Cooking Dinner for My Very Clean Colon: A First Meal Post Colonoscopy...

It may sound funny, but it's true. After my colonoscopy yesterday, my body is empty.  It's rather a strange feeling. I kind-of feel brand new—like starlight and rainbows...  (I'm just kidding. It really just makes you feel ice-cold, being poop-free.)

So tonight, when I thought about the fact that the ginormous organ inside of me didn't have anything to work on except what I tossed in there for my evening meal—I couldn't help but think twice about dinner.  The idea of gulping down a big spicy dish of somethin'-somethin' or a meaty hunk of whatever didn't sound so great as I stood in front of the open fridge.  I wanted veggies, but even the broccoli looked daunting to digest.  What did I have that was vegetarian but with minimal fiber for this first substantial dinner of mine after being made clean as a whistle?

Well, this is what I pulled out of the fridge, out of the garden, and off the counter:

• that damn box of pea shoots from Trader Joe's again (I was determined to finish it off—only a handful were left.)
• a lemon
• a small zucchini
• a clove of garlic
• a baby bella mushroom
• bacon fat
• 3 little sprigs of cilantro
• kosher salt
• fresh cracked pepper

And here's what I did with it all:

1) Over medium-high heat in a 10-inch skillet, I melted a teensy little teaspoon of bacon fat.  I added the minced garlic clove and the finely chopped mushroom, tossed them in the fat, and let them sizzle, stirring occasionally, for about 2 minutes.

2) I then added the zucchini, quartered lengthwise and chopped into 1/4-inch thick slices on the bias, to the skillet.  I tossed the zucc with the fat to coat the pieces, sprinkled on salt and pepper, stirred it all again, shook the skillet to create an even layer, then let it all sit for 3 minutes.

3) With the bottom side of the zucc nicely browned, I stirred the skillet then scattered on top the handful of pea shoots (gathered up in a bunch on the cutting board then chopped right below the leaves to get rid of the stem portion) and the torn-up leaves of the cilantro sprigs.  I squeezed a quarter of the lemon over the whole mess, then stirred it all to wilt the shoots.

4) I plated the veggies, garnished it with lemon zest from the butt of the lemon, and ATE.

Time to prep? 5 minutes (if you are a slow prepper, like me). Time to cook? 6 minutes. And, oh! What a great surprise! By cooking from my gut (I'm learning!), I prepared a dish for the transition of seasons: deep and earthy from the mushrooms, bacon fat, and garlic. Light from the zucchini. Zingy and bright from the cilantro and lemon.  It was like summer and fall mingling on my plate, both vying for my tongue's attention—and both happily getting it.

An Experimental Recipe for Bob and Jerry: Mini Blueberry-Lemon Cakes

To start off this post, I must begin with: BOB AND JERRY, YOU ARE the BEST!!!

I walked into my little middle school library this morning, ready to help Bob and Jerry move some bookshelves—and they were done! I immediately yelled for no one to hear, "You guys are AWESOME!" and plunked the cake carrier I had in my hand down on the floor to survey their work.  They literally left nothing else for me to move.  Every other item on my floor plan, besides the bookshelves, had not only been put into place but thoroughly cleaned.  I'm telling you, school custodians ROCK.

So, what was in the cake carrier I had set on the floor? An experiment that came to mind a few days ago while I was at the grocery store, gazing at the plums.  They were on sale, and after making that frickin' amazing semifreddo for our anniversary party, plums have become my new friend.  I bought two, along with some peaches, blueberries, and blackberries.

Later that evening, as I was thinking of meeting Bob and Jerry and wanting to bake them something to thank them, I had this idea: what if I made little mini pound cakes in muffin tins, and what if I took slices of plum and laid them in the muffin tins first before I put in the batter, so that when I inverted the pan, I had this luscious slice of fruit on top of a golden, buttery cake?

In the book Ratio by Michael Ruhlman that I am reading (I told you it was going to come up again), he has a recipe for pound cake.  I decided to use that and then tweak it to include the fruit.   I love baking his way because he has you weigh almost everything.  I even weighed the eggs! If you don't have a kitchen scale, yet, you must acquire one.  Once you own one, you will not know what you did without it.  You can get a good one that does both grams and ounces and has a tare key (so you can weigh things in a bowl without accounting for the weight of the bowl) for under $25 on Amazon.

Anyway, with pound cake, the fat, flour, eggs, and sugar are all equal parts.  Easy squeezy to remember.  It's called pound cake because you used to use a pound of each ingredient to make the cake! That's a lot of pound cake.  So here's what I did (mildly adapted, once again) with Ruhlman's guidance:

1) While I heated the oven to 325 degrees, I gathered all of my ingredients and weighed them out or prepped them.

I buttered (with real butter) one nonstick muffin tin at this point, too.



Interestingly, Ruhlman says that allowing a finished batter to sit releases the air that you just beat into it, so you want it to go into the pan as soon as you are done beating it—hence buttering now and NOT later.

Here are the ingredients:

• 8 oz. (2 sticks) of unsalted butter at room temperature (ideally between 65 and 70 degrees.  Never knew that before! I actually stuck a digital thermometer in it to check! Ha!)
• 8 oz. sugar
• 1 tsp. kosher salt
• 8 oz. eggs, which is about 4 large eggs plus 1 yolk, also at room temperature (I cracked them into the bowl and allowed them to come to room temperature), whisked lightly to combine (which I forgot to do and it was okay)
• zest of 1 lemon
• 1 Tblsp. of lemon juice from that lemon
• 1 tsp. vanilla
• 8 oz. flour
• 72 blueberries
• ground cinnamon

2) Now I loaded the muffin tin: in each cup I dropped 6 blueberries then sprinkled a dash of ground cinnamon on top of them.

3) With the oven hot and everything ready to go, I now made the batter.  (Note: I use a KitchenAid stand mixer which uses a paddle.  This mixer is incredibly efficient and knocks the socks off of any hand or stand mixer that you can buy.  Again, I know they are pricey, but if you can get one, or get people to pool Christmas/birthday money together to buy you one, BEG for one.  They will change the way you cook, I swear.  Anyway, because of its power and efficiency, the times I am listing will be different, i.e. longer, if you are using a regular mixer.)

• for 1 minute -- beat the butter on MEDIUM speed
• for 2-3 minutes -- add the sugar and salt to the butter and beat it all together on MEDIUM-HIGH until the coloring is very pale yellow and the butter mixture has grown in volume about a third
• for 1 minute-ish -- add the eggs slowly so they blend well into the butter mixture
• add the lemon juice, zest, and vanilla and mix in well
• turn the mixer down to MEDIUM-LOW and add the flour, mixing only long enough to blend the flour in--which isn't very long

That's it.  Ruhlman doesn't say anything about scraping down the sides, but I stopped the mixer a few times to do so, and then ran it again to make sure everything was mixed together well.

4) Using a number 40 ice cream scoop (I use this all the time to portion out dough and batter), I plopped a heaping scoop of batter into each cup, smoothed the tops a bit, then put the tin in the oven.



I baked them for 25 minutes, let them cool in the pan on a wire rack for 5 minutes, then inverted them out onto a cutting board.

Will I be doing this again? YES.  These babies are firm but tender, bright from the lemon and blueberries, buttery and eggy and just perfectly sweet.

But I'll try it a bit differently next time.  What I had wanted was to be able to flip these out of the muffin tin and serve them bottoms up.  I put too much batter in the cups, though, so the tops were mounded; they didn't lay flat upside down.  I need to use less batter next time.

And—did you notice? I used blueberries instead of the plums that I had mentioned. (The plums I bought weren't looking as pretty as I wanted when I sliced one open.)  Next time I'll try it with plums with a different spice and see how that goes.

So happy with these, though.  As I bit into the first one and began to chew, I felt a big smile start to spread across my face...

The Transubstantiation....of Eggplant: Learning to Coal-Roast

I may get struck down by lighting with that post title, but I cannot think of another way to describe what I just ate.  Like, JUST.  The table isn't even cleared yet.  And I'm so in awe that I cannot help but ignore the dirty dishes on my dining room table, pull out my laptop, and write.  If you knew me, that's a BIG deal.

To reference, once again, the Grilling Issue of Bon Appétit's July 2013 issue: GOD BLESS MELISSA HAMILTON AND CHRISTOPHER HIRSHEIMER.  Their article, "Into the Fire," in which they describe fire-roasting eggplants--it's just changed my life.

This is one of those food experiences where I just want to go on and on and on, etc., etc., etc.  But I'm not going to.  I'm just going to tell you--no, order you--to go witness and partake of this unbelievable transformation of the world's most disgusting vegetable, and you will be a believer of being YOUR OWN PERSONAL CHEF, I promise.

Here is my experience, including recipes (gasp!), of my dinner, this evening, for one--that is me.  Here are the ingredients you will need for ONE PERSON, and then the directions.  And they are mildly adapted--just an FYI.

For the eggplant:
1 small purple eggplant
2 plum tomatoes
2 anchovy fillets, drained of oil and chopped finely
1 small garlic clove, chopped finely
1 tsp. red wine vinegar
2 Tblsp. olive oil
kosher salt to taste
fresh cracked paper to taste
1 tsp. torn cilantro leaves

For a very yummy side dish:
1/2 Tblsp. butter
1 tsp. olive oil
2 ears of sweet corn, kernels sliced from cobs
1 small cayenne pepper, seeded and minced
1 small zucchini, quartered and sliced
1 small garlic clove, minced
kosher salt to taste
fresh cracked pepper to taste
1 Tblsp. torn cilantro leaves

1) Make a hot, smoldering bed of coals (no real fire, here; too much heat).   DO NOT USE BRIQUETTES.  Use real, natural hardwood charcoal.  It's chunks of wood that have been carbonized, not pressed with glue and chemicals that you ingest and get cancer from.  I buy it in the grill section of Menards.  Anyway, you want the coals glowing red, covered in ash.  I did mine in the fire box of our smoker, but I don't see why you couldn't do this on a bed of coals in your firepit.  (Kind of romantic, in a foodie kind of way... Make yourself a nice cocktail while you are waiting for your coals to get perfectly hot.  I made a new beer/booze cocktail.  Will blog about it later...)

2) Take your average, everyday firm purple eggplant from the grocery store and throw it on the bed of coals.  (I didn't even rinse it.  Why bother? It's going on a frickin' bed of coals.)

