Storm of Thoughts

Wordless Wednesday: A Valentine’s Mosaic

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Tomato Bisque

As I recently mentioned, I collect recipes from all over. And, with the weather being so cold (and more snow on its way!), I’ve been in the mood for soup a lot lately. Which is what made for the perfect coincidence when, just the other day, my “cousin” Irene sent me a new recipe for tomato bisque. I haven’t tried it yet, but it sounds good enough to share here! Thanks, Irene.

6 tablespoons butter
2 stalks celery, chopped
1 medium onion, chopped
1 carrot, chopped
4 tablespoons flour
3 1 lb. cans whole tomatoes, drained and chopped
1 or 2 teaspoons sugar
1 teaspoon basil
1 teaspoon marjoram
1 bay leaf
2 cups chicken (or vegetable!) broth
1 1/2 cups whipping cream (can substitute half and half)
1/2 teaspoon paprika
1/2 teaspoon curry powder
salt and pepper, to taste

optional for serving:
1 package puff pastry
1 egg, beaten

Melt the butter over medium-low heat and saute the celery, onion, and carrot until tender. Stir in the flour and cook, stirring, for a minute or two. Add the tomatoes, sugar, basil, marjoram, bay leaf, and chicken broth, then simmer for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally. Discard the bay leave. Puree the mixture with a hand blender or in a food processor or blender to reach desired consistency (not too thin). Return the mixture to the pot and stir in cream, paprika, curry powder, and salt and pepper.

To serve, pour the soup into individual bowls or ramekins. Roll out puff pastry and cut out rounds about 1/2 inch larger than the bowls. Brush the edges of the pastry with beaten egg and place on top of the ramekins, pressing edges to seal. Brush the top with egg and bake in the oven at 425 degrees for about 15 minutes, until puffed and golden.

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Another New (Kitchen) Toy

I love kitchen items. (Or, as Sharon at Mom Generations would call them, kitchen gadgets. ) Most cooks can never get enough of fun new appliances, tools, bakeware, and all the rest. Which is why I’m so happy with my newest toy.

I’ve always been a fan of Le Creuset. I’ve spent a lot of time on the website, in Williams-Sonoma and Sur la Table, and even in the outlet shops admiring them. Of course, they are special pieces. After all, they’re expensive. And heavy. Oh so heavy.

But I have found that they are very worth it. I am a Le Creuset convert.

I got two small baking dishes from my mom, and have used them now for several different meals. Immediately I noticed benefits, like the fact that food heats up evenly and quickly. Plus, they are so easy to clean, you feel like you have a maid. (Which means a lot coming from someone without a dishwasher). No matter what I bake onto them (cheese that has burned into the corners after leftovers were reheated several times, bits of tortilla from enchiladas, etc.), they immediately come off. Soak them, and you barely have to lift the sponge; you simply will them off and your dish is cleaned.

Not to mention, they’re so pretty. What’s more fun than choosing a bright turquoise dish in a kitchen full of boring blacks, silvers, and whites?

And yes - they are heavy. I might not want an entire kitchen full of them. But I intend to use the ones I do have all the time, even after my arms are tired from lifting them. They’re that good.

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Stacks of This and Piles of That

As you may have noticed, I like recipes. In fact, I LOVE them. Whether or not I intend to actually make them (although, let’s face it, recipes are always clipped and saved with the best of intentions), I can’t get enough. I long for new cookbooks, subscribe to more cooking magazines than I have time to read, and search the internet for new ideas. I collect my favorite recipes and (eventually, after months and months of trying to organize piles) get them safely tucked away into labeled binders. And, of course, I cook with them. I remember where they came from (those that originated in our family being especially memorable: “My mom’s meatloaf is famous,” “my grandma got this recipe years ago,” “Irene made this for Christmas,” etc.) and lovingly dirty their edges with marinara sauce drippings, potato soup spills, or, my favorite, buttery fingers from cookie dough.

