"Julie & Julia" movie: my piece about Julie Powell from 2002

I've never interviewed Meryl Streep, but I did do a phoner with Julie Powell before she finished the project on which her blog was based. She cussed a lot. And that made me like her.  Click below to read the story, from my dark and painful Chicago Tribune days. Maybe I'll do a blog!

From: 525 Julia Child recipes in 365 days: `government drone' climbs a food mountain.
Source: Chicago Tribune (Chicago, IL), 9/2/2003.
Via: HighBeam™ Research
COPYRIGHT 2007 Chicago Tribune

Hello, Gorgeous (#3)

Chicago: Beautiful lake views at sunset. Very little pimento cheese.

Pimento Cheese (It's a Spread)

One of my brothers, who lives in Los Angeles, recently asked me for the recipe for Pimento Cheese (if you are Southern: yes, it is capitalized), which reminded me that it has been a long time since I'd tasted any. It's not available in local restaurants, here in Chicago (correct me if I'm wrong). And I imagine the same is true for this brother; if there were someplace he could pick up a tub of it, he'd do that. 

While I was writing down how I make it, I started fondly recalling all the finest Pimento Cheese Moments in my life; there are so many that I won't be able to recount them here. 

The few bad Pimento Cheese Moments of my lifetime will just take a minute, and who wouldn't have time for that?

If you're not a Southerner, you probably don't even know what P.C.  is, and I'll start by telling you that is a cheddar cheese spread with chopped pimentos. 

What is is not is a dip, and if you call it a dip, my sister will let you have it. So annoying to watch someone trying to dip crudite in a batch. You eat it on toast, as a sandwich, or saltine crackers. Watching yankees mess with the recipe, by adding onion or chives or something to give it visual interest, which is insane, is excruciating. Of course, there are Southerners who put pickle relish in it. And sugar. So it's not just the yankees. It all makes my skin crawl. 

Anyway, my worst Pimento Cheese Moment involved making it for two new friends, a father-daughter duo with whom I'm now very close. I made a big batch for them; he is a Southerner living in Chicago, too, so naturally he hankered for it.  I used a lot of black pepper. I love black pepper. And I was not used to cooking for children back then. And after eating way too much of it (removing many of the pimentos one by one) on saltines, the daughter got a stomach ache. I blamed myself. We now know, from this awful experience, that one must decide: make it spicy and eat a little, or make it normal and eat a little more. Do not eat a vat of it. And don't let children eat a vat of it. 

Because this is not health food. The first recipe is one I like very much, from my very favorite restaurant in Charleston, S.C., a place where the food is close to perfect for me. It incorporates some fanciness, but not too much. Mine is lazier. Here is their website, which features a few more Southern recipes. 

Hominy Grill Pimento Cheese

Makes 4 generous cups

6 cups cheddar cheese, grated (1 1/2 lbs)

3/4 cup Parmesan cheese, crated

1/2 cup jarred pimentos, rinsed and chopped fine

3/4 cup mayonnaise

1 1/2 tablespoons bourbon

1 teaspoon ancho chili powder

1/3 teaspoon ground cumin

1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Combine the pimentos, mayonnaise, bourbon and seasonings in a large mixing bowl. Work the grated cheeses into the mix until thoroughly combined.

Emily’s Pimento Cheese

Makes much more than you should consume in one sitting

1 giant (1 lb) block cheddar cheese, grated

1/2 cup mayonnaise (more if necessary; it’s just to bind)

1 jar (4 oz) pimentos, drained, juice reserved, and finely chopped

lots of black pepper (probably no more than 1/2 teaspoon)

Tabasco sauce, a few shakes

Combine the cheese, mayo, pimentos, some of their juice, pepper, and Tabasco.  Adjust seasoning to taste. I usually use about half the pimento juice from the jar. It’s not much. And I probably use more than a half cup of mayo. You don’t want it to be too wet or too dry. It helps to let this sit for a while so the flavors can blossom, before eating. Again: you can eat it on saltines or on toast with more mayo. Some people eat it on celery, but I can’t dope that out. And remember: “It’s a spread not a dip,” and tell that to  yankee lady who insists on calling it “this marvelous dip,” with wonderment, as if she’s never heard of pimento cheese. If you put to much pepper in it, it will keep you awake at night. 

Ruined Beauty, Repaired

O Asparagus! Who among us has not turned your slender felicities into a soup that was unfabulous? 

Many of us, I suspect, have made plain old bad asparagus soup. It probably happens with great frequency, but we'll never know since such statistics are rarely reported. 

