excuses, excuses

First let me tell you how last night was supposed to go, because I’m telling you, it was going to be lovely. I’d finally convinced Alex that it had been long enough since our last visit to Tabla’s Bread Bar — which as many long-time readers might know, is only my most favored restaurant in the entire world — that it would be only right to get back there, stat. [Plus, OMG, Floyd Cardoz just came out with a cookbook! Like last week! I know, I can’t believe I haven’t bought it yet either! Breathe.] The plan was to meet there at 6 p.m. and then after — psst, this is the really cool part — go to the observation deck at the Empire State Building. I’ve never been, but read recently that it’s now open until 2 a.m. on Thursdays through Saturdays and is actually remarkably empty as it gets later. Yesterday was warm and clear, a real November treat, and I could not imagine a better time to go.

Recipe

cranberries: candied, fruity and drunk

Don’t laugh, but I think this post might be the closest I have come to service journalism on this site. I say this because, honestly, I have no idea what I am going to do with three batches of cranberry sauce I’ve cooked over the last week, but if at least one them makes it home with you, I suppose this effort won’t be a waste after all. Is this as noble and un-self-serving of me as it sounds? Of course not — I love cranberry sauce — I just have a little bit more than a two-person household should ever need.

Recipe

classic grilled cheese + cream of tomato soup

I don’t know about you but when I arrived at work yesterday I had both the appearance and seething demeanor of a wet cat. I don’t know what exactly the point of carrying my green flowered umbrella was, if to get utterly soaked just the same, making my way through two phone calls irked by a lingering unpleasant zoo-like scent that turned out be emanating my sopping wool pants. Yech! After work drink thing? Cancelled. Pedicure? Cancelled. Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches? Oh, it was so on.

Recipe

chocolate stout cake

Because it’s fun for me, I’ve decided that today is the day that I will embarrass my former boss. You see, she and I are two of a very small group of girl-types in a very boy-dominated sector of publishing, and while I would normally argue that gender stereotypes are old, tiresome and played out, in our professional realm at least, they’re fairly rightly-placed. While the guys go on in great lengths about (pick one, or all of the below) the Red Sox, Giants, hockey, PlayStation, Borat, You The Man Now Dawg website, beer and where it doesn’t cost much and the Joy of Street Meat, she and I would spend an at least equal amount of time and devotion chattering about all aspects of food and cooking as, just my luck, she is as obsessed as I am.

Recipe

shrimp cocktail + artichoke-potato gratin

When Alex woke me up this morning, I was certain, and not for the first time, that he was indeed smoking crack, as it couldn’t have been even 4:30 in the morning, nonetheless 8. Someone really ought to tell him he can go back to bed for a couple hours, I mused to myself, but determining this to be a too-depleting energy expense, I simple rolled over and pretended he wasn’t there. After all, if he simply fails to wake me up this morning – if it is simply not possible – he’ll eventually have to give up and I will be able to sleep uninterrupted, forever. I am nothing if not the height of rationality in the morning.

Recipe

is that all there is?

Recipe

dreamy cream scones

The things I do for you people! Well, okay, I do them for me, and rather transparently most of the time, but sometimes, sometimes like perhaps during season in which one is upping the ante on output and is concerned about this ante’s effect on quality, I’m fairly certain I’m going a little further than I typically would. What I mean is, on Sunday night, as excited as I was about this new cookbook we purchased and pleased with the outcome of our lentil stew, I couldn’t quit while I was ahead and also baked the orange cranberry scone recipe, to bring to work on Monday. Yes, I spoil my coworkers rotten.

Recipe

indian-spiced vegetable fritters

As you may have noticed, I’m not the kind of person who just throws together things in the kitchen without a map, compass, 637 glowing reviews on Epicurious or a friend’s sworn assurance, sometimes written, that a specific recipe is a guaranteed to blow the ennui right out of your taste buds. Sure, I’ll make small adjustments while I work on something to accommodate our personal preferences, but aside from pasta sauces, eggs and salad dressings, I rarely go it on my own intuition.

Recipe

not your mama’s coleslaw

Look, I understand that it’s too in the day early to start talking about mothers. And, at the age of 30, when I say mother, what I really mean is “me, sooner than later” so it sounds a particularly ill-chosen term, not to mention that my mother is a wonderful cook, as is my husband’s mother as was her mother and what I really actually mean is “this is not your (fill in the blank) deli’s/lunch room’s typical, watery/soggy/oily/white/mysterious two-ounce Solo container of forgettable and soon-to-be-chucked coleslaw.” But that makes for a terrifically bad headline.

Recipe

stewed lentils and tomatoes

My husband and I really don’t bicker much. I mean, sure, there’s the whole “tone” thing which often gets misheard in a “you’re being snippy” or “no, you’re being snippy” or “well, you were snippy first” sort of way, but mostly, mostly there’s been just one argument of late and it goes exactly like this: