephant seated in a wooden howdah

 

 

strapped onto her back. Thrilled with the day’s events, of course I signed up for a solo elephant ride the next morning and this is what transpired:

“Not to worry, Mem Sahib,” the mahout said. “No problem, positive.”

I wasn’t quite as positive as we were sitting on an elephant’s back at five a.m. in southern Nepal’s Royal Chitwan National Park and the ground was a long way down. My only other elephant ride had been the day before with three other visitors where we’d been securely packed into a howdah, a wooden seat a bit like a baby stroller minus wheels. This morning there was no howdah, only a flimsy rope tied behind the enormous, flapping ears of Sana, my elephant.

“Put legs under rope,” said the mahout, demonstrating. I did my best to comply, figuring that this man, who had cared for Sana since she was born and would be with her until either she or he died, knew what he was doing.

Sana’s back was broad as a tabletop and her gait relatively smooth for such an enormous animal; however, the rub of her wirery hair against my legs made me regret wearing shorts.

We walked into the jungle.  Whenever a branch threatened to smack me, the mahout spoke softly to the elephant who responded either by uprooting the entire tree or stepping neatly on the offending shoot. The sun rose, heralding a hot day ahead.  Birds screeched, monkeys swung on vines and deer browsed in the tall grass. After a while, I relaxed.

Then we arrived at a small pond where a rhinoceros was enjoying a morning drink. The mahout urged Sana forward.

Rhino having a drink

“Please go back,” I said.

The mahout laughed and urged Sana into the pond.  The old joke, “How to you stop a rhinoceros from charging? Take away his credit card,” flashed through my mind.  We moved closer to the rhino who gave us what I interpreted as a calculating look. What were the chances of ending my days in the Nepalese jungle? Would my obituary begin: ‘New York City woman killed by charging rhino…?’

“Please, we have to turn around,” I begged.

Again, the mahout laughed.

“Not to worry,” he said, apparently his stock phrase for on-the-verge- of- meltdown tourists.  I was miles past worry. One of us was the irresistible force; the other, the immovable object. Something had to give and I was strongly in favor of it being Sana with me and the mahout on board.

By the time Sana and the rhino were fifty feet apart I was frantic. A nasty run-in seemed inevitable and the mahout either didn’t understand me or had a death wish.  Then the rhino yielded, lumbering out of the water, up the bank and into the trees.

“See missy, rhino knows elephant is bigger. No problem.”

My breath returned. Clearly, this man understood the subtleties of elephant/rhinoceros confrontations and had probably played the same joke on other unsuspecting visitors.  We were heading back to camp where I’d have a great story to share at breakfast. I patted Sana who responded by grabbing a sapling and stuffing the entire thing into her mouth.

No recipe folks–chewed sapling doesn’t cut it and Nepali food is pretty close to Indian, a cuisine I love but tend to enjoy in restaurants. Happy trails!

 

 

 

 

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Dogs Have Owners, Cats Have Staff

Posted on May 23, 2011 by marigold

Fuji and Pogo relaxing after a tough day

My grandmother and mother were vehemently anti-cat, almost to the point of phobic, so growing up I had no contact with felines.  Apparently dogs made the cut because we had one starting when I was nine.

Years later, after my third dog died, no family member was up for city  dog walking.  I felt that my young daughters (and I) needed what was then called a “pet” and in today’s PC world, an “animal companion.”  Enter Tinkerbelle, a laid-back ginger cat with numerous tricks up her, um, paw.  No question who was in charge–in her last years, my husband dispensed her water from a wine glass (no neck bending required) and cooked  chicken livers to tempt her failing appetite. After Tink came Sushi, who dealt with one episode of house moving by retreating to a closet shelf for three days.  When she shuffled off to the great litter pan in the sky, my husband was so wrecked, almost a year went by before he would consider thinking about another kitten.

On the way to the Second Chance Animal Shelter in Shaftsbury, VT,

I suggested he might feel less disloyal if we adopted two kittens. We left with six-week old litter mates, Pogo, (tiger, named after Al Capp’s famous possum because both have ring tails) and Fuji (a tortoiseshell, named for our nod to things Asian.)

