Forest Street Kitchen

When boneless pork loin roasts are on sale, I buy one. Its not an inexpensive cut of meat, but if you have a big knife (and if you don’t, stop reading and buy one immediately) you can easily cut such a pork loin into chops of any thickness you desire, and have enough for at least two meals for a reasonably hungry family of four. I generally cut a pork loin into 8-10 chops, use 4 at a time and freeze the remainder until I am ready for them, which means we get meat for 3 meals for about $8.00.

One of my favorite pork chop inventions of late is in the Fauxtalian vein. It is in no way authentic (unless I have accidentally duplicated an actual recipe handed down through generations of some Italian family with which I am presently unacquainted) but uses several ingredients that are traditionally Italian. Because the chops cut from a boneless loin roast are very lean (save for the layer of fat across the top) they really require slow cooking with some liquid (a braise) in order to be tender. As long as you are cooking them in liquid, the liquid should be flavorful. Try this out, and feel free to experiment with other herbs, pre-cut, bone-in chops, fresh mushrooms…whatever takes your fancy.

Pork Chops Via Foresta

1. 4-6 pork chops
2. 3-4 cloves garlic, minced
3. 1-2 tablespoons dried or fresh Rosemary
4. 2 tablespoons Extra Virgin Olive Oil
5. Dried Porcini Mushrooms (about 8 ounces)
6. 1 cup veal, chicken or vegetable stock
7. 1 cup hot water
8. Salt
9. 1/2 cup Cream, Half & Half or Reduced Fat Half & Half
10. 1/2 cup white wine

In a bowl, add water to dried mushrooms. Set aside.

Heat oil in large saute pan over medium-low heat. Add garlic and saute for about 2 minutes, until fragrant. Add pork chops and sprinkle with salt and Rosemary. Cook for 15 minutes, turning every 5 minutes.

Add broth to pan and reduce heat to a simmer; simmer until chops are tender. (20-30 minutes, depending on thickness).

Remove chops and keep warm. Raise heat and reduce liquid remaining in pan. When no more than about 1/4 inch of liquid remains, reduce heat to medium-low and add wine and stir in, scraping the bottom to release what’s stuck to the bottom. Allow to simmer and reduce a bit as you strain mushrooms. Add mushrooms and cream to the sauce, and continue to cook until mushrooms are tender (if they were not already). Taste sauce and adjust seasoning Serve chops with polenta or risotto, topped with a generous portion of mushroom sauce.

When I was a kid, I always wondered what the “someone” was doing in that kitchen with Dinah. (Aside, that is, from singing “fee, fi, fiddly-i-o”). When I was really young, I imagined that Dinah was my grandparents’ dog, Dinah, who bit my hand and necessitated a series of rabies shots. When I was older, I assumed it was Dinah’s boyfriend, who I somehow confused with the guy who was “working on the railroad, all the livelong day” and clearly had no business strumming on his old banjo for Dinah in her kitchen as she tried to peel potatoes.

In my present state of evolution, I have an entirely different take on Dinah’s situation: Dinah is trying to cook, she has a relatively modest kitchen, in which “someone” has parked himself with a banjo and professed his desire to help her with dinner preparations. “Someone” is her brother in law, her next door neighbor, or her visiting college friend. He has, he tells her “done a lot of cooking.” He has a great suggestion about a better way to clean the mushrooms, or an idea about cheese that will melt better than the one she chose. He wants to tell her a long, rambling story about office politics or play her the new Keith Urban CD. She wants him to get the hell out of her kitchen so that she can cook in peace, dream a little, listen to her own music, or invent something without any voice other than that of her own inner chef. She wants him, and his damned banjo in the living room with everyone else, eating chips and guacamole.

As you may have gathered, I am a solitary cook by preference (although there are exceptions). I am self-taught, and did not grow up in one of those big families where all of the women-folk slice and dice and shell peas together. My grandmothers both cooked solo in their own kitchens, and while my mother (and father) were willing to teach me in the kitchen, they didn’t cook together or with children most of the time. I never lived in a co-op or worked in a restaurant kitchen where sharing and cooperating are required.

I like my stuff where it is, and I like to be in charge. If I cut up my onions and garlic and put them in little bowls ready to take the dive into hot olive oil, I want them left there. When I’m happy, I like to listen to the music of my choice cranked up to “stun,” and to dance, unobserved, as I improvise. When I’m sad, I prefer to work in silence, using the methodical chopping and stirring as a form of therapy. In the end, I like a certain veil of mysticism between my work in the kitchen and the fait accompli of a well-sauced pork chop in the dining room.