3) Set your phone timer to 4 minutes.  Have a conversation with your dog while you are waiting.

When it goes off, flip the eggplant with a big ol' pair of tongs 1/4 turn.  Do this 2 more times.  Here's my progression of flips:

Straight on the coals:

After Flip 1:

After Flip 2:



After Flip 3:



4) After the second flip of the eggplant, put a piece of heavy duty aluminum foil directly on a patch of  coals not taken up by the eggplant and drop 2 plum/Roma tomatoes on the foil.  Flip them every once in awhile until the skins are split, and they are sizzingly hot and squishy.



Here's what the eggplant looks like when it is done:



5) When everything is roasted to death, put the veggies on a platter and let them all cool slightly so you don't burn yourself when you skin everything about 5 minutes later.  When you skin the eggplant, you are going to feel like you are peeling off too much, but the skin is really thick, and only the soft juicy center is what is left.  Here's a pic of the eggplant skinned:



6) After you skin the veggies, put the eggplant on a cooling rack over a plate (to drain more water--see pic above).  Put the tomatoes into a fine mesh sieve over a bowl.  Let the eggplant cool while you smash the tomatoes through the sieve.  There will be a lot of gunk left in the sieve, with a pool of fine delicious tomato juice in the bowl.

7) Add the garlic, anchovies, olive oil, salt, pepper, and vinegar to the tomato juice.  Stir/whisk well.

8) Pour half of the tomato sauce into a platter.  Cut the eggplant in half lengthwise and lay the pieces side by side in the juice. (The top just kind-of came off while I was slicing it.  If it doesn't, pull it off.  You don't want to eat charred eggplant skin/stem.)  Sprinkle the flesh with a pinch of kosher salt.  Pour the rest of the sauce on top and let it all soak for a good 20 minutes.

9)  While the eggplant is transubstantiating, prep the veggies for the side dish.  When ready, heat the  olive oil and butter in a skillet over medium-high heat until hot.

10) Add the zucchini, corn kernels, cayenne, garlic, salt, and pepper all at once to the pan, tossing with  the butter and oil mixture until coated.  Shake the skillet to create an even layer of veggies, then let it sit for 2 minutes.

11)  Toss, shake, and let the veggies sit for another 2 minutes.

12)  Add the torn cilantro, then toss, shake, and let the veggies sit for another 2 minutes, then plate the veggie mixture.  (I like my veggies with a bite--California style, as my mom says.  If you like yours squishy, let them go a minute or two longer.)



13)  Now back to the eggplant.  Add another fine sprinkling of kosher salt, garnish with the torn cilantro, then SERVE.



My thoughts on dinner? Sooo amazing.  Smoky, yet fresh from the tomato.  And the cilantro opens up the flavors in a way that I've never experienced before.  And the corn dish with its sweetness...  I am becoming a believer in vegetarianism.

Disregard that it looks like fish.  You have to taste!  GO.  And cook as you deserve!

Mickey's Diner — St. Paul, MN — A Restaurant Recommendation

There has always been an allure for me when it comes to old-fashioned diners (real ones, not the fabricated types). I don't know what it is about them, especially since I've never eaten in one.  Well, we're up in St. Paul, my hubby and I, for a mini  "us" weekend and a Postal Service concert, and look what popped up on Google maps as I was lounging in bed this morning, looking for a breakfast joint? 

YAHOOO!! Mickey's Diner! I couldn't believe our luck. And only a few blocks away!  Even better. We headed out for our short walk, visions of crabby old waitresses and a row of hunched shoulders dancing in my head. 

As anticipated upon entering, I was faced with a line of hunched backs and customers lining up against the walls. Who could expect anything else? The place is tiny. There's a counter and four booths--that's it. Red laminates the walls, and the woodwork, mirrors, and tableside jukeboxes look all to be original. 

The food was a long time coming, but our coffee refills were not, thanks to Chris.  He took the barking orders from the head waitress with a smile and could not have been more pleasant to his guests. 

Presentation didn't seem to matter at the diner, but after taking those first bites of piping hot food, I suddenly realized that it didn't matter to me, either.  

How can I explain it? The food was exactly what I always wanted diner breakfast to taste like; it was like eating in a dream: This is the way I've always imagined pancakes should taste. How is it that I'm tasting them for real?!? Somebody, pinch me, please! No, wait! DON'T! Everything was fried in butter.  You could smell it in the pancakes, see its golden brown influence on the tender omelet crust-- the fluffiest omelet I had ever seen. The bacon was real bacon, with my favorite mix of crunch and chew. 

I've died and gone to diner heaven, I thought as I forked one last bite into my mouth. There was still a quarter stack of cakes left, but I couldn't do it. My virgin diner experience was going to have to come to a close. 

I sighed and exhaled a "Yum." Yes, a very, very happy close. 

Summer Food Fabulousness—and Tips on Making Granita

A few months ago, my sister bought Chef Reiton and I a subscription to Bon Appétit magazine.  I started getting it near the end of the school year, and I have to admit that the first few issues lay rather neglected on the bedside table (albeit with covers longingly looked at briefly every night as I fell into bed).  I was just too busy and too tired to find the time to read them.  (You all knew that already, though--hence my long periods of silence in which you all wait with baited breath for the next post...ha ha ha.)

