Saturday, December 24, 2011

Christmas Adam Byriani



Chicken byriani, saag, green onion raita, cranberry chutney, pappad

Sunday, December 18, 2011

Mid December Date Night at Home



Barley pearl and kale risotto, grilled Dijon pork chops, apple red pepper slaw with elder flower vinaigrette. Paired with a Cab. Sauv.

Friday, December 16, 2011

Morning Glory



My chapel on the last day of school for the boys before the holidays (aka my last morning to myself). Sautéed yellow peppers and artichoke hearts with thyme and basil, two fried eggs, a dollop of marinara and a dusting of parmesan cheese.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Earl of Sandwich, Deconstructed

Rosemary & olive oil bread, pan fried eggplant slices, garden tomatoes, a scoop of goat cheese, drizzled with fresh basil olive oil, salt & pepper. I won Catan.

Sometimes It's Ramen

I've always appreciated the blank canvas. Here's a working lunch: ramen - flavor packet + chili oil, fresh ginger & garlic, dark soy + leftover sauteed greens from the night before + an egg poached on top of the noodle raft in the pot. Sprinkle with sunflower seeds and rice wine vinegar.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Anniversary Dinner

Summer slaw: shredded zucchini and peach with a Caribbean curry flavor--lime, ginger, curry, cayenne. Papad and dots of Rooster sauce.

Filet with a red wine reduction, turnip gratin (turnips from the garden), baby peas with mint.

Ambiance, pre-service.

Saturday, August 6, 2011

Tea before entering the Tate Modern Museum in London. Cranberry scones, clotted cream, homemade strawberry jam, and some sort of fancy sounding tea I can't remember. We ate at the tables outside and watched Tate visitors turn their kids loose on the lawn after dragging them through the museum.

Pause for Breakfast

Breakfast at home this morning. Bagel thins from the freezer, poached eggs, some lemons that needed to be turned into hollandaise, and two tomatoes from the local Farmer's Market, braised, + sprig of basil for color.

Saturday, July 30, 2011

Lunch with Oscar Wilde

From Trafalgar Square, walk toward St. Martin-in-the-Fields and you’ll find a small side street. A black marble statue of Oscar Wilde reclines there, the crazy old cat staring up at the stars from the gutter. We bought hot baps from Porky’s: ham, camembert, and pineapple on a fluffy white bun. We took them back to sit with Oscar and poke fun at the passersby, something we felt he would appreciate. A middle-aged bald man stopped by to explain the correct procedure. “Lean down as if you’re having a conversation, see. If you share a smoke or a drink, he likes that even better. Cheers to you.”

Friday, July 29, 2011

Pasta Salad

I do not have a picture to share. Imagine a dusky pub at sunset. You’re tired. You’ve got a crick in your neck from trying to sleep on the flight from Hartsfield-Jackson to Heathrow. You sip a pint and look forward to a steaming plate of comfort food: linguine with prawns for you, chicken tortellini for Husband.

When your linguine arrives, it is not in the wide white bowl you imagined. Instead, it’s in a cereal-sized, cream colored crock. The prawns are not the prawns you imagined. Instead, they are snagged bits of crayfish. The linguine is not the linguine you imagined. Instead, it is salad greens.

Husband’s chicken tortellini is a quesadilla.

Okay, you’re in a different country. Perhaps there is a language barrier, you consider, staring at your plates as the waitress moves off to another task. But wait, you think, this is England. There is not a language barrier.

Husband offers to take care of it. He walks back up the bar, motioning back to your table. You see the waitress nod, look over at the table, shake her head, and then point to the menu. Husband comes back, sits down, picks up his fork.

“She says that’s what we ordered. Linguine and tortellini,” he says.

You assure him there is no country on earth where linguine is a bowl of salad and tortellini is a quesadilla, and make him try again. That’s what he does.

Eventually, a manager gets involved. He puzzles it out with the kitchen staff, unseen hermits who live in the basement below the pub and send up apparently random food choices through the dumbwaiter. It is revealed that at some point, at some time in the pub’s history, someone had ordered the linguine but asked for the prawns served on salad instead of pasta, with crayfish instead of prawns. Perhaps it was Meg Ryan. Anyway, the kitchen started serving it that way on a regular basis. They apologized, and one pint later the waitress brought over a platter of saucy noodles draped with pink prawns.

No explanation for the quesadilla. Husband said it was delicious.

London, Day 1

Lunch at the Hoxton Hotel in Shoreditch, London. Prosciutto wrapped, grilled asparagus with two poached eggs and a balsamic drizzle.

Also, a shrimp burger and fries. Guinness.