I didn’t know I was a solitary cook until alien interlopers interfered with my culinary mojo. I recall cooking in the highly dysfunctional kitchen of a long-ago ex, with his visiting mother. We made potato salad “together,” a process which started with me boiling potatoes, because I like potato salad with potatoes, scallions, red pepper, mayonnaise and mustard. The next step involved Ma Ex fishing every potato out of the water, cutting it smaller and putting it back into the water. She then added eggs to the boiling water so that they could be included in the salad. She was a fierce little person, and I cowered in submissive terror, eventually completely paralyzed to the point where I allowed her to add not only the eggs, but pickle relish and Miracle Whip.

My friend Healthy Jeff is also banned from my kitchen because, although he is as dear to me as a brother, he is a person who “eats to live” and does not “live to eat,” resulting in an unfortunate predilection for odd 5-grain mushes and mixes of organic juices and whey powder. He likes his pasta whole wheat, his sautees prepared with Pam, and no unnecessary seasonings. Cooking in his presence I feel like Paula Deen laughing vivaciously while building hardened arteries into every serving. When he is in my kitchen, I find myself trying to cook in a way that he will respect and admire (as if I regularly cooked with soy butter and textured vegetable protein), despite the fact that I personally have no desire to eat utilitarian meals that provide essential nutrients but deliver no pleasure in the cooking or the eating.

I also, alas, am unable to cook with my mother. We are very close, but it has become apparent over the years that neither of our kitchens is big enough for the two of us. I make a suggestion and she replies that she “has been cooking since before I was born.” She makes a suggestion and I indicate with some acerbity that I have “read, like 20 recipes for this already, and I am sure this is how I want to make it.” While she is very gracious about allowing me to prepare meals in her kitchen, she does not join me, and we have learned that even a casual remark from the doorway (”you aren’t going to chop those?”) can lead to emotional mayhem.

I do have a friend I can cook with, and this I cherish. Because he is a sensitive person (and accepts my truly astonishing levels of neuroses and need to control everything), when he is in my kitchen it is understood that I am the chef and he is the sous chef. The very fact that he clearly “gets” this lets me relax enough to allow him to take the lead when he is inspired. When he is inspired, its good, and we all eat well. He is orderly, he respects certain culinary orthodoxies that are dear to my heart, and he is vocal in his appreciation of my splendid chef’s knife, well-stocked pantry and functional storage system. He would never put Miracle Whip in the potato salad, judge me if I burnt the garlic, or look askance at a tablespoon of butter.

Maybe Dinah was really down with having someone hanging around in the kitchen with his banjo. Maybe she was lonely and needed company, maybe the banjo guy was the love of her life and she didn’t want him out of her sight, or maybe she was just in a good mood, dancing a little from sink to stove to refrigerator with a glass of wine in her hand and a smile on her lips. Maybe Dinah was a better person than I am, which isn’t actually all that difficult.

But maybe, just maybe, he was driving her nuts.

So everyone knows about my clandestine relationship with Anthony Bourdain (so clandestine, in fact, that he is not yet aware of it) but there is another man in my foodie fantasy life, and that man is Michael Ruhlman. I knew he was out there, I’d seen him judging “The Next Iron Chef,” and seen his books, I’d heard him interviewed on various podcasts, but when I saw him on “No Reservations” with Anthony, in Vegas, I knew that he completed me. Smart, handsome, nattily attired, he is both a fine writer and an inquisitive and thoughtful student of food. There is really nothing more that I need.

I am trying to get past the fact that he likes Claudia more than he likes me (she is prettier and, incidentally, has actually met the man) and focus only on my responses to The Soul of a Chef the 2001 book in which Ruhlman looks beyond the recipes, the celebrity opportunities and the public persona of chefs and into what makes them do the work that they do. Ruhlman, who attended the Culinary Institute of America (”CIA”) in order to write his first book, The Making of a Chef, brings to the table his own strong opinions, as well as an unusual combination of knowledge and curiosity. This is no PR piece for the chefs about whom Ruhlman writes; he pulls no punches and seems at all times to be mindful of the difference between the intentions and philosophies of each chef and the ways in which those interior forces do (or in some cases, do not) work themselves out on the plate.

The Soul of a Chef consists of three parts: a description of the Certified Master Chef examination given at the CIA, and observations on the work of chef Michael Symon of Lola, and Thomas Keller at The French Laundry. (Ruhlman also provides a number of relevant recipes at the back of the book). The MCM is a test that makes the Bar Exam look like a mere bagatelle; conducted over several days it requires candidates to cook in a variety of styles to very exacting tolerances. The dropout rate is high, and the failure rate is high; furthermore, most “foodies” don’t even know of the existence of the exam, and many well known and successful chefs denigrate it as meaningless compared to the body of their work in the “real world.” Chef Brian Polcyn is prominently features in the CMC portion of the book, and regardless of whether one is a foodie, the description of Polcyn’s turmoil about the exam reads like the most compelling fiction. He wants to pass, he has already failed once before, he knows he is a fine chef, and while he wants desperately to prove that he can pass, he is unwilling to completely relinquish his own sensibilities and understandings in order to meet a standard that is largely based on techniques and rules that are no longer the currency of working chefs.