Gratefully, the school year ended.

The day before I left to go on yet another trip this summer, the July issue, the Grilling Issue, arrived in my mailbox.  One of my musts when I fly anywhere is to buy myself a magazine to read on the flight.  Normally I do this in the airport.  It's a fun little ritual of mine to search among the wall of magazines and find one that I have wanted to subscribe to but am too cheap to spend the $25 a year to do so.  

But as I pulled BA-July out of the mailbox, I immediately knew that my ritual was going to hell.  The magazine I wanted to read was right here in my hands.  The glossy paper of the cover added a juicy effect to the extreme close-up shot of red hot chicken skewers laid across the page, delicately sprinkled with lacy cilantro leaves and torn bits of basil.  My mouth watered.  I didn't even have to open the magazine to know that that delightful little entree was going to be mine as soon as I could possibly make it.

I continued flipping.  And drooling.  An article on frozen desserts flashed past my eyes: sherbert, popsicles, semifreddo.  And there were those chicken kebabs again, surrounded by other grilled chicken recipes: beer canned.  Smoked.  Spatchcocked?  Dear God... Is this what this magazine would do to me? Why had I waited so long???

So.  Upon return from my travels, I immediately made the Sambal Chicken Skewers for Michael and I (minus the fish sauce--I didn't have any, and have never cooked well with it when I have had it, so I just substituted soy sauce, much to the chagrin of many out there, I am sure.  Sorry.  Still want to make it? Click on the recipe name to link to BA's online recipe.)

Shortly thereafter we had Chef Reiton's family over for dinner, and so we made them some smoked spatchcocked chicken,

baby potato salad (using tarragon as our herb of choice, instead of chives),

avocado and tangerine salad with jalapeno vinaigrette (thank you, Jack Johnson. Can I come out to visit and cook with you?), 

and blackberry granita with lemon cream for dessert. 

The process for making a granita is amazingly simple.  So simple that I'm embarrassed it took me so many years to actually make one, despite the fact that I had wanted to for so long.  There are only two steps, really.

Step 1) Puree your fruit of choice, sugar, liqueur, lemon juice, and salt in a blender, then pour the puree into a mesh strainer held over a 9x13" pan.  Smash and stir the puree through the strainer with a big rubber spatula and into the pan; soon all you will have left in the strainer are seeds and/or fiber.  

(BA used 4 cups of fruit, 1/2 cup of sugar, 1 Tblsp. of liqueur, and 1 Tblsp. of lemon juice.  I'm not sure if those rations are going to work equally with all fruits, but that's what I'm going to try the next time. Keep in mind, as well, that the liqueur used here was creme de cassis (about 40 proof).  My guess is that you wouldn't want to go with anything much higher in alcohol content or you might mess with the freezing temperature too much.  No vodka, okay (which usually starts at about 80 proof)?

To help, below is a shot of the actual blackberries getting sieved, but the picture below that shows what it looks like after (I had done the same process with some raspberries).  And for a vocab lesson: this is the technique discussed when you read that you are to be "pressing on the solids."  (I always wondered what the hell that meant until I poured the puree into the strainer and it just sat there, dripping drop by drop into the pan, and I thought, "This is going to take all night!")

Step 2) Smooth the top of the fruit mixture in the pan so that it is evenly distributed (you want the mixture to freeze evenly), then put the pan in the freezer at a level position for 30 minutes.  After half an hour, take it out, scrape all the frozen parts with a fork to break up the ice, then put it back in the freezer for another 30 minutes.  Do this about 4 times (depending on the temperature of your freezer).

 Just so you can have an idea of what to expect things to look like, here's what the granita looked like after scraping #1:



scraping #2:

scraping #3:

and scraping #4, the final one with the granita being all flaky and frosty, ready to be covered and put back in the freezer until it was ready to serve.  YUM.

With that rash of cooking done, all from the BA-July edition, and with all of it being simple and delicious, we decided to make a few more items from it for our month-belated anniversary party (can you believe it? Time flies when you are having fun!)

 First was the snap pea and cabbage slaw, which multiple people asked for the recipe for:

and next was the plum semifreddo, which I did not get pictures of because it was served in the middle of the party, but here is a picture of the gorgeous plums, simmering away before being pureed, pressed through the seive, then folded into a heavenly blend of glossy meringue and whipped cream before being frozen: 

 Oh, divinely, heavenly food.  Ben Franklin was wrong: it is beer AND food that lets us know God loves us.  And God bless Bon Appetit for tempting us to make it!

Random Food and Cocktail Photos

My darling husband is sitting here, being a saint and doing bills and reconciling, and I'm sitting here, drinking a French red and feeling unproductive.  My remedy? Writing you all.  It's been awhile, regrettably, thanks to my job.  Maybe one day this will be my full time job...

Anyway, due to my absence and my nuts-o schedule, I've decided to just post pics of random food/meals we've had of late, and then maybe in a few days I'll be able to get on again and bang out a recipe.  So, for now, for your enjoyment:

my first Hendricks martini:

ribs, green beans, and sweet potato fries for Michael:

gluten-free chicken tenders with buffalo sauce:

homemade "Brickhouse Cheesy Sticks" (This one's for you, Valbon.)   To get the real deal, check out Brickhouse Pizza Pub in Fort Atkinson, WI.  YUM.

a gorgeous beet I roasted for dinner one night.  Look at that color!

and, lastly—THE HOPS ARE GROWING!!! (Ignore the fact that I have not weeded.)

