Fanouropita Cake for Lost Things (Otherwise Entitled, 'Do You Miss Your Brudder, Mama?')

We dropped my brother Danny off at the airport a few days ago.  Seattle was the last leg of his long journey back to the states, and he was returning to China, the place he has called home now for six going on seven years.  And oh, Dear Reader, I was sorry to see him go.  I suppose it went a bit like this: I stood on the curb at the departures area, while Danny reached in the backseat of the car to give his little niece a great big hug goodbye.  I tried really hard not to cry -- honest, I did, but nothing doing, I cried anyway.  This, in turn, made Danny yell that his street cred was evaporating before his eyes.  Yes, well. 

Back in the car a few moments later, and trying not to look at Emilia too much (on account of the copious tears that were streaming down my face), I sat quietly trying to pull myself back together.  And then Emilia says, 'What?  Are you sad because you miss your brudder, mama?'  'Yes, baby, I'm very sad.'  I miss Danny so much.  We all do.

Our plan that day was that we (that would be Danny, Kari, Emilia, and I) would wander around coffeeshops, bookstores, and wherever else we felt like, before Emilia and I had to drive him to the airport.  Apparently my sister had to say goodbye as fast as she could and then dash, because she couldn't stand it and didn't want to cry.  Meanwhile, she didn't tell me this was her plan until we were talking on the phone two days later.  This is why I spent twenty minutes wandering around Gap, getting highly annoyed, buying Emilia a shirt, and getting ready to accuse her of turning into our mother (who has a serious issue with disappearing the moment you walk through the front doors of a shop -- any shop -- causing you to wander around for the next three hours looking for her...).
 
Anyway, I will stop rambling on about it, but not until I say this: I wish my brother lived closer.  I wish we were part of eachother's everyday lives.  I wish this wasn't the first time he met Emilia.  I wish we could go and visit him in China.  I wish that our plan to visit him in his city next summer (not this summer coming up, but the one after that) was not so far off.  I wish he could come over for dinner more often, and I promise not to cook up rather dry looking salmon again.  (It's Lent and it was all QFC had!)  And I promise to throw a fit if he ever tries to give me more of that nasty ol' raisin salad he got from Whole Foods on his way out of town.  'Oh Tonya, it'll be way too annoying carrying it through the airport.  You take it...'  Yuck.  And above all, I hope he is alright.  I hope so much that he is happy in the little Chinese life that he is carving for himself.  He is my little brother, after all. *sniff sniff* 

Alright, upward and onward.

Pollo con Pomodoro in Tecia (Or, Chicken in Tomato)

I realize this may not, in fact, be the best picture I've ever taken.  However, this Pollo con Pomodoro in Tecia is so good that I can't help myself and am putting it up anyway.  Eating this is the perfect way to make one exhale (or sigh contentedly, whichever you prefer).  It is immediately homey and rustic, yet I would not cry if it was served to me in a fancy restaurant.      

The recipe comes from Tessa Kiros's Venezia: Food & Dreams -- a beautiful cookbook that is loaded with seafood recipes.  Admittedly, I've not done many of the seafood recipes as of yet.  And, oddly enough, I'm not sure why I'm waiting.  Because everything I've done from this cookbook has been quite memorable.  The sauce alone in this chicken recipe is not to be balked at.  Michael was raving about it, and Emilia kept asking for more -- just the sauce though, as she claims not to have much love for polenta.  (She was trying to make a well out of her polenta so she could fill it up with sauce, and then eat it like a bowl of soup or something.)  They are both right, though, because simmering meat in tomato sauce is mouthwatering good.  Not to mention the fact that it is also the most perfect form of comfort food.  And as an added bonus, it yielded enough leftovers (for us anyway) to have the next night.  Mmmm.

The recipe calls for a whole chicken cut into eight pieces.  Because PCC (the little store I happened to be at for the necessary ingredients) did not have anyone there to cut up a chicken for me (and because that is a job I have no intention of ever doing myself), I bought two pre-wrapped packages of already cut-up chicken -- three breasts and three thighs.  I was more than happy with the result. 

Also, you are meant to serve this chicken over polenta.  Usually I make polenta using the forty minute route.  However, I have all of this fast cooking polenta that I bought to make a bread that didn't bowl me over enough to be bothered making it again, so I decided to use it here.  It cooked in literally two or three minutes.  I then stirred in some butter and grated parmesan.  (How could Emilia not like that?)  Whichever route you go, make sure you time it accordingly -- because polenta does not like to wait.  It needs to be eaten right after it is made.           

Rossini, A Venetian Cocktail

I drink champagne when I'm happy and when I'm sad. Sometimes I drink it when I'm alone. When I have company I consider it obligatory. I trifle with it if I'm not hungry and drink it when I am. Otherwise I never touch it -- unless I'm thirsty. (Madame Lilly Bollinger)

This is a perfect drink for springtime.  Gorgeous to look at, and if you're not careful, you will have downed the whole bottle in no time.  Bliss.

Rossini (Cheers!)
1/2 cup ripe organic strawberries
1 flat teaspoon sugar (or more, depending on your strawberries)
1 teaspoon lemon juice
1 cup very cold prosecco

Hull and then quarter the strawberries.  Sprinkle with sugar and lemon juice.  Puree until absolutely smooth.  (Michael used the marvelous hand-held blender and a Pyrex for this.)  Pour into 2 glasses, divide the prosecco, give it a good mix, let is settle, and serve immediately.  (Recipe from Venezia: Food and Dreams by Tessa Kiros.  Andrews McMeel Publishing, 2008.)

The Genius of a Honey Cake

It is so rainy and so very grey today. But I don't really mind. I suppose this is what spring should look like outside my window — pouring down rain and beautifully green. When I went to get Emilia out of her bed this morning, I opened her drapes and she said, 'Not going for a quick run! Not going to park!' And, alas, she was right. Instead we went to the library.

As much as Emilia loves her books, as soon as we set foot in the library she could not care less about them. Instead she deems it the perfect opportunity to 'do running!' She usually then proceeds to thoughtfully stare at everyone — close up, if you don't mind. But as soon as we get home, the girl pours over her books. I believe she is a genius in the making. As for her mama? I suppose I'm just bookish. (Although I don't really know what that means exactly. Maybe I should look it up.)

Anyway, a few nights ago Michael turned to me and said, and I quote, 'You are hot more in the Tina Fey sort of way. Not so much in the Pamela Anderson sort of way.' Now, I daresay many a fine woman would be wildly insulted by this sort of remark, and rightly so. But really, when it comes right down to it, we all just want to be complimented on our intellect and sheer genius, right? (Am I right? Please tell me I'm right.) That being said, I'm still a bit unsettled by the fact that Michael has taken to randomly saying, 'What is it you like about me, Jack?' Not so much that he says it, per se. More because, well, nevermind.

As it turns out, I am quite the genius. How else would you explain this glorious, this perfect, this lovely little cake? Once we were done, even I had to stand back for a moment of silence. It was beautiful and absolutely perfect for the first day of spring. Sticking with our theme of making cakes together, Emilia and I whipped it up after church on Sunday, while dada did the taxes. We let it cool during naptime, then frosted it and had a lovely little tea party. Who even knows when dinner was, maybe nine-ish? Nothing really sounded good after eating so much cake.

Apart from being so beautiful to look at, the cake was (is, actually, as we are still eating it) so good. The honey, butter, dark brown sugar, and rosemary made the whole house smell divine. And that is exactly how it tasted. The frosting was faintly lemon and just the right amount. The trend seems to be too much frosting these days, but it is always just that — too much. Anyway, it is perfect for springtime. Also, it doesn't hurt if your rosemary bush is flowering. (Just try and tell me those flowers don't look lovely scattered on the top.)

The recipe is from one of my favorite cookbooks, Apples for Jam by Tessa Kiros. Literally every time I open it, my heart sinks because it is so beautiful.

Greek Yogurt with Honey, Cinnamon, Pecans, and Pomegranate

I received a gorgeous new cookbook in the mail a few days ago from one of my nearest and dearest (and oldest) friends. It is all I've had eyes for ever since. The book is called Apples for Jam by Tessa Kiros. It is filled with amazing pictures and so much color. (Incidentally this is also how the book is layed out. Each section is denoted by a specific color.)

As I sat at the table thumbing through the book, Michael says to me: 'So, is she your new nemesis?' Aaah, he knows me so well. There are a handful of things in this world that, just by looking at them, can make me question myself to the very core. Ultimately causing me to ask such things as, 'Why the hell don't I live in Tuscany with my husband and two children who are wearing the most gorgeous red shoes you've ever seen in your life?' Or, 'Why the hell don't I have that lovely kitchen and that stack of gorgeous plates?' Or, 'Why doesn't my back yard look like that?' Or, 'Where did she get that spectacular table cloth?' I'm a very simple person when it comes down to it.

However, even though we don't live in Italy with all those gorgeous linens and shoes and such, I don't think I can regard Tessa Kiros as my nemesis. She's too like the Lovely Clotilde for that category. Instead, I will curb my envy and cook up a storm using her recipes. And they really do look good.

For breakfast yesterday morning we had Greek yogurt with honey, cinnamon, pecans, and pomegranate. I think it may be my new favorite dish altogether. It is so simple and colorful — and even good for you, despite the full-fat Greek yogurt. (I refuse on principle to buy non-fat yogurt. Well, non-fat anything, really.) However, the Greek yogurt is an essential part of this recipe; you need that thick gloppy consistency so that everything will 'sit on it like a crown'. It is rich, but the pomegranate really tempers it with a burst of juices in each bite.

Emilia loves pomegranate seeds. When you ask her what she wants for breakfast, she'll typically respond, 'Pasta lunch tonight! Pinenut seeds!' (By 'pinenut', she means 'pomegranate'.) Being winter (or nearly anyway), I've been trying to keep the house stocked with them. They are a food I want to eat so much of we grow tired of them, and can happily wait until next year for more.

Greek yogurt with honey, cinnamon, pecans, and pomegranate

seeds from ¼ pomegranate

about ¼ cup shelled pecans, broken into big chunks

1 ⅓ cups Greek-style plain yogurt

4 teaspoons thick, clear honey

ground cinnamon

Remove seeds from pomegranate, making sure there is no white pith attached. In a small dry saute pan, lightly toast the pecans just until they become aromatic. (Pay attention to the nuts; it is easy to burn them!) Set aside to cool.

Spoon the yogurt into bowls, and scatter 'a child's fistful of nuts' over the top. Drizzle with honey, pomegranate seeds, and cinnamon. Serve immediately. (Recipe from: Apples for Jam, by Tessa Kiros, Andrews McMeel Publishing, 2007.)