Sassy Radish

My sophomore year in high school, my roommate taught me how to make quesadillas. We had to take turns in the dorm periodically cooking for our floor-mates whenever we had meetings. And Diana, being homesick for her friends and family food, wanted to introduce us to her favorite snack – the quesadilla. Hailing from East L.A., speaking fluent Spanish, she felt torn away from her Mexican roots. We spent many a night on our dilapidated couch talking about home, being scholarship kids in a prestigious school, trying to blend in and make friends. Our two favorite indulgences back then were fried dumplings and cheese pizza – we practically lived on those two things.

That is until quesadillas came into my life. I remember how the first bite tasted and I remember, I couldn’t stop eating them. While we couldn’t get our hands on real Mexican queso, Diana confided that her family used Monterey jack cheese for years and they liked it just fine. And since I’m a fan of melted cheese in general, it was quite all right by me as well.

And so the day after my housewarming party – which was quite a bit of fun and well attended, though I missed some friends who were stuck in airports and under the weather; I needed a lazy day of cleaning up, catching up on reading and some comfort food. It was the first really chilly day of the season and as I went through some old pictures, I came upon a picture of me and Diana, on our first day at school. And I knew exactly what I was making for dinner that evening. With my new kitchen island assembled, I had space to chop the ingredients and set them aside. I enjoyed each bite and even though my tomato went rotten and got chucked, and I forgot to pick up a jalapeno, the quesadilla and the accompanying guacamole were heavenly, making my Sunday evening feel almost like a mini-vacation.

Not that I wouldn’t turn down a real holiday – I’m long-overdue since the last one was in March. Any suggestions where a cash-strapped girl might go? I’m kind of thinking the West Coast.

Continue reading cheese quesadillas with guacamole.

I first heard about it on the Ellen show – she was raving about this frozen yogurt from a company called Pinkberry – it was amazing, she said, and best of all, fat free. I had to roll my eyes at the television screen – another celebrity endorsement, another fat-free treat – it’s probably not even yogurt! But Ellen went on and on and on about it, how good it was, and how tangy and fresh the yogurt tasted and oh, what fresh toppings they had; and before you know it, the name had tattooed itself inside my brain. At the time, this was only an LA sensation and I felt well-insulated from yet another overhyped franchise, especially one that reminded me of Tasti D-Lite – a company whose product I loathe almost as much as I loathe high-fructose corn syrup. But that’s for another time.

Then one day, while visiting KS’s father’s apartment his little sister brought up Pinkberry – and how good it was. “Did you try it while in LA,” I inquired. “No,” she said, her eyes glowing, “they have it in Chelsea!” And so one lazy morning, en route to work in a cab (okay, so it wasn’t lazy, just freakishly cold!) I spotted it on 8th Avenue. The cute pink and green letters, the toy-like design, and made a mental note. A few cold, seemingly interminable months later, we finally found ourselves taking a stroll in Chelsea and passed by the location. And I, of course, had to go in! Even KS, normally abstaining from dairy desserts (oh lactose intolerance, how cruel you are!) made an exception and sampled the frozen yogurt treat. The moment the frozen yogurt hit my palate, I became obsessed. It was so good, I could not get spoons fast enough in my mouth, where the yogurt disappeared quickly, leaving me with a stupid happy grin on my face.

It was as if my taste buds had woken up from some sugar-laden nightmare and unanimously agreed – this is what frozen yogurt SHOULD taste like. There was a reason I couldn’t stomach the overly sweet frozen yogurts out there. And right then and there, I decided – an ice cream maker this summer is a must. And then, Heidi had to go and write about how good and easy making frozen yogurt was at home, and referenced David’s book. And I found an ice cream maker on sale for $30 (that’s, like, free!) and while I cannot exactly remember hitting submit on my book order (something about selective amnesia is kicking in), Amazon.com did deliver The Perfect Scoop as well as my next favorite cookbook. And I’ve been flipping though the books nightly salivating over each page.

So last night, after my ingenious salad creation – who knew leftovers could be so delectable – and some planting-in-the-dark (oh, that’s a story in and of itself) – I was all but finished with the kitchen. And so I gave this basic frozen yogurt recipe a whirl. Now, some people follow the recipe first time to a tee, but I, on the other hand, always like to tweak them my own way. Not so this time, aside from decreasing the original amount of sugar by a half, and mixing two parts of strained yogurt with one part regular plain yogurt, I followed this quite meticulously. I even was able to assemble and start the ice cream machine without it freezing the paddle to itself – an accomplishment I was extremely proud of!! Forty long and arduous minutes later, KS and I both had heaping bowls of frozen yogurt on our laps.