I'll catch up more later.  PROMISE.

Cancer and the Kitchen

The past few months have been rather life-altering in our home.  Some changes, as you loyal readers know, were for heart-popping joyous reasons—like getting married to the darling of my heart.  Some others...not so much.  In fact, they were rather heart-crushing. Back in August, right at the start of the school year, my dearest biggest sister was diagnosed with colon cancer.

Nicole (or Cole, as she is affectionately called amongst us siblings) is one of those people that anyone has a hard time accepting that anything bad happen to her. She is an individual who does nothing but make the world a better place—and I am absolutely telling the truth when I say that. She takes after my two grandmothers in the fact that she does not have a judgmental, critical, negative bone in her body. She may disagree with you—but she understands the disagreement and leaves it alone, simply letting her love for you shine through in the hundred ways she shows it.

And here she has cancer. God damn cancer.

In the midst of all this, Chef Reiton's sister was being tested for celiac, a disease whose name is thrown around a lot these days, but if you have it, it really really is not a good thing. As we started learning more about it and what it does to your body (we tend to want to know all the details about what our sisters are potentially facing), Chef Reiton started becoming concerned. A lot of the symptoms of celiac disease were things that he had or currently was dealing with. Could he have celiac?

Because of the hereditary nature of celiac, and colon cancer, as my brother-in-law and Cole's doctors informed us, Chef Reiton and I decided to look into things a bit more personally: he stopped eating gluten. I thought about getting a colonoscopy. Thought about it, and agreed to get one—and never set up an appointment.

As the months went by, Chef Reiton started feeling fantastic. He started losing weight. His indigestion went away. Some numbness in his foot subsided. His headaches stopped.

I, on the other hand, started feeling worse.  One day I found myself questioning why I didn't have the energy to run up the stairs anymore. And when I found myself feeling pissy every day, I heard myself say, "What is wrong with me?"Anyone who knows me knows that none of these are characteristic of me; I normally am bouncing off the walls and feeling pretty darned happy about life.

And my stomach was just not feeling right.

But, being myself, I told myself that whatever it was was passing, I just needed to get some rest, and I would be fine. Whatever.

And then one day at lunch, I felt like my insides were going haywire. I left work early, thinking I had the flu. But five days later I was still super crappy (literally) with a fever and some serious abdominal pain. I went to the doctor who, upon hearing my new family medical history, immediately signed me up to see a surgeon to get a colonoscopy. The one I was supposed to have gotten months ago.

Long medical story short: the virus that I went in to the doctor's for went away with a month's worth of Prilosec. The colonoscopy experience was a trip; in my dream during the procedure I heard my surgeon say something about "six," and I thought: He found something.

And he did. A polyp the size of his pinky finger was hugging my colon wall. "I don't think it's cancerous," he said post-op, "but most probably precancerous. Thank God for that diarrhea! That's what made you come see me! Another year or two and that thing would have been cancerous."

Holy ironic crap. If it wasn't for Nicole... You see where I'm going? It would have been me.

But it's not. I simply have to get another colonoscopy in six months. Aaaand I have diverticulosis. (I thought that was what old people got!) I now take Metamucil twice a day (my 91-year-old friend, Heinz, laughed at that. "I only have to take it once!" he said.).

Chef Reiton, in the meantime, not only stopped eating gluten, but he started dabbling with the paleo diet. Next he scheduled an endoscopy—and was found to be normal.  A possible gluten irritation, but no disease.

So we were both cleared. But all of this really got us thinking.What we take in, yes, always comes out. But it spends some time hanging out inside, rubbing off on us in either good or bad ways. I had always thought that we had been healthy eaters. And we were, according to the USDA.

But what about according to us?Were we listening to our bodies? Did we stop to think about how we felt after we ate a meal? Did we take the time to not just notice our body functions but to discern what was causing them to be the way they were? Did we care enough about what those feelings and functions were saying?

Usually, no. If things taste good, it's hard to say 'no' to them, even if you feel like total crap later.

But when something big happens, like your sister getting cancer (and now my darling aunt, too), and then you have a scare yourself, you suddenly start thinking, "Maybe I should pay attention, because things are apparently happening in there, and I wasn't listening."

So. That huge story. Where is it leading?

One of the ways we have been dealing with our health hiccups is to follow more closely to a paleo diet. Chef Reiton is staying off all grains since he feels so much better not eating it (paleo foodies eat mostly meat, eggs, nuts, and veggies, and they drink lots of water. But no grain, no legumes, minimal natural starches and sugars...).  I am eating much, MUCH less grain.  I also am incorporating a LOT more fiber into my diet (doctor's orders), which means a heck of a lot more veggies than I already was eating.

This has been a huge switch in the way that we were eating and cooking. Remember all of those posts on homemade bread? Cookies? Cakes? Yeah. They happen a LOT less now. I still eat some. I have a 15-year-old stepson who still wants a cookie once in awhile. But despite a once-a-month splurge on pasta or a piece of pizza, Chef Reiton is strictly paleo—and down to a 32-inch waist.