In writing about Michael Symon, it is clear that Ruhlman likes the guy, and so will most readers. Symon is clearly no slouch as a technician or in terms of creative vision; he beat a field of fiercely talented competitors to become the newest of Food Network’s Iron Chefs. In the book, we see Symon triumphant, Symon chain smoking anxiously in his basement office, and Symon bucking the Kitchen Confidential image of restaurant kitchens as brutal, inhuman cesspools by treating his staff as family with high expectations, bluntness, righteous anger and encouragement depending on the situation. He is intense, and certainly cares about imagining and preparing food that will delight and satisfy, but Symon is no anal perfectionist and we do not envision him giving up a week of working days and spending thousands of dollars to travel to Hyde Park and try his hand at the CMC examination. The measure of his work, it seems, has to do with the daily successes and failures in his own restaurant (now restaurants) and not against an arcane and possibly irrelevant standard of excellence.

While I liked Brian Polcyn for his entirely recognizable inner struggles, and Michael Symon for his passion and exuberance, I had a harder time with Thomas Keller. It is in writing about Keller, though, that Ruhlman demonstrates the level of his insight and his gift for distilling the essence of a complicated man much like Keller distills the essence of a carrot to create a clear soup that makes you “understand what a carrot is.” Keller has a vision, and a way of shaping his kitchen, his restaurant and his food that is in many ways rigid, but also elevates ideas and ingredients to the point where they become art. It is in the way his mind works that this alchemy begins; many chefs could prepare similar dishes or riff on the same classic recipes, but Keller is able to imagine food so evocative, so simple and so essential that it creates emotional responses ranging from laughter to blubbering, embarrassed worship in his audience.

If you are interested in food, or art, or the workings of the human soul, I strongly suggest adding this to your “to read” list. Its also okay to read it just because Michael Ruhlman is all that and a bag of chips, but even then I promise that you will end up admiring his fine mind…too.

When I stayed home because I was sick during elementary school, my mother often made me a bowl of chicken noodle soup that contained not only the requisite broth, noodles, carrots and chicken, but a message that I was loved. In college when I was heartbroken (again), my roommate brought me blueberry whole wheat doughnuts from Gibson’s, and I often returned the favor; my dear husband knows that my ills can be cured by takeout Pad Thai. In all cases, the message is the same: somebody is thinking about you and wants you to feel cared for.

If we have any ties to humanity, there are times when someone we care about needs to be loved, supported and nurtured with food. Whether the occasion is a sad one such as a death, a serious illness or a breakup, or a happier but hectic time like the birth of a baby or a move to a new home, the gift of a homemade meal in the freezer is both kind and practical.

BASIC GUIDELINES

There are some rules for providing food to others in times when they need a hand. Some of these I have posted previously, but they bear repeating.

1. If possible (particularly if the recipient is not a very close friend or family member) find someone close to the recipient who can organize all “cookers” and plan who will provide meals on what day, and make an effort to diversify the offerings so that the family doesn’t end up with three pans of lasagne. Find out if the family is deluged with food and needs everything frozen, or if they would prefer a meal delivered hot and ready to eat at meal-time. Ask whether they would like meals dropped in such a way that they don’t have to see anyone, or if they like to have the bearer of dinner stay and chat for a few minutes. You aren’t just taking food over; you are expressing your interest in and compassion towards a person or a family.
2. If at all possible, check into preferences and restrictions of everyone for whom you are cooking. Chemotherapy patients often have changes in their sense of taste, and may have developed strong aversions or intolerances for certain foods. Breastfeeding mothers are limited in what they are able to eat. Is there a vegetarian? Do they eat fish? Do they like spicy foods? Are there kids in the house who would really like to have some homemade cookies around? You are not a short-order cook, but there is really very little point in delivering something that the family will not eat and enjoy.
3. Create absolutely no work or thinking for the recipient. Send food in disposable containers unless you are frequently in their home and able to wash and retrieve dishes yourself. If you send a dish that is not already hot, include a label that explains what the meal is, along with instructions for re-heating. Do not include perishables (salads, for example) unless you are certain that the meal will be consumed within a day or two.
4. Make double the recipe so that your family has a dinner, too. Of course you don’t have to do this, but why not?
5. If you can’t cook, would rather not, or just plain think the food recipient would like it, go ahead and take them a pizza from Pizza Hut with breadsticks and a salad. Its the thought that counts, and particularly in households with kids, a pizza is rarely a bad thing.

Note: although the recipe on the “Cooking Light” website does not include the fact that this soup may be frozen and re-heated, the magazine version does. The best re-heating method would be to place the frozen soup in a saucepan or stockpot over low to medium low heat and stir occasionally. It could also be microwaved, if frozen in 2-3 serving containers. If you freeze the entire quantity, be sure that you freeze it in a container that will easily fit into a pot - its difficult to force a Ziploc-sized square of frozen soup into a standard pot. This recipe makes 8 fairly modest servings; double it if you would like to serve it at home, too. It would be nice to include a batch of commercially made and frozen biscuits in a resealable package so that the family can make as many biscuits as they want with their soup.

Ham and Bean Soup Recipe

Breakfast Bake

Although this is labelled as a “breakfast,” is makes a fine, light dinner or lunch and offers a welcome change from the usual suspects. The recipe as printed below makes two 6-8 serving pans. Its easily altered to accommodate different tastes, and if you think it isn’t enough food for your recipient, add a package of pork or turkey breakfast sausages which may also be frozen.

Breakfast Bake

1. 4 1/2 cups seasoned croutons
2. 2 cups (8 oz.) shred cheddar
3. 1 medium onion, chopped
4. 1/4 cup chopped red pepper
5. 1/4 cup chopped green pepper
6. 1 4 1/2 oz jar sliced mushrooms (I omit these)
7. 8 eggs
8. 4 cups milk
9. 1 teaspoon Kosher salt
10. 1 teaspoon ground mustard
11. 1/8 teaspoon pepper
12. 8 bacon strips, cooked and crumbled (you can also use turkey bacon or vegetarian bacon strips)

Sprinkle croutons, cheese, onion, peppers and mushrooms into two greased 8-inch square baking dishes. In a bowl, combine the eggs, milk, salt, mustard, and pepper. Slowly pour over vegetables, dividing between pans, and sprinkle each with bacon.

To bake and serve immediately: bake uncovered at 350 for 45-50 minutes or until a knife inserted in the center comes out clean.

To freeze and re-heat: cover and freeze for up to three months. To re-heat, thaw in refrigerator for 24-36 hours, remove from refrigerator 30 minutes before baking. Bake, uncovered at 350 for 50-6- minutes, or until a knife inserted in the center comes out clean.

Pizza Hoagies

This is a great choice for families with kids; its not gourmet, but its not another casserole with weird things in it. Kids “get” pizza. Particularly if you are cooking for kids, add in a poke of frozen, homemade chocolate chip cookies and some individually packaged containers of applesauce, which have the half-life of uranium in the refrigerator. If the family has more sophisticated taste, by all means go upscale with Italian sausage, fresh herbs and the best rolls you can find. This recipe makes eight individual sandwiches which may be enough to split between your family and a recipient family, but I double it because these make great snacks or emergency meals. If you are going to keep some for home use, you may want to wrap them individually or in twos.

Pizza Hoagies

1. 1 pound ground beef (or turkey or Italian sausage)
2. 1/2 cup chopped onion
3. 1 15-oz can of pizza sauce
4. 1/4 can chopped, ripe olives
5. 2 teaspoons dried basil
6. 1 teaspoon dried oregano
7. 8 hoagie buns, sub buns or French rolls
8. At least 8 ounces shredded mozzarella cheese

Brown ground beef and onion over medium heat, and drain off fat. Stir in pizza sauce, olives, basil and oregano and cook for 10 minutes.

Cut 1/4 inch from the top of each roll and set pieces aside. Carefully hollow out the larger part of the roll, leaving a 1/4 inch shell. (I save the filling to make croutons). Sprinkle 2 or more tablespoons of cheese inside each shell, top with 1/2 cup sauce and divide remaining cheese over the sauce. Pres down with the back of a spoon to flatten and replace “tops.” Individually wrap hoagies in foil, in group of four.

To bake immediately: place wrapped sandwiches on baking sheet. Bake at 375 for 15 minutes, or until heated through.

To freeze and reheat: place foil-wrapped sandwiches on a baking sheet. Bake at375 for 60-70 minutes or until heated through.

MORE RESOURCES

Here are some other places to get inspiration and tips for meals that are freeze-able.

Food Network

Good Housekeeping

Don’t Panic - Dinner’s in the Freezer

Last night I played with fire for dinner, and it was so good that I did it again today. I served boneless, skinless chicken breasts and rice with black beans and corn, topped generously with a more picante version of the Roasted Chile Verde Sauce from Isabel Cruz’s first cookbook, Isabel’s Cantina. The sauce is labor-intensive, but absolutely fabulous in terms of flavor, flexibility and healthiness. I made it blow-your-head-off hot, but the original recipe calls for the removal of most of the chiles’ seeds, so it could actually be quite a bit milder. I also had to use winter-pallid plum tomatoes, but I think this will be even better in the summer when I get fresh, locally grown produce.

There was sauce left over, so for lunch today I scrambled eggs with white Mexican cheese and poured the remaining Chile Verde over the top. Honestly, it was so damned good that for a minute I genuinely believed that I could whip up some mole, make some tortillas from scratch, and challenge Rick Bayless to a throw-down.

Restored to my senses, I offer you the recipe for the Chile Verde sauce. As Cruz notes in her book, it would also be good with pork, or simply served with tortilla chips. I’d also like it over burritos, I think. If you are serving it with chicken, try it over grilled or sauteed breasts, or even roast chicken parts. If eggs are your pleasure, try this over a creamy plate of scrambled specimens or atop two fried or over-easy on a heated tortilla.

Roasted Chile Verde Sauce

(Adapted from Isabels’ Cantina by Isabel Cruz)

Ingredients

1. 3 tablespoons olive oil
2. 1 medium yellow onion, diced
3. 5 garlic cloves, minced ( I used big garlic cloves; if you end up with the tiny ones I’d use 6 or 7)
4. 4 Anaheim chiles, roasted and chopped
5. 2 Poblano chiles, roasted and chopped
6. 1 pound tomatillos, roasted and pureed
7. 3 plum tomatoes, diced
8. Kosher salt

Preparation

1. To roast chiles and tomatillos: cook over the flame of a gas grill or other fire source until skin turns black and begins to blister and peel. Place in a brown paper bag and leave for 15-20 minutes. Remove chiles and tomatillos from bag and remove skin with the bag or a paper towel or kitchen towel.
2. To prepare chiles: Cut off stem ends and split in half lengthwise. (WEAR GLOVES and if you don’t wash hands very thoroughly before touching your eyes or other tender parts of your body). The heat is in the seeds, and Cruz’s original recipe calls for “removing and discarding the seeds,” easily done with a knife blade. If you remove the seeds, the sauce will be flavorful but quite mild. I left all of them in, which made the sauce extremely hot. You could also remove any other percentage of seeds and adjust the heat to your liking. Once you have removed the desired amount of seedage, roughly chop the chiles.
3. Heat the oil in a large skillet and cook onions and garlic for about 3 minutes. Add the chiles, tomatillo puree and tomatoes and simmer for 5 minutes.
4. Add 1/2 cup cold water and simmer over low heat for about 30 minutes or until thickened, and season with salt. (Note: the original recipe calls for adding 1 cup of water, but I found that at the end of 30 minutes the sauce was still very watery and had to be cooked over higher heat to evaporate some of the excess liquid. In future, I’ll start with the half cup, watch the sauce and add a little more water if it seems to be too chunky).
5. Serve hot; sauce will keep in the refrigerator for three days.

Last Friday night, I invented a curry-like dish. The plan had been for some sort of Italianate meal involving risotto, chicken, mushrooms and white wine, but since I had used up the mushrooms and white wine the night before, and had several packets of new and intriguing spices that had been waiting patiently since Christmas, I decided to see what I could come up with. Disclaimer: This is not how to make authentic Indian Curry and if that is what you are looking for, there are literally hundreds of other blogs that can give you great recipes. I would hate to think of some trusting type making a batch of this to serve yo prospective in-laws from Delhi. This is to curry as Egg Foo Young is to real Chinese food (I think) but it still tastes complex and rich and wonderful and can be adjusted to suit your family’s tastes and the contents of your kitchen. It also includes protein, starch and a vegetable, and if you add another fruit or vegetable you have a balanced meal. We had ours with sliced citrus on the side, which was a refreshing counterpoint to the heat (literal and figurative) of the curry.

“As You Like It” Curry
(Serves 4)

Ingredients

1. 4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts (I think you could also easily use firm tofu, shrimp, pork, or even portobello mushrooms)
2. 4 shallots or 1 yellow onion, dices
3. 4 cloves garlic, smashed or diced
4. Garam Masala (or curry powder, although it will taste different)
5. Red Pepper Flakes or Cayenne (optional)
6. Salt
7. Sugar
8. 2-3 tablespoons Vegetable Oil
9. About 1 cup frozen peas
10. 1 cup chicken broth
11. Milk or cream (optional)
12. 1/4 cup flour
13. 2 cups Basmati rice
14. Water