Pogo

I’m writing this and simultaneously cringing because I don’t think of myself as someone who carries on about her pets. My sentimental button must be switched on.

Fuji and Pogo clearly never read their handbook. They don’t know they should hate water, dill sauce or asparagus.  Left-pawed Pogo uses the  raccoon-scoop technique to drink. Every evening,Fuji   shoots to my side to drop her toy octopus, (the day’s ‘kill’ ), at my feet.

Fuji with Octo

Here’s a little ditty for P and F to the tune of “You’re the Top,” with deep apologies to Cole Porter.

You’re the top
You’re the cat’s pajama
You’re the top
Give the best cat karma
You love olive oil, arugula and steak
When I make a salad or spread the butter I get no break.

You’re the top
Cat TV—birds flying
Nap for hours—full of snores and sighing
You like shopping bags, the bathtub and all guests;
And if they’re allergic, you work it harder as total pests.

You’re the top
Let me kitty-pedi
All eight paws, holding nice and steady
Hate your carriers, adore your Dorset digs;
On The New York Times you stretch your spines for reading gigs

You’re the top
As your staff we know it
All our clothes have cat hair to show it
Our infatuation with you never stops
‘Cause as kitties go you girls are just the tops!

Originally, I didn’t plan to include a recipe as I draw the line at crafting  feline treats. But as I was trying to get lunch on the table (squirt gun in hand to fend off marauders), it was pretty clear that salmon salad got an A++ on the cat eating scale so herewith:

Salmon Salad

1/2 lb. cold poached salmon (this  also works with canned salmon -not as delicious but less work)

1/2 dill sauce (mayonnaise with 3 T chopped fresh dill mixed in–or use plain mayo

2 T fresh lemon juice

Combine all ingredients, cover, refrigerate and let sit for a few hours to meld the flavors. Remove and bring to room temperature. Taste and add salt and pepper as needed. Serve on a bed of pretty lettuce. Or, make it into a sandwich–more lettuce, more dressing if you like gloppy sandwiches.

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Some Like It Hot

Posted on May 15, 2011 by marigold

In the Boston burbs, a former colleague took us to Fireflies, a local BBQ spot that has won a ton of well-deserved awards for its ribs and sauces.
At the entrance, I began drooling (politely) at the shelf of hot sauces from all over as well as a collection of the BBQ sauces de maison.

Hot Sauces of the World

Of course, we sampled some before ordering–the North Carolina has a great, vinegary tang but we ended up selecting the Memphis, described as having a “tomato base with molasses and chocolate.” Sounds icky but ate, as they say, great.

I’m a sucker for collard greens which I had as one of my sides along with beans, another fave. Fireflies is anything but fancy but they give good rib.

Next day I reconnected with a college friend and went to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum which is undergoing a huge addition in typical Renzo Piano style. Even minus the signature cascading nasturtiums, (apparently victims of global warming), the garden is a dream. “Mrs. Jack,” as she was known, collected books, tapestries, paintings, drawings and a lot else, and housed it in the museum she built, modeled on the Renaissance palaces of Venice. (For those who don’t remember, three major works of art were stolen from the Gardner in 1990 -their empty frames are reminders that the case is still open.) If your name is Isabella, on certain days admission is free.  Ms. G was nothing if not an original.

Isabella Steward Gardner 1888

 

 

 

After immersion in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, I hopped over to the Museum of Fine Arts to see the new installation by glass-magician, Dale Chihuly. Although he is no longer able to blow glass, he supervises the work of others and says he “likes the view from behind.” And well he should. The exhibit is a revelation in color and form with a playful twist.

 

One of the Chihuly 'Chandeliers'

 

 

Now full circle back to barbecue. Here’s a version of a sauce I’ve made a few times. The coffee doesn’t have a noticeable taste but gives the sauce depth.  Baste the ribs with it as you cook them and keep some sauce aside for those who like to slather it on.