I subscribe to the same school of thought as my mom and Irene (her cousin): whoever has the most recipes when they die wins. (Of course, Irene may have been talking about shoes, this part is unclear). And, really, recipes are not the only collection I delight in. I also love my purses. Big, small, totes, over-the-shoulder, black, or summery pinks and blues and greens. I’m not sure when this started, but my love affair with purses has been going on for years and years. Walking through a department store any time of year often results in a new purse for a special occasion - or no occasion at all. (I have, in fact, many that were bought as a “welcome spring/summer/winter/fall” purse. Any excuse, as you can see.) And while I may not use them all everyday, it makes me happy when I have the perfect purse to take on the spontaneous road trip, to match my flip flops exactly, or to lend to a friend, all things that I will remember the next time I use it. (”This is the purse I took shopping on the trip to L.A, and this to my senior prom.”) In fact, after not using a purse for awhile, I’m always surprised by the slips of paper, the movie tickets, and the little souvenirs I find inside. For that alone, the big collection is worth it.

The last thing I (lovingly) horde? Books of all kinds. Not just cookbooks, although I have more of those than I have room for. Novels, classic fiction, used books from library sales, books I read in high school or college and could never part with, nonfiction, even favorite children’s books. (Even one small book written by my dad, “Captain Jack,” the subject of which is sharks.) I love books, and I love them all. And I may not read them all right away; some I may pick up and put down again countless times over several months or years. But one day, when I turn to one of the many bookshelves in need, there it will be. The book I didn’t know I was looking for.

My mom occasionally tells me that I’m a pack rat like my dad. And yet, she would agree with all three of these collections (being as they are all so practical). They are just things, but it gives me joy to find them, to use them, to share them, and to remember the memories that came with them.

What things are in your stacks and piles?

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Let It Snow?

I sit here quietly, surrounded by cold and the sound of snow shovels scraping on asphalt. Over the weekend, the snow was fun. (I have photographic evidence.) After shoveling with our neighbor mid-storm, a task made easier by the fact that there were three of us and the snow was still nice and fluffy, Pete and I took time to enjoy the scene before getting back to work.

Naturally, while cleaning off the car, some snow may have accidentally landed here or there (like on someone’s head), which quickly turned into a snowball fight. (Clearly I am not at all concerned about getting hit with the snowball, since I chose that moment to take out my camera.)

After all, “When it snows, you have two choices: shovel or make snow angels.” And, all the while, snowflakes fell on my (nose and) eyelashes.

We had about 8-10 inches more after this photo was taken, which was a lot of fun yesterday, but not so much this morning.

After heading inside the house to change and warm up, we made the decision to go back out into the snow in search of food. The streets, of course, were quiet, and the snow was starting to slow down, so it ended up being a nice walk up the street to one of our favorite restaurants, where we picked up some delicious appetizers and headed back to sit on the couch and watch episodes of Mad Men and John Adams. All in all, it turned out to be a pretty nice, lazy, snowy day - even if we were a bit snowed in this morning.

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The Dead of Winter

I’m not sure what, exactly, technically qualifies as “the dead of winter,” but in the grand scheme of things, this has to be close. Recently there have been record low temperatures, incredible snow fall, and constant grey skies. In fact, next to yesterday’s plane crash in the Hudson (and perhaps the inauguration), cold weather is all anyone seems to be talking about. Winter does at least make for some fun picture taking (if you can drag yourself away from the warm blanket, heated living room, and cup of hot chocolate long enough to take any photos).

Last week in New Jersey, it looked like fall one day and winter the next:

(Don’t you love the turkeys?)

(The deer is at attention thanks to my father’s deer call hunting trick.)

And then, of course, there is all of the ice.

The frozen branches of this particular tree remind me of ET (and therefore amuse me), but, generally, ice is no laughing matter. An icy stoop and huge piles of dirty snow lined up next to the driveway are not exactly beautiful, picturesque winter scenes. And, of course, being January still, spring is a long way off.

Luckily, though, I do have the world’s warmest, most comfortable blanket.

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Recipe: Ice Cream Puffs

On New Year’s Eve, Pete and I had another “appetizers for dinner night” that included baked brie, stuffed mushrooms, and fondue. Dessert, though, was my favorite. We made mini sweet puffs filled with gelato (a recipe that originally came from Food Network Kitchens), which reminded me so much of the profiteroles I love at a restaurant in Boston. They were surprisingly easy to make, were the perfect dessert (after all, you can eat 1 or 5), and the leftovers lasted the rest of the week.

1/2 cup water
1/2 stick butter
2 tablespoons sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup flour
2 eggs

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees.

In a saucepan, boil water, butter, sugar, and salt over medium to medium high heat, stirring to combine. Once the mixture is boiling, remove it from the heat and stir in the flour. Return the pan to medium-low heat and continue stirring for another minute or two. Transfer the mixture to a bowl and use an electric mixer (a stand mixer with a paddle or a hand mixer) to add the eggs one at a time. Once combined, the dough will be smooth and shiny.