The funny thing: Nicole and her husband started looking into paleo at the same time because of the connections of foods and cancer. Her research into the diet led her to a cookbook that she thought I would enjoy, so she passed on some of its recipes. After one night of cooking one of them, I was hooked.  I had to have it: Well Fed by Melissa Joulwan.

It has now been added to the Cookbooks to Be Owned list.  Every frickin' recipe in it rocks (except for the meatza pie. It felt too much like squashed meat loaf for me.). I love the pad thai. Never thought I could do spaghetti squash, but here? OMG. The ginger-lime grilled shrimp are fabulous. And the Moroccan meatballs are to die for. (I just want those little swords she has poking into them...I want to eat off a sword.)  Two nights ago we made the citrus carnitas:

I now wholeheartedly agree with blogger Shayne who said, "You should probably rename this to pork crack-nitas, because I cannot stop making and eating it." With such a cheap cut as pork shoulder, you can afford to.

Eating healthy—eating consciously—is not difficult.  It does take some initial sacrifice.  But come on, we are humans. We are adaptable creatures who love a good time; when it comes to food, we can always find a way to still have it good. It's just a different good than what we were used to, that's all. It is in no way less pleasurable.

For those of you who are still here, reading until the very end of this very long post, it shows that something I said caught you. I hope that whatever it was, it was a good spark. I know that despite all of these changes for my family, we are realizing more than we ever did before that Life and the love of it are precious. When you find It raging towards you, in joy or in pain, you've just got to grab it by the horns and ride, ride, ride.

Just make sure you're riding towards a kitchen.

A Foodie Honeymoon: Friday Lunch at August

Going to August was like going to church (at least the last church I used to go to).  You knew that there was a good chance that you were going to experience something great when you went, and perhaps the best part of going was that what you did experience was not this big, communal experience.  It was--as church should be--completely private and personal.

Such was our experience at August.  Even its architecture and decor felt church-like: its main dining room with its vaulted ceiling and soaring windows; its private dining rooms with their cloister-like spaces, dimly lit and glowing with wood and candles.  Age poured from its pores.  Even the stairway that led to the bathrooms on the balconied second floor was banistered with heavy balustrades.

(Speaking of church, I need to confess to you, dear reader, once again.  Thanks to the same damn iPhone incident mentioned in the previous post, we lost almost all our pictures and most of our notes of our August experience.  Please pardon the lack of pictures besides that of the gorgeous entrance.  And to our amazing servers, we loved you just as much as all the others.  I just, ashamedly, don't remember names after so many months.  I sincerely apologize.  And, now--on to the food.)

The dishes that appeared before our eyes at August were miraculous.  An egg cup was placed before me (an hors d'oeuvre that came with the meal, unordered).  Nestled in the bottom of its carefully cracked shell was a delicate seafood custard topped with a creamy truffle mousse.  Its crowning adornment was a tiny scoop of caviar, a beautiful fennel frond, and a brioche toast stick.

Five years ago, there was no way in hell I would have eaten such a thing.  Eggs??? And CAVIAR??? It is just another example of the wonders of becoming a foodie.  When you are constantly creating your own food, you suddenly have an understanding of what it means for someone to create a dish for you.  You know what the processes are.  You know what the ingredients are and what is involved in collecting them.  Food and its evolution become a reality for you.  So much of the unknown in food preparation is removed (remember those moments as a kid? When your mom would set a casserole on the table and you had NO idea what was buried in those layers of stuff?).  With the removal of that unknown comes the removal of fear.  Sure, I had never had caviar before.  And, yes, I knew that I was about to eat the eggs that some mama sturgeon laid somewhere in the Caspian Sea.  I didn't know if I would like them.  But, god, they were mine! Tiny and round and purple and beautiful.  I knew that many people love caviar--and since I'd never had the experience, I wanted to try it.  I wanted to remove a foodie unknown.  So I took my tiny little spoon and scooped down through the multiple layers of meticulous food-turned-art and spooned them all into my mouth in one inhaling bite.  

Dear Lord--DIVINE.

And then came my Pimm's cup (finally! I got to try one!).  And my baby greens salad with fresh figs, goat cheese, and pistachio brittle.  My gorgeously homemade pasta ribbons with porcini mushrooms in a silky cream sauce.  Chef Reiton's unbelievable trout on the thinnest toast imagineable.  Goat milk cheesecake with balsamic caramel. Homemade pralines (god, I can still see these pictures in my head!). 

Speaking of pralines, we got to meet the chef who made them.  We were getting ready to leave August, ready to head to the airport,--and I had to use the restroom one more time.  Chef Reiton and I headed upstairs, giving the restaurant one last perusal before we left.  Passing by the dessert kitchen, I paused; I couldn't help but be nosy and poke my head a fraction of the way into the room.  One of the chefs saw me.  "Hey! Come on in!" she called.  

I think my eyes must have popped out of my head at the invitation.  "Are you serious?" I asked.

"Of course!" she said.  "Come here."  

Chef Reiton and I tenaciously stepped into the kitchen.  The chef walked toward us with a tray of pralines.  "Try one," she offered.  "They are my grandma's recipe."

Beautiful little golden plops of brown sugar and butter stood in perfect rows on a baking sheet.  I peeled one off of the parchment and popped it into my mouth.  Angels started singing.  What a perfectly heavenly way to end the honeymoon of honeymoons.