Because the shame attached to botching a soup--or any dish-- made with such an appealing vegetable, and composed of nothing more than the lissome stalks, broth, salt, pepper, and some dairy, keeps cooks from sharing, and therefore preventing, such unnecessary horrors in the future. 

Here's how you make a creamed soup with just about any vegetable: you saute some onions or leeks, if you like, maybe a bit of garlic,  in some oil or butter; briefly saute the starring vegetable--broccoli, tomatoes, squash, etc; then simmer it all in liquid, usually stock, until tender. You may add a complementary herb. Then you puree, add some salt and pepper and some cream or half and half. What could be bad? 

And yet. . . I did make bad asparagus soup, or, at the very least, soup for which no one requested seconds. 

I'd love to blame it on the asparagus. But they were not old or tough and imperfect. Just look at them. 

During my most recent Saturday trip to Chicago's great Green City Market, there wasn't much else to buy so early in the season, so I came home with way too many of them. Hence the soup, just for variety. 

I'd also love to blame it on the tawdry chicken stock from a box that I used, even though I have frozen vegetable stock in my freezer. But, free will and all.

Why did I do this? Because I wanted immediate gratification; what I got instead was a beautiful looking puree that had a faint underlying flavor of boxed chicken.

But I fixed it rather than wasting, by adding plain nonfat yogurt, a tiny bit of ground cayenne, some more fresh lemon juice, and a little more salt and black pepper. It was delicious cold and hot. This recipe suggests vegetable stock; use chicken stock from a box, if you must, but don't blame me when your delicate soup tastes like poultry. 

Creamy asparagus soup

Serves 6 or so

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 large onion, chopped

2 lbs fresh asparagus, trimmed, cut into 1-inch pieces

1/4 teaspoon dried tarragon, crumbled (optional)

4-5 cups vegetable stock

1/2 cup cream

1 1/2 cups plain nonfat yogurt

juice of 1/2  lemon

salt, pepper

pinch of ground cayenne

1. Saute onion in a large heavy pot over medium heat, until translucent, about 5 minutes. Add asparagus pieces and saute, stirring, until they turn bright green. Add tarragon (optional). Add vegetable broth or water, bring to a boil; lower heat to simmer and cook until tender, about 15 minutes. 
2. Once the mixture has cooled slightly, puree in blender in small batches, being careful not to burn yourself; don't fill the blender, and use a potholder to hold down the lid! Return to pan, add cream, yogurt, lemon juice, salt, pepper and cayenne. Cook slowly over low heat, until heated through. Taste for salt and pepper. 

Note: you can remove some of the asparagus tops after step one, and set aside for garnish if you'd like. Sprinkle on top before serving

Hello, Gorgeous: #2

I just noticed that my last two posts were fried and brown. This tulip interior is intended as a visual antidote. 

Why Feel Awful When You Can Cook?

It's bound to happen to anyone who leaves New York. Wandering down Michigan Avenue here in Chicago, surrounded by Midwestern tourists (with a few Germans thrown in), I'll frequently feel a pang of longing that is so palpable and intimate it usually throws me for a loop. I won't go as far as saying that I reel, or anything like that. But it's like missing a long-gone person you're still in love with, somebody you always believed was just right for you, someone you couldn't get enough of, even though the relationship was a bit one-sided. 

I bring it up because if you live in Chicago you have to keep this kind of love a secret in sort of the same way you should hide carrying a flame. Never tell a Chicagoan you miss New York. For a more precise elucidation on my reasoning on this, one more eloquent than I could ever provide, read A.J. Leibling's "Chicago: The Second City," which seems mean but nonetheless evergreen in its incisiveness, though it was written half a century ago. 

I'll generalize wildly here and say that Chicagoans love to have friends in New York as long as the friends stay there. They'll tell you about visiting them, and how they go to NYC all the time and know it like the back of their hands. 

But if you move here you better never mention New York to any of them ever again. Especially if you work at a newspaper. Because Chicago is just as good as New York! You don't like it here, go back! Bleh! Take that!

But just as good is not the point, of course.  And, I understand the bad reception to such longing, because it is the equivalent of saying to a spouse: "Now that Bob, he was a fun guy. So well-adjusted. Such a charmer.  We had the best time when we were dating. And handsome? You never saw such a handsome man." 

However, if you really know the two cities (living in NYC for 6 months and then leaving does not count; nor does visiting Chicago for a Cubs game and having a hot dog), you know that they cannot be compared. And should not be. Each has a distinct personality; if you want one, the other just won't do. And it cuts both ways. 