Lightly spray a baking sheet. Using a pastry bag or Ziplock bag (with the edge cut off), pipe the dough into small balls, smoothing them with a wet finger. I made different sized balls, from about 1/2 inch to 2 inches. Bake for 10 minutes, then reduce the heat to 375 degrees and bake another 10-15 minutes. (Don’t open the oven until you’re ready to check them after the second 10 minutes.) Remove the pan from the oven and poke each puff with a toothpick, then bake again (at 375 degrees) for another 7-10 minutes to cook the inside.

Our puffs were filled with vanilla gelato and topped with hot fudge, although the combinations of ice cream, cream, or other fillings with different flavored toppings obviously goes way beyond that. (I also ate one the next day with whipped cream and strawberries.)

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Wordless Wednesday: Excited About My New Haircut

It’s surprisingly difficult to take a picture of the back of your own head.

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I Guess I’d Go to Sonoma

Sonoma is the location of this year’s HGTV Dream Home. Every year, the beautiful house is built in a new (and always beautiful) destination. The kind of place you wouldn’t have a problem owning a house if HGTV decided to give you one.

Every year, I enter the contest religiously and then anxiously await the knock on my door informing me that I have won a dream home in the Florida Keys or Colorado or whatever the case may be. (Of course, if that knock never comes, I assume it’s because my mom is getting a visit.) And every year, we’re disappointed to watch the house go to someone else. (Occasionally people who seem like they either can’t remember entering or have never heard of HGTV. How hard is it to muster up some enthusiasm for a free house?)

While the Dream Homes are always beautiful, they are, of course, designed and decorated by someone else. Which sometimes leaves you wondering where they got that hideous table or who in their right mind would choose that color. But we all know that you should never look a gift horse in the mouth. Plus, even if you don’t like the couch, there are approximately 3 or 4 million other things to love. Which is why, after careful consideration, I have decided that yes, I would like a house in Sonoma.

This house is especially perfect for me. Besides a love of California that started before I had ever even visited, I also love wine. (And with a number of different wine fridges and storage, spaces for entertaining, and a tiny little vineyard, it’s perfect.) I also love the farmer’s market within walking distance and the garden in the yard. With that and the huge kitchen, this house was clearly made for foodies. Besides the other perks (the new car, the beautiful guest rooms, the laundry room that makes you want to wash clothes, the Victorian slipper tub in the master bath, a closet the size of my bedroom, etc), there’s also the California sunshine. Who could get sick of that?

So, I will keep entering, waiting my turn to win. Look for me when they choose the winner in March. (Or, if not me, look for some other unsuspecting and unenthusiastic - but so very lucky - person.) If I do win, of course, you will all be welcome to visit.

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A Few Final Words

My grandfather’s funeral was full of wonderful tributes. Besides the beautiful flowers and the proud display of his World War II medals, the three days brought touching cards, fond memories, and unexpected visits. The grey sky opened up to big, beautiful flakes of snow as our limo pulled up to the church for mass, though the snow had finished when we returned an hour later. The presence of the bagpipe player spoke to both my grandfather’s military service as well as his Irish heritage. My father’s eulogy itself was a beautiful tribute, as was the Army Honor Guard who attended the service, played Taps, and carefully folded the flag that had adorned the casket (itself engraved with the Army eagle) and presented it to my grandmother. And a final wonderful touch? The coincidence of having Father Pat, straight from Ireland, perform the service and twice recite An Old Irish Blessing in his characteristic brogue.

Yet in the face of all of this, there was one more especially moving (and unforeseen) tribute. A colleague of my dad’s, someone the rest of my family had met but not seen in years, arrived at the viewing late Tuesday night, having traveled in the dark after work during an ice storm to get there. He chatted with my dad, but then asked him to leave him for a minute so he could pay his respects. He knelt by the casket, said a prayer, and began to cry. This by itself was not unusual (although his dedication to coming and his display of emotion was, of course, touching.) But the special part? This man had never once met my grandfather; he only knew him through my father’s words. And yet he was moved to tears by his death.

This, I think, speaks to what a great man my grandfather was.

We’ll miss you, Grandpa! And, of course, may the road rise up to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face; the rains fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand.

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