With the sincerest of thanks we headed back into the hall.  "I can't believe this is it," I said, so strangely happy but sad at the same moment.  I didn't want to leave.

But it was time to go.  Time to head back to our own life, to our own home, to our own kitchen.

And yet I wasn't going home empty-handed.  I had a myriad of experiences that I was taking home: tastes, and conversations, and drinks, and laughs, and generosities beyond anything that I ever had imagined.  

A Foodie Honeymoon: Friday Appetizers at Lüke

The smell of polyeurethane wafted past us as we walked through the entrance of Lüke.  What a gorgeous place.  Tin ceilings, parquet floors, heavily varnished wood, vintage lighting...  A beautiful bar lined the far right wall, and we made our beeline.

Another couple was sitting at the bar being helped by the bartender, who told us he'd be with us in a minute.  We read through the beers on tap while we waited, and I couldn't help but eavesdrop when I heard the words "elderflower liqueur" escape the bartender's lips as he described a cocktail that the couple was thinking of ordering. But my distraction by the beers with Lüke's name on them overpowered my ears.  I would never make a good spy...at least not if it involved restaurants, beer, wine, cocktails, or liquors of any sort.  And as we all know from Mr. Bond, spying inevitably involves such things.  Good thing I didn't pursue that childhood dream with any earnest.

Minutes later, true to his word, Steve (as the bartender introduced himself) was pouring us Lüke's homebrew and talking oysters.  Lüke was, as I knew from my Besh menu research, a restaurant designed after the old brasseries of New Orleans' in times past.  Oysters was just a natural on the menu.  And, boy, did you see oysters when you walked up to the bar! Mounds of them, piled behind the glass, waiting to be sliced open and plattered by the cooks, a tasty accoutrement to the amber with the gorgeous head that Chef Reiton was sipping from his pint glass.

"I've never actually had a raw oyster," he confessed to Steve.

I think Steve almost dropped his bar towel.

I also think that Steve's second career will be in food education because, quite eloquently, he began to relay the types of oysters that Lüke served, their technical names and the names that I remember: freshwater oysters from the waters of the lake of Louisiana--Lake Pontchartrain, and the saltwater oysters, with their briny flavor of the sea off the southern coast.

"Do you want to try them?" he offered.  "You can compare the two."

I didn't respond.  I was hoping that I would be that kid in the back of the class who, if I didn't draw attention to myself, would become invisible.  I'd had raw oysters before (for you faithful readers, you may remember my reference to eating them in Illinois at a friend's house--not to be a good experience just from the state alone...), and it wasn't an experience I wanted to repeat--foodie or not.

But that is where my new darling husband was different.  "Okay," he said.  And my heart swelled with pride.  So brave.

Steve brought the first oyster, a freshwater specimen.  "Do I chew it?" Chef Reiton asked.

"It's up to you," Steve explained.  "Some people just swallow them off the shell.  I like to chew them so I can taste them."  I wanted to gag.  I watched the love of my life with complete awe as he loosened the oyster from the shell with his little fork, then lifting the shell to his lips, tilted it like a soup spoon and poured its contents into his mouth, chewing slowly and reflectively before swallowing.

I found myself holding my breathe--for what, I am not sure.  For him to throw up? For me to throw up?

"Wow. That wasn't bad.  Not at all what I expected it to taste like."

And that's where the foodie in me got a little jealous, damn it.  I was missing out on an experience! I didn't know what a freshwater oyster tasted like, and now I kind-of wanted to...

Next came the saltwater oyster.  "These are my favorite," Steve said, placing the plate in front of my husband.  "I like the briny water you get with the oyster.  It tastes like the ocean."

Chef Reiton picked up the next oyster.  I couldn't help but observe just how raw the shell and oyster looked in his hand.  He sipped the contents from its shell--and I saw a flicker of "eww" cross his face.  He politely chewed and swallowed and wiped his mouth.  "Interesting," he said, and there was a pause.  "I think I like the freshwater better."

"Everyone has their own personal taste when it comes to oysters," Steve said.  "It's just one of those things."

We sipped our beers and intermittently talked with Steve as he waited on the other couple.  I was relaxed but excited but sad.  Our honeymoon for foodies was almost to a close.  We had just one more Besh restaurant left.  If I could help it, I would drag it out as long as I possibly could.

I looked down at my coaster on the bar.  "Can I have this?" I asked Steve.  It would be a memoir of what almost wasn't.

Steve smiled and tossed me another one.  "Here, take two.  And email us when your blog is ready."

With a nod, a thank you, and a smile we were out the door, wending our way one final time through the sultry streets of New Orleans to our final destination: August.

A Foodie Honeymoon: Thursday Dinner at La Provence

The drive to La Provence from downtown New Orleans perfectly suited my love for suspense.  For--what? more than two years?--I had been dreaming of eating at this Besh restaurant nestled on an idyllic little farm where a majority of the food served at the restaurant is grown.  I could tell from reading My New Orleans that La Provence was Besh's baby, and my desire to eat at the restaurant only grew all the more as we entered onto the very long but very beautiful Lake Pontchartrain Causeway for our 45-minute drive to dinner that Thursday evening.