Anyway, this is sort of sad, but one of the things that really makes me lonely for NYC is the fact that Chicago does not have street carts or corner deli/grocers on practically every block. In fact, there aren't really many street carts to speak of; they are not a part of the urban landscape.

I loved walking outside on a workday and buying a giant bag of cherries for lunch, or a pint of ridiculously delicious ripe figs, for what now seems like almost no money at all. I took it all for granted. I hardly see fresh figs at all in my life here, and when I do, they're a million dollars. I miss the Halal chicken and rice cart at 43rd and 6th. I miss the salad man, who was outside Grand Central, before he moved inside Grand Central. I miss the banged up taco truck in my old Upper West Side neighborhood. 

And whenever anyone says "I feel awful," I kind of do, too, because it makes me think of the falafel cart at 46th and 6th Avenue, Moishe's. You get a pita crammed to bulging with giant crunchy-fried balls, lettuce, tomato, tahini, hot sauce, and great pickles. Sometimes, the guys give you a pickle while you wait. They are ridiculous street food, because standing and eating them on the street is like eating the giant barbecued turkey let that Chicagoans consume at Taste of Chicago, a festival that happens only once a year, and inspires many restaurants to sell their food from stands in the park. It's very popular, and you'd think Mayor Daley would get the big idea; but he doesn't like the cart/stand thing. Such a prissy pot.  

I know that I will never be able to replicate Moishe's street falafel. So I don't try. Instead, recently, I made a version that a person could serve to man and child seated at the dinner table, as a casual supper. 

It's a combination of the old reliable Moosewood version, combined with the amazing Joyce Goldstein version, from her fantastic newish cookbook, Mediterranean Fresh. My own crazy thoughts: I will make it in patty form (Moosewood), serve it on an English muffin, and rather than tahini we'll have it with a yogurt sauce and some cukes. 

So that's what I did. I added an egg and some baking soda, as Goldstein does for her "chickpea croquettes," and we made Goldstein's unbelievably good yogurt dressing and a cucumber, red onion, tomato and avocado salad splashed with cider vinegar (I am a huge fan of plain cider vinegar), olive oil, salt and pepper. 

Falafel to Feel Better

Makes 6-8  patties

4 cups cooked or 2 15-ounce cans chickpeas, drained and rinsed

1/2 cup of flour, plus more for dredging

1  teaspoon baking soda

4 cloves garlic, minced

1 large egg, slightly beaten

1 1/2 teaspoons cumin

1/2 teaspoon cayenne

1 teaspoon turmeric

sea salt (I used about a teaspoon)

4-6 scallions, trimmed and thinly sliced

1/4 cup water, more or less to bind mixture

canola oil, for frying

English muffins

Joyce Goldstein's yogurt dressing (see below)

1. Mash the chickpeas with a potato masher. If you did not give away your food processor when you moved into an apartment with a smaller kitchen, use it, pulsing until coarsely ground. Add remaining ingredients, except the canola oil, and stir until you have an unlumpy doughy batter, thick enough to form into patties. If it is too thick, stir in a bit of water. 
2. Form hamburger-thick patties with dough, a little larger in circumference than an English muffin, then dredge patties in flour and set aside on a cookie sheet or large plate. Heat 3-4 tablespoons canola oil in a large, heavy skillet, until a bit of the dough sizzles when dropped in. 
3. Carefully place patties in skillet (they may break easily before cooking); fry 6-8 minutes per side, until they form a crunchy, dark golden exterior forms; you may need to add extra oil before cooking on second side. Drain briefly on paper towels. Keep warm in a 300 degree oven if necessary, before serving. 

You can eat these, as we did, on warm English muffins, topped with Goldstein's yogurt dressing. Maybe a little hot sauce. She suggests tahini sauce, and that of course is traditional. Lettuce tomato and thin slices of cucumber are good, too. Or served topped with a cucumber, onion, tomato, avocado salad dressed in olive oil and cider vinegar. Or serve in pita (warmed in the microwave still in the plastic bag; that's how Goldstein does it), topped with vegetables, drizzled with whatever sauces you like. You decide. 

Joyce Goldstein's Yogurt Dressing

Makes 2 1/2 cups

2 cups thick yogurt (I used Fage nonfat Greek; it's amazing)

1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil

1/4 cup fresh lemon juice

sea salt

2-3 teaspoons minced garlic

2 tablespoons chopped fresh mint

Whisk together yogurt, oil, lemon juice and salt to taste (I used about 1/2 a teaspoon); fold in garlic and herbs. So so so so so good.