Preparation

1. Start rice by placing 2 cups Basmati and 3 cups water in a pot that has a lid.
2. Heat oil in large frying pan over medium heat and add onions or shallots. Cook for about 4 minutes
3. Add garlic and cook for 1 minute, stirring frequently. If there’s any sign of browning garlic, reduce heat immediately.
4. When rice comes to a boil, reduce heat and cover; set timer for 17 minutes.
5. Add to pan about 2 tablespoons Garam Masala, 1 teaspoon salt, a pinch of hot pepper and a pinch of sugar, heat and stir for about 1 minute until you smell the spices
6. Raise heat to medium-high and add chicken breasts.Cook, uncovered for 15 minutes, turning every 5 minutes.
7. (If rice timer goes off during the making of the curry, simply turn it off and leave it covered. It won’t be long).
8. Check largest breast at thickest point to be sure juices run clear and chicken is done. If it is, remove to cutting board. If not, turn and cook another 5 minutes and check again.
9. When chicken is cooked through and removed to cutting board, add flour to pan and stir into pan juices, scraping up anything from the bottom of the pan. Cook at least 1-2 minutes to “toast” flour.
10. Add chicken broth and continue to stir until mixture thickens. Taste and adjust flavorings; if you want more heat, add more red pepper, if you want deeper flavor add more Garam Masala and if its too sharp or bitter add a little more sugar. This is a very personal thing.
11. When the flavor is “as you like it” add more water or cream or milk (I used milk to get a creamier sauce) until the sauce is thick and coats the back of a spoon, but is not gelatinous or like a dip. Reduce heat to medium low and stir in peas.
12. As the peas cook, slice chicken into strips about 1/4 inch wide. This will be messy since they will be coated with juice and spices, but try to retain as much of that as you can; its where the flavor is.
13. Add chicken to curry and stir in. Check a pea for doneness, correct seasonings again if needed, and serve over Basmati.

Okay, so I could write about the kick-ass Indian curry I invented for dinner Friday night, but before I get to that, I have been challenged by Ricki to write a post about the sexiest food guy on TV. I believe this request stems from my naked lust for Anthony Bourdain, so I can’t pretend to be completely surprised by the notion that I have strong opinions about Men with Knives. If you find this offensive, trivial or having a whiff of “E!” about it, you may register complaints on Ricki’s blog. I am just an innocent observer of foodie TV culture, giving the people (okay, the person) what she wants.

It is important to note, here, that this is NOT about objective physical attractiveness. There are many men in the world (Tom Cruise and Kevin Costner, for example) who are extraordinarily sex-appeal-y to some women, but do nothing for me. There are others (Bill Murray and Alan Rickman, for example) who do not appeal to everyone, but who I find particularly tasty. This is not about the chiseled jaw and the washboard abs; its about my personal, objective responses and what I hear from other women about Men who Cook on TV.

Off the top of my head, there are a number of men who may readily be ruled out of contention for a variety of reasons. Emeril, because he just does nothing for me, although I confess to a tiny twinge when he says “yeah, babe” to his garlic or salmon fillet. Bobby Flay is too sure of himself, and seems vaguely contemptuous and hard to please. Robert Irvine has those giant, ham-like arms and yells a lot, (although I find him very charming and endearing),

and Guy Fieri is too bleached and spiky and wears his damned sunglasses on the back of his neck in a way that is just too self-consciously cool for my tastes.

Iron Chef Morimoto is intimidating to me for some reason.

I am conflicted about Jamie Oliver. He has a certain baby-faced, pouty-lipped sexiness about him, but he is somehow too young, too soft, too easy.

Duff from “Ace of Cakes” is pretty cute, but reminds me too much of the frat boys I see all over town with calculated little beards and baseball caps screwed on backwards to hold their brains in.

Now for my contenders, in no particular order: Anthony Bourdain,

Alton Brown,

Iron Chef Michael Symon,

Michael Chiarello,

and Tyler Florence.

These men fall into three groups, in my mind: Nice Guys, Edgy Guys and Nice Guys with Edge. Chiarello and Florence are Nice Guys, Batali, Symon and Brown are Nice Guys with Edge, and Bourdain and Ramsay, well, you already guessed that one. I think that, for example, I could ask Michael C. or Tyler to whip up hors d’oeuvres for a group of obnoxious friends and relatives and that either would cook, serve and chat charmingly without once calling someone a jackass. I envision Mario, Michael S., or Alton presenting a civil front to the guests while hurling invectives in the kitchen. It is hard to imagine Anthony or Gordon suppressing their true feelings at the table, in the parlor or in the kitchen given the slightest provocation.

Now for the tough part: the actual, irrelevant, decision as to which of these men (all of whom are actually married with children, as am I) is most appealing to me. I can rule out the Nice Guys right off the bat, despite the fact that I find both of them to be fabulous examples of Tough and Tender in action. They are both prettier than I am, which would be both threatening and distracting. There are just practical limits on what you can cover up with a sheet. Therefore, I have to relegate them to the category of runners-up.

As for the rest of the guys, the main issue is hair. I like hair, which rules out Symon despite his toughness, sense of humor, great laugh and the vision to create destination restaurants in Cleveland (!). I also don’t like spiky hair, which rules out Alton and Gordon. Also, Alton seems so cerebral and caustic at times, that it is difficult to reconcile with, shall we say, the realm of the sensual, and Gordon mocks people because of their weight, which ticks me off. I’ll say Alton is second runner up.

Mario has hair, and seems like an absolutely fabulous combination of smart, funny, talented in the kitchen and creative. Unfortunately, I once heard him mispronounce a word on NPR. (If you knew me, you would understand). For this reason, he is only the first runner up in my fantasy Chef Hunk league.