And man. Was. It. Good. So good in fact that I licked the bowl! Pinkberry who??

And now I just can’t get over how incredibly delicious it was. I’ve been thinking about having more since yesterday morning and couldn’t leave the house without shoving a few spoonfuls in my mouth – breakfast of champions I know – and then at night, on my conference call, I was being so loud with my spoon knocking against the dish, I woke KS up.

I just have this feeling that by the end of summer, David’s book will have been loved well and used backwards and forwards – and the pages might just get stuck together from my sticky fingers, and I might have to get myself another copy! There will be a lot of frozen dessert consumption in this household in the next few months.

Perhaps putting in an elastic waist in all my pants might be a good idea for this summer. That and attaching my name tag on a treadmill at the local gym.

Continue reading frozen yogurt.

In every relationship there is stuff you agree on, and there’s stuff you work out. If your values and fundamental beliefs are in agreement, provided you share the same goals about your future, things have a much better way of working themselves out. Of course, there’ll be little thing here and there to tweak. Right side of the bed or left? Squeeze the toothpaste from the middle or bottom? Fold clothes neatly and put them away, or throw them on a chair in hopes that they will magically hang themselves?

To all that above, I say, these are the passing, fleeing moments, that while might cause a slight bit of friction for some (though not for all), aren’t indicative of much, or all that weighty. They’re topical, superfluous, and they do not a relationship make. Or break.

There is of course the issue of breakfast. I’m convinced that everyone, and I mean everyone, loves breakfast. Even if you think you don’t love breakfast, you really do, you just don’t know it yet. Brunch, is even a more glorious event combining the growling of a hungry breakfast stomach with a weekend leisure a weekday cannot simply afford. At least for those of us who have to be at work before 8 am.

Lucky for me, both KS and I are breakfast people. Hardly a weekend goes by without our morning sit-down meal, which typically, is eggs and toast, sometimes accompanied by bacon, always doused in hot sauce, often served with coffee, but sometimes tea. And jam – jam is key for me, people. And were it not SO economically pointless for me to make it, this site would be full of jam recipes.

But when you dig deeper into the breakfast preference, two camps firmly emerge: the eggs camp and the pancake/French toast camp. I, proudly, place myself in the latter camp, but with a caveat. The pancakes have to be lighter than air, melting in your mouth almost instantly, leaving you with a full, but not a heavy feeling. And that is hard to find. KS, on the other hand is an eggs-for-breakfast devoté, usually preferring them over-easy, sitting atop a toasted bread.

And since you can’t really just make pancakes for yourself, seeing as the smallest batch of batter feeds at least 2-3 people, we rarely, if ever make them at home. But a few months ago (yes, months, I am this backlogged), I convinced KS that we had to have lemon ricotta pancakes for breakfast. This was right after our trip to the Bowery Kitchen Supplies, housed in the Chelsea Market building, where we stopped at an Italian grocery store and I went crazy with glee, picking up creamy ricotta among other items. The ricotta was begging to be cooked, and who was I to refuse it?

And so I did some research online and approximated which recipe out there (as there are many) would produce the lightest, fluffiest, most delicious pancakes. And the winner was Bobby Flay, who has yet to fail me with his amazing take on recipes – the man is a genius, really! And while I tweaked the recipe a bit, I have to credit him with the inspiration and the base. These were truly the most incredible pancakes I’ve ever had. I won’t tell you how many I had, but it was a bit embarrassing, as I had more than a few.

I took out the lemon curd altogether. I don’t know if it’s just me, but anything that has a name “curd” attached to it, is an automatic turnoff. Maybe because it rhymes with “turd”? Who knows, really? I also used buttermilk instead of milk, because I find that the tingly sour taste of buttermilk makes the pancakes softer, lighter, full of air. Milk tends to bring out the heaviness in pancakes.

And since it was a gloomy, sunless, cold winter day, anything lemon flavored was akin to letting a little bit of warmth, sun and the promise of spring into our winter existence. And for me, it was the next best thing.

Continue reading lemon ricotta pancakes.