To tell you how badly we wanted to dine at this little restaurant, we actually rented a car just to drive to it.  Extreme? Maybe.  But for us, this honeymoon was about love--love of each other and our happy, obsessive love of food, and come hell or high water, we would see our goal through.

After a half hour ride across the causeway and some sauntering through a tiny town or two, we blew past the tiniest little house on the righthand side of the road with a gravel parking lot and a non-chalant sign that bore a crest and the words "La Provence."

"That's it..." I spoke to the window, and Chef Reiton slammed on the brakes.  We wheeled into the parking lot, just in time to see a trio of piglets wrestling in a fenced-in yard.

Despite the fact that I was wearing 3.5-inch heels, I trekked across the gravel to get a closer look at what would eventually be someone's dinner, laughing as they head-butted each other and tumbled in the mud.  So cute.  And so yummy.  I remembered lunch at Borgne with a smile.

Across the way stood the chicken coop, the beautiful birds sauntering outside, casting wary golden eyes at this stranger in a red dress as they strutted and pecked their way across the yard.  Across a lawn was a kitchen garden, glowing green in the coming twilight.  It was so beautiful that it reminded me I was hungry; we picked our way across the gravel and headed into the restaurant.

As aforementioned, La Provence is a tiny little house that has been converted into a restaurant.  I immediately fell in love with the wide plank wood floors, the giant fireplace in the middle of the dining room, and the low ceiling and lighting that added a natural atmospheric warmth to the place. It made me  want to just sit and eat slowly for the rest of the night, staring at the roaring fire...  Unfortunately, being the dog days of August, there was no fire in the fireplace.  I instead was left to imagine what it would be like coming here at Christmastime...

Within moments our waitress approached the table.  Her name was Cassandra (spelled the right way, we discovered), and she was delightful.  Just like all the other servers we had had thus far, she was completely down-to-earth, very professional and very knowledgeable about the food she was about to serve.  She brought us a basket of toasts and the chicken liver paté we had had at Besh Steak, went over the menu with us, answered any questions we had, then took our wine orders while we sat and tried to decide what to order.

(Now, readers--I have to be honest about something here: due to an iPhone mishap, I've lost our notes and pictures.  And due to the fact that Besh's menus are largely seasonal, I can't even cheat and go look at the menu to remember what I had.  So this next part is going to be a little sketchy.  I sincerely apologize.)

The market menu (Besh's version of a prix fixe menu) intrigued me, so I decided to go with it: included in the meal were a green salad, roasted pork neck, and a little cherry cake for dessert.  I had never heard of pork neck, let alone knew that you could eat it.  Sounds like something to try.  Chef Reiton opted for the duck, something he had never had before.

The restaurant was quite empty, seeing it was a Thursday night, and the manager of the restaurant was walking from table to table, checking in to see how everyone was doing.  Soon she came round to our table, and she asked how we were enjoying our honeymoon in New Orleans.  She paid attention to the reservation information, too! I thought, and soon we were telling our honeymoon tale once again.  She introduced herself as Carrie Kelley, and continued to give some Besh advice of her own: go to Lüke.

"But--it's closed," we said.  "We had to cancel our reservation because of the remodeling."

"No, but it is opening tomorrow for lunch! You must go!"

My heart sank at the missed chance.  "We're having lunch at August," I said.  "And then heading to the airport straight from there."

"Wait," she said.  "I'm going to make a phone call."

Carrie Kelley disappeared into the tiny reception area, and moments later our food arrived at the table.  Oh, glorious food.  If only my brain could accurately remember all the beautiful details of what then sat before us.  But it doesn't.  All I can remember is that the pork neck was served rolled up with herbs and then sliced--a presentation that surprised me but then made sense when I thought about the cut of meat that I was eating.  And its texture and taste was an interesting cross between pork roast and bacon.  Definitely different from any pork I had ever eaten--and not necessarily something that I would order again.  (There are other cuts of pork that I just like better.)

Chef Reiton's duck was gorgeous, roasted to a deep, dark mahogany brown.  Crispy skin, meat that melted in your mouth, and a taste that was deep--nothing like the oily horror stories I had been told of.

A few minutes into the meal, Carrie Kelley was back.  "Okay," she said.  "Lüke is opening up at 11  tomorrow morning.  What time is your August reservation?"

"Noon," I said.

"Okay, here's what you do. Go to Lüke at 11.  Have some oysters and a beer, then walk to August for your lunch.  It's only a few blocks away from Lüke.  That way you can hit them both.  And you've got to try Lüke.  And August.  They are both just amazing."

I loved it.  It seemed that everyone was on our mission with us.  We were going to get to hit them all as we had hoped!

As the remains of our meal were cleared and we sat sipping our wine and digesting, we both remarked with sadness that tomorrow was our last day.  What a trip this had been! It wasn't a trip of happy moments; it had been happiness in one freakin' awesome continuation.

And we were getting a bonus! We were going to get to all the restaurants as we had hoped in the beginning! What a fantastic surprise that was. A little aperitif at Lüke and then a luncheon at August.

Were we saving the best for last? I wasn't sure.  Tonight's experience satisfied every longing that I had dreamt La Provence could fulfill.  The atmosphere, the service, the wine, the food (even if it wasn't my favorite pork dish).

I guessed there was only one way to find out...