The winner? Was there ever any doubt? I would go anywhere with Anthony, eat bone soup or brain sandwiches with him, listen to the Ramones with him, and polish his leather jacket.

You can make me feel less like an idiot by telling me your opinion on this burning issue; the mere fact of knowing that someone else thinks about this might be a relief.

Last night, close to 10:00, I heard from a friend who was finishing a long tiring day. While I was sympathetic to stories of computer malfunctions and long meetings, I became fully engaged only when he mentioned that He. Was. Hungry.. In an uncharacteristic burst of spontanaeity (It was, after all, a school night) I told him to come on over and hang out with Mr. Annie while I made him some dinner and poured him a glass or two of wine.

I blame Anthony Bourdain for this, actually. I had been watching a DVD of “No Reservations” earlier in the evening, and Bourdain had been disporting himself passionately all over Sicily,  talking up the virtues of putting pleasure first and enjoying all that life has to offer. He was jumping off cliffs into the ocean, harvesting capers, eating spaghetti with sauce made by crushing sun-hot fresh tomatoes with bare hands. How could I, possessing a full refrigerator and mad skills in the kitchen, turn away a hungry (and amusing) person just because it was a school night?

I sauteed mushrooms in (quite a lot of) butter, and finished them with a little cream and white wine. I made a beautiful, golden half moon of a cheese omelette, spooned the mushrooms over the top, added two slices of buttered toast cut into triangles, and a glass of Pinot Grigio. It was 10:00 at night, my house smelled like mushrooms and butter and toast, and I was Living. If Bourdain had dropped by, hoop earring glinting with reflected porch light, I would have fed him, too.

This morning, I was up at 7:00 preparing a second short-order meal, of sorts: a crockpot full of “New England Baked Beans” and two pitchers of authentic chocolate “frappes” for Sam to take to school as part of a presentation. I had approximately 20 minutes’ notice that I would be supplying Mr. Voigt’s fifth grade class with examples New England’s finest comestibles, but at least Sam was assigned  the states of Massachusetts, where I lived for many years, and New York, where I live in my fantasies.

That is, until it was the morning after my Night of Living on the Edge. (I am aware, by the way, that there are people engaged in far riskier activities including firefighting, lion taming and preschool instruction, but I ask you to consider this situation from my point of view as a charter member of the Risk Aversion Society of North America).

I had intended to doctor the cans of Campbell’s Pork & Beans so that they would more closely resemble the baked beans served at Durgin Park, or by my grandmother in Rhode Island, but I didn’t even crack a bottle of Grade B maple syrup. I looked at the beans, decided that half of the kids wouldn’t eat them no matter what I did, put the lid on the pot and called it “good.” I made the relatively thin milkshakes served as “frappes” at Brigham’s (in my memories, anyway) knowing that there would be at least seven children, accustomed only to the styrofoam-like shakes served at McDonald’s, who would complain and make faces when the frappes hit their Dixie cups.

Tonight I will perform one final short order miracle. I used up the mushrooms, the cream and the wine I needed to cook tonight’s dinner during my burst of La Dolce Vita, and I will have to figure out what to do with my chicken breasts and rice. Perhaps, since this is entirely his fault (except for the beans and frappes) Mr. Bourdain will be kind enough to give me some idea about how to pull off one last culinary coup before I do my grocery shopping. I’ll be waiting.

I haven’t written anything for a while. Huh. There are several possible explanations for this phenomenon, each one duller than the last, so suffice it to say that I’ve been busy.

We have eaten very straightforward, Anglo-American comfort food all week, and (as always happens after a week without much spice) I am practically breaking out in hives in anticipation of cooking some things that are spicy, complicated and colorful. I am fully recovered from the holiday and the kid’s birthday extravaganzas, I have broken out the cook books that are chronically underused, and I’m ready to put my apron on, fire up the burners and get to work. As always, I am designing meals around what’s on sale, what’s fresh (that would be precisely nothing) and a balance of no more than 2 red meat meals and at least one vegetarian meal. Here’s what we’re eating on Forest Street this week:

Saturday

Spaghetti with Meatballs, Salad and Bread

This is actually bumped forward from this week, because we have had two”surprise” dinners out. It is a serviceable and popular meal around here, but I was not going to turn down margaritas, tamales and a mariachi band with a cute guitarist to stay home and eat spaghetti made by me.

Sunday

Kansas City Hot Wings, Oven Fries, Citrus Salad

This meal is also moved up from this week. The recipe is from Barbara at Bless Us O Lord, and it sounds very promising.

Monday

Grilled Chicken Breasts with Roasted Chili Verde, Rice and Corn and Avocado Salad

Here is where the adventures begin. The chicken recipe, from Isabella’s Cantina involves roasting my own chiles, and the Corn and Avocado Salsa is from the same source. It sounds fresh and flavorful and healthy, and maybe it will bring a bit of California sunshine into our winter-heavy Midwestern hearts.

