Culinary Couture

Yes, I filmed this in my office.

Upon watching this, Annie Birdie astutely pointed out it sounds nothing like me, in that no expletives were dropped in the making of this video.

Congrats…I will be in touch soon, you lucky guy. Thanks again to everyone who entered.

I have never really been a girl who “wants her mommy” but it was time in my life where that was all I wanted. I wanted, desperately needed, my Mommy.

I was walking to meet a potential new roommate and I was truly a wreck. Not only had I broken up with my live-in boyfriend (hence the need for a new place), but I was embroiled in a spectacular falling out with my two best friends as a result of the break up. They were true believers in the “you can stick it out and make him change” school of thought, where I fell squarely in the “I need to get the fuck outta dodge ” camp. I was running, not stopping, not collecting my $200…saving myself. It was a dark time.

As I walked to meet this woman, Annie Birdie, I stopped and sat on a brick wall and called MamaBear. I needed a place to live and so desperately wanted her to like me. My mommy gave me a pep talk and off I went. Annie was, of course, great, we hit it off, and the rest is history.

The past two years with her have been two of the best of my life. I sometimes feel I barely know the person who walked in that door, defeated and raw. A lot of these changes have to do with her; she is way more than a roommate. She is a friend and confidant and a million more things that are too private to share here. She was just what I needed as I started my new life.

I couldn’t be happier that she got engaged a few weeks ago, but I am also heartbroken. There are a million things I will miss about her–the way she tells a story, the million bags she seems to carry to work, her refreshing candor, how she always makes sure we have plenty of ice cream–and I know life won’t be the same. I, of course, knew this day would come, I just didn’t think it would come so fast. I came to her broken and she was part of the healing. I hope her fiancee knows every day how lucky he is.

The night she announced her engagement, we made dinner. Sunday dinners are commonplace for us, but this one was bittersweet…it was ushering in an end of an era. We made this shrimp (delicious, simple, bright, and light) and watched one of the Sex and the City DVDs for the zillionith time. As we plucked the shrimp off the skewers, there was laughter and a sense of familiarity one can only have with someone who has watched you weep. I will miss those nights together, but know she will always be part of my life.

And I will always be thankful to my mommy, for forcing me to walk in to that apartment, to take the leap and trust someone else.

Grilled Ginger Lime Shrimp
from Cooking Light

1/2 cup fresh cilantro leaves
1/4 cup thinly sliced green onions
2 tablespoons chopped peeled fresh ginger
1 tablespoon fresh lime juice
1 tablespoon canola oil
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon dark sesame oil
4 garlic cloves, chopped
1 jalapeño pepper, seeded and chopped
1 1/2 pounds large shrimp, peeled and deveined (about 32 shrimp)
Cooking spray

1. Combine the first 9 ingredients in a food processor, and process until coarsely chopped.

2. Combine cilantro mixture and shrimp in a large zip-top plastic bag; seal and shake well. Refrigerate 30 minutes.

3. Prepare grill (or grill pan).

4. Remove shrimp from bag; discard marinade. Thread shrimp on each of 8 (8-inch) skewers. Place shrimp skewers on a grill rack coated with cooking spray; grill 5 minutes or until done, turning once.

Around midnight on Monday, I received my 50,000th visitor.

To thank all of you who stop by here everyday, I thought I would have a little contest. Leave a comment below about anything: things you are hoping I make, a burning question you may have, marriage proposals, or perhaps even a haiku. I’d love to hear from you lurkers, too.

I will write your names on a slip, draw one from a hat and whoever gets pulled, gets a baked treat in the mail from me. If you’d like something I have made here before, I can do that. If not, it is a surprise. We all love surprises.

Some Groundrules:

1. Entering means you will eventually have to give me your address and real name so I can mail you said goodies.

2. The box will NOT include my real name or address. This is to keep myself safe and so my mother can sleep at night and not worry one of you is going to come kidnap me.

3. You