 

 

Barbecue Sauce with Strong Coffee (sometimes called Texas Blackjack Sauce)

Combine in a saucepan:

1 cup strong coffee (leftover from the morning)

1 cup Worcestershire sauce

1 cup catsup

½ cup vinegar (nothing fancy, plain white vinegar is fine)

½ cup brown sugar packed

3 T chili powder

1 cup onion diced fine

3 cloves garlic (or not—I don’t like garlic in BBQ so I omit it)

Simmer over low heat for about twenty-five minutes. Taste and add a little salt if necessary.
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One That Didn’t Get Away

Posted on May 9, 2011 by marigold

In restaurants worldwide, fish is often presented uncooked on a platter so you can admire how pristine it is and start salivating (those eyes! those gills!). In Greek restaurants, you may visit the case to check out your choice; some Chinese restaurants showcase fish swimming in a tank.  Nothing compares with a fish viewing we experienced in Beijing.

Our very capable guide recommended a restaurant and helpfully wrote the name in Chinese characters on the hotel’s card so we would get home after dinner. The doorman summoned a taxi and, after about twenty minutes, we pulled up at an unprepossessing building on a very ordinary street. From there on, nothing was quite what it seemed.

Once inside the doorway we were in a courtyard straight out of The Mikado –lanterns,  arches and red doors with gilded characters painted on them.  Seated, we did our best to decipher the menu with minimal help, (of course, we’d asked our guide for an “authentic” restaurant.) Somehow, we ordered. Teacups arrived. We stood to watch a young waiter, a good six feet from the table, pour tea from a long-handled pot directly into each cup without spilling a drop. (This photo isn’t nearly as dramatic as the real event.)

Pouring Tea with Long Spout Pot

Among what we’d ordered was a whole fish which became evident when  two women emerged with a bamboo pole over their right shoulders from which was suspended a triangular container, about the side of a toaster. Giggling, they approached the table and and removed the box’s lid. There, swimming in the triangular space, was our fish. What could we do but smile and try to convey that it exactly what we wanted? It was, as was the entire meal.  Back at the hotel, we tried not to feel too smug when running

into other members of our group who had eaten a fine, but far more ordinary, dinner at the hotel. We had had an authentic experience and a fabulous meal.

Chinese Steamed Fish

Use cod or halibut.

  • 1 1/2 pounds halibut (or cod) cut into 4 pieces
  • 3 green onions, cut into 3 inch lengths
  • 2 fresh mushrooms, sliced
  • 6 leaves napa cabbage, sliced into 4 inch pieces
  • 2 slices fresh ginger root, finely chopped
  • 2 cloves garlic, chopped
  • 1/4 cup low-sodium soy sauce
  • 1/8 cup water
  • crushed red pepper flakes to taste
  • fresh cilantro sprigs, for garnish
  1. Arrange 1/2 of the green onions on the bottom of the steaming bowl ( you need to steam in a container to retain the steam and juices around the fish). Place 1/2 of the mushrooms and Napa cabbage sections on top of the onions. Place fish on top of the vegetables. Sprinkle ginger, garlic, and red pepper flakes over fish. Top with the remaining green onions, mushrooms, and napa cabbage. Drizzle soy sauce and water over everything.
  2. Place steam bowl in a steamer over 1 inch of boiling water, and cover. Steam for 15 to 20 minutes, or until fish flakes easily. Garnish with cilantro, if desired.

 

 

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Cinco de Mayo–Hold the Mariachis

Posted on May 2, 2011 by marigold

In honor of Cinco de Mayo, the holiday commemorating the Mexican army’s unlikely victory over French forces at the Battle of Puebla May 5, 1862,  we went to  Maya, a restaurant in the east 60s in New York.  Unlike many so-called Mexican restaurants, Maya is anti-Tex-Mex, not that there’s anything wrong with a good burrito or chimichanga. The food here is much closer, in terms of sophistication and flavors, to what we’ve encountered on many trips south of the border.

My husband is a fan of Maya’s Tostadas de Atun, seared tuna with with numerous ingredients including mango, pico de gallo, chili, avocado and chili serrano. The seared scallop appetizer sitting atop a puddle of a green sauce I can’t identify is also terrific as are many other dishes.  Maya’s guacamole may not be world’s best  but it sets off  the restaurant’s excellent Margarita, (top shelf tequila, tamarind fruit and citrus juices kicked up by a blend of chili and salt on the rim), to perfection.  Yes, the place can get a little pricey but look at it as less expensive than a trip to Mexico and minus the airport scan or pat- down.

It’s too bad that the current drug-related violence is wreaking havoc on tourism because Mexico is a great country with helpful, friendly people, (who never seem annoyed as I massacre their language), lots to do and see and great food.

My first Mexican trip  was to Merida and then to the Yucatan and to visit the ruins of Uxmal and Chichen Itza. Climbing up the steep side of the Chichen Itza pyramid was not bad but descending was hellish.  I made it back by not looking down and keeping my eyes glued on our guide right in front of me. What a relief to reach the ground!

Pyramid at Chichen Itza

I was introduced to sangrita in Guadalajara. At first, I thought I was mis-hearing sangria but no.  Sangrita is sort of a Mexican Bloody Mary. Some recipes include exoticism like celery salt, hot sauce, grenadine syrup and so forth but, purist that I am, this is the version I prefer.

 

Sangrita

Sangrita

1/2 oz tomato juice

1/2 ox orange juice

squeeze of fresh lime juice

dash each of Worcestershire sauce and Tabasco sauce

Mix the above and serve sangrita chilled in a small, tall glass (like an old-fashioned juice glass) with a shot of tequila on the side. Drink a sip of tequila, a sip of sangrita and so on. Or, combine it all –Cinco de Mayo is about independence, right?

Ole!

 

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First Butter a Springform…

Posted on April 17, 2011 by marigold

matzoh

When the Israelites had to leave Egypt in a hurry, they didn’t have time to allow their bread to rise, hence matzoh. How come, I’ve always wondered, that most recipes for flourless chocolate cake, that modern staple of Passover dessert, starts by instructing the cook to butter a springform pan?

Springform Pan

A springform is a two-piece pan with removable sides and a bottom that detaches when you open the latch on the side so that the cake sits neatly on the base. The pan is handy but not small, hardly the item one would grab while struggling to round up the children and, perhaps, the odd goat.
If I were a food historian, I’d try to figure out when the springform came into use and then into the kitchens of modern Jewish households. But, since I’m not, I’ll simply give you this recipe for a really good flourless chocolate cake. Yes, you need a springform but hey, it’s 2011 and acquiring one doesn’t mean leaving your country, only a trip to the store.

Flourless Chocolate Cake
1 cup (6 ounces) chopped semisweet chocolate

1/2 cup (1 stick, 4 ounces) unsalted butter (if you’re a stickler for tradition, substitute margarine or a butter substitute)
3/4 cup (5 1/4 ounces) granulated sugar
1/8 teaspoon salt
1 to 2 teaspoons espresso powder, optional but a good idea
3 large eggs
1/2 cup (1 1/2 ounces) unsweetened cocoa powder, Dutch-process preferred

Raspberries for the top

Preheat the oven to 375°F. Lightly grease an 8″ springform  pan; cut a piece of parchment or waxed paper to fit, grease it, and lay it in the bottom of the pan.

To make the cake: Put the chocolate and butter in a microwave-safe bowl, and heat till the butter is melted and the chips are soft. Stir until the chips melt, reheating briefly if necessary. You can also do this over a burner set at very low heat. Transfer the melted chocolate/butter to a mixing bowl.

Add the sugar, salt, and espresso powder. Add the eggs, beating briefly until smooth. Add the cocoa powder, and mix just to combine.

Spoon the batter into the prepared pan. Bake the cake for 25 minutes; the top will have formed a thin crust. Remove it from the oven, and cool it in the pan for 5 minutes. Loosen the edges of the pan with a table knife or nylon spreader, and open the springform. Allow the cake to cool completely. Arrange raspberries on top or piled decoratively on the side.

Yield: one 8″ cake, 12 rich servings.

 

Flourless Chocolate Cake with Raspberries

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Artichokes

Posted on April 10, 2011 by marigold

When I was two, my mother scandalized a friend by letting her see me eating an artichoke. Back then, artichokes were considered very sophisticated and entirely unsuitable for children.  I suspect my usually by-the-book mother broke the taboo in search of anything her finicky daughter would consume.

The big globe artichokes is a kind of perennial thistle, Eyore’s favorite food. Buy only those vegetables that feel heavy in your hand, are dark green and have closed leaves (also true when buying baby artichokes as described below although they aren’t quite so dark in color.)

Eyore with a thistle

 

Thistle, an artichoke relative and Eyore's favorite food

 

 

 

We eat the fleshy lower portions of the bracts and the base or heart. The mass of tiny florets at the center of the heart is the choke which is not edible in older plants, as anyone who has failed to clean the heart and gotten a throat- full of choke can attest to.

Although Castroville, in Monterrey, CA,  bills itself as the artichoke capital of the world,  the biggest grower worldwide is Italy.   The plant probably originated in North Africa, was ultimately brought to Europe and arrived in California in the 1600’s via Spanish settlers.

Here is a a  recipe for baby artichokes from a California friend.  It seems wasteful to get rid of so much of the outside but it’s necessary in order to end up with a tender dish. On the up side, in these little guys the choke isn’t mature so it’s eaten as part of the whole.

ELAYNE’ S BABY ARTICHOKES

1 lb baby artichokes

1 onion, chopped

1 T dried rosemary

2-3 T olive oil

1 T red wine vinegar

1/4 cup red wine

Juice of 1/2 lemon

Trim each baby artichoke removing outer leaves until you reach the delicate layer.  (This comes down to removing about one third of the leaves.) Cut off the top of the plant, shave the stem and leave it attached. Trim off the bottom end of the stem. If large, cut baby artichokes in half. If tiny, leave them whole.

cleaned baby artichokes

Boil cleaned artichokes in water for 5 minutes; remove and drain.

In a pot big enough to hold all the artichokes, sautee the chopped onion in 2 T olive oil until soft. Place drained artichokes in saucepan with sautéed onions. Add lemon juice, vinegar and red wine. Sprinkle with rosemary. If, during cooking, artichokes start to get dry, add a little more olive oil and wine  to keep it wet. Cover pot and simmer over low heat for 1/2 hour, checking to be sure enough liquid remains, until artichokes are tender.  You can keep the finished artichokes right in the pot until they are served.

 

simmering artichokes

No melted butter, balsamic vinegar or any other sauce needed!

 

 

 

 

 

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Man Oh Manatee

Posted on April 2, 2011 by marigold

Last week at the Fisher Island, FL marina,  a group of people were clustered around a man holding a hose. I assumed he was washing his boat. Not so fast. Down below in the water were a mother and baby manatee, both reveling in a long drink of  fresh water and a snack of lettuce. Both Mom and the youngster (probably three-quarters grown) had nasty scars on their bodies from run-ins with boat propellers. Up close and personal, the most impressive things about manatees is their enormous size, (an adult can easily weigh over a ton), and the way their  nostrils open when they take a breath.

A few nights later, we had dinner at Red Light Little River, a restaurant on Biscayne Bay in Miami. The service is laid-back –putting it mildly–  the food creative and the prices friendly.  You enter upstairs into what looks like diner but the nicer area to eat in is a patio overlooking Miami’s (very dirty) Little River that gets more attractive as the sun goes down.  Although a sign announces that the river is a manatee area, the only evidence we saw were occasional  bubbles.

Red Light–so named because it’s adjacent to what may be a hot sheet haven, (Motel Blu no less!) is also pretty hot thanks to chef and owner Kris Wessel who hails from New Orleans. Our party of three greatly enjoyed the BBQ shrimp with dipping bread, stuffed artichoke, fish creole and dry-rubbed ribs, in fact, one of us voted the ribs the best he’d ever eaten.

Dry Rubbed Ribs with Apple Slaw -Red Light, Miami

Too bad we couldn’t have tried the famed oyster pie but it would have taken a minimum of twenty-five minutes to prepare and we were too  hungry.

Since I couldn’t get Red Light to share the recipe, here’s a take on a barbeque sauce I’ve made.

Coffee Barbecue Sauce (Sometimes referred to as Dark and Stormy BBQ Sauce)

1/2 c brewed strong, dark coffee
1 c ketchup
1/2 c cider vinegar
1/2 c firmly packed light brown sugar
1 Spanish onion, peeled and finely chopped, about 1 c
1-2 cloves garlic, peeled and crushed
2 tbls Worcestershire sauce

(Note: some versions call for two or three jalepeno peppers crushed and added to the sauce. I’ve never done this.)

Preparation:
Place all ingredients in a small sauce pot, stir together and bring to a simmer over medium-high heat. Place on the lowest heat so the mixture is just simmering. Allow to simmer for 20 minutes. Remove the sauce pot from the heat and allow tit to cool.  Baste ribs with sauce while cooking (ideally on an outdoor grill) and serve any left over sauce on the side. Don’t forget lots of paper napkins!
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Eat Dessert First

Posted on March 20, 2011 by marigold

If you want to eat genuine Sachertorte, the dense, chocolate cake with apricot jam between the two layers and a hard, shiny chocolate frosting, you’ll have to go to Vienna, Salzburg or order it online, (because other recipes aren’t considered “authentic.”)  I enjoyed Sachertorte in Vienna at both Hotel Sacher and Hotel Demel. A huge bro-ha-ha over which place had a right to bill its pastry as the “original” went on for years, finally ending in a nod to the Hotel Sacher but frankly, I couldn’t tell much difference. Regardless, it’s a classic, typically served with unsweetened whipped cream.

Baklava is another classic dessert with infighting about where it came from. In the U.S., it’s often too sweet but in Turkey and Greece, two of the countries claiming “ownership,” far less so.  Many ethnic groups of the Ottoman Empire and central Asia — Greeks, Turks, Armenians, Lebanese and Iranians, among others–say they originated baklava. The sweet can be served topped with chopped pistachio nuts or a single walnut; eaten on special holidays or at any time; incorporate rose water and/or cardamom; be cut into triangles or squares, etc. The Greeks developed the technique to roll the dough as thin as a leaf; in fact, the word”phyllo” means “leaf” in Greek. In the right setting with a cup of medium sweet Turkish coffee, baklava can be the perfect end to a meal.    (I hear you saying that drinking Turkish coffee is like sipping mud.  Avoid the dregs and it’s delicious.)

Peach Melba

Peach Melba was created about 1862 by French chef August Escoffier at the Hotel Savoy in London to honor Australian soprano Dame Nellie Melba (a lot of the world in one dessert.) Legend has it that Dame Nellie adored ice cream but didn’t eat it often, fearing the cold would harm her delicate vocal cords. Since the dessert also contains peaches and raspberry sauce, it wasn’t considered as vocally dangerous and permitted Dame Nellie to indulge. This photo shows Peach Melba served in a coup, a glass dish with a stem that supposedly keeps the ice cream cold longer.

If you can make raspberry sauce, you can make a fine Peach Melba. Here’s a recipe courtesy of my friend, art writer, Elizabeth Wilson.

Raspberry Sauce, Elizabeth Wilson

2 cups raspberries

1/2 cup confectioners sugar

1 T lemon juice

1 T cornstarch

Put berries in saucepan, add sugar and stir over medium heat stir until mixture starts to bubble. Reduce heat to very low.

In a separate bowl, add 1 T. cornstarch to 2 T. of the raspberry mixture, stirring to combine well. Dump it back into the main mixture and heat over medium until mixture boils and begins to thicken. Cool off heat.  Add lemon juice and stir again.  The sauce keeps for several days.

Mother Myrick’s, a dessert and candy shop in Manchester, VT, uses an old quote as its slogan: Life is Short; Eat Dessert First. Writer and wit Erma Bombeck said something like “Never refuse dessert. Think about those women on the Titanic who waved away the dessert cart.”

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