Wednesday

Farfalle with Broccoli and Semolina Bread

This is a recipe from Giada di Laurentiis’ Everyday Pasta, which is very simple and gets a great deal of its flavor from anchovies. They will dissolve into an unnameable, salty, umami-laden sauce, but I will not be volunteering an ingredient list until the plates are licked clean. (By the way, I am counting this as a vegetarian meal even though its really not, because, really, how can you count 5 anchovies divided up among several people?)

Thursday

Crostata Di Perrella and Green Salad

This is really a stuffed pizza with herbs, goat cheese, mozzarella and a litle prosciutto, among other things. The recipe comes from Alice Water’s Chez Panisse Cafe Cookbook, which is lovely to look at and full of inspiration, but has many recipes too challenging for my actual family. This one looks delicious and like it may combine the downmarket, cheese-y fun of pizza and calzones with the elegance of great ingredients including fresh herbs.

Thursday

Thai Beef Curry,Rice and Green Beans

Its been a while since I made this, it makes the crowd go wild, and there’s good, lean beef on sale.  I am going to make it so hot that we all weep uncontrollably and then lie around ecstatic with endorphins (until its time for basketball practice).

Friday

Shepard’s Pie and Dilled Carrots 

Back to the prosaic and somewhat bland, but life can’t be all fireworks and excitement. (Well it can be for a while, but there tend to be consequences involving rehab, jail or a hospital stay).  The boys love their Shepard’s Pie, and while it isn’t quite as rough-hewn and authentic as what Gordon Ramsay whips up on the British version of “Kitchen Nightmares,” they’ll do just fine on our own little corner of the blasted heath.

Because I am, shall we say, a pathologically inflexible person, we go grocery shopping every Saturday. When this is not possible because, for example, we are on vacation or someone is gravely ill, I become anxious to the point of requiring sedation. What will we eat? When will we buy it? Will the sales circulars be different than those that I memorized on the previous Thursday?

But I digress. During the months of June through October we stop first at the Farmer’s Market, but at this time of year we are limited to what’s available at Meijer’s Thrifty Acres. (I am not making that up, couldn’t if I tried all day). It is a decent, large grocery store that is trying to respond to the increasing desire for organic and locally grown foods, and although I miss the days when I can load up on baby eggplants and fresh basil picked earlier that morning, I give them huge credit for trying. We live at least 50 miles from the Nearest Trader Joe’s or Whole Foods, and even I am not quite insane enough to suggest a weekly shopping trip involving a two hour commute.

Despite the stunning absence of produce that is not imported from Chile, Florida or California, I am usually very proud of my cart as I wheel into a checkout lane. I imagine, as I unload Gran Padano, Portobello mushrooms, shallots and organic milk and eggs that the people around me are secretly just a bit jealous. I discern a hint of wistfulness as the gentleman unloading 20 Lean Cuisines, a carton of Diet Coke and a Sarah Lee pound cake looks at my healthy, somewhat exotic choices. He is wishing that he could eat at my house. He is wishing that he could cook. (He is possibly wishing that I didn’t have so damned much stuff in my cart so he could get home in time to catch the start of the football game).

Suffice it to say that I buy the best I can find and afford, that I am a terrible snob, and that I wish, after the fashion of Johnny Appleseed, to inspire in others a desire to enjoy a beautiful Bosc pear instead of the grainy and gelatinous canned variety or to try a Manchego or a Cheshire instead of Processed American Cheese Food. Its a tiny highlight of my week that, in my own private world, I have a gold star on my chart for grocery shopping.

Today, because I was shopping for Sam’s birthday party, my cart was nothing to be proud of. Its hard to hide the entire contents of a shopping cart, particularly when the object is to unload those contents onto a conveyor belt. Sure, you can try to hide your feminine hygiene purchases or your National Enquirer under a couple of bags of brussel sprouts, but its tough to hide three cases of soda, four bags of chips, two dozen Krispy Kreme, three boxes of frozen waffles and two bottles of Carmel-Colored Maple Flavored Syrup Product. I tried, in vain, to put my lettuce, carrots, Clementines and Roquefort on top of the offending white-trash-o-rama, but in vain. I could practically hear the woman in the next lane with her Kashi waffles and fat-free vanilla yogurt whispering to her track-suited husband that ground zero of the childhood obesity epidemic was unloading her cart in lane 23.

Its a once-a-year walk of shame, and I guess I can’t really expect a house full of fifth grade boys to eat blini with sour cream and caviar, but still. Still, I can’t wait for the Saturday when I am making my way out of the Thrifty Acres with a baguette and carrot greens waving impressively out of the top of my bag and I see Kashi-woman stopping to pick up a bag of Doritos or Little Debbie’s Snack Cakes that has fallen from her cart, possibly jostled by the economy-sized bag of frozen hot wings that she is pathetically trying to hide under a bag of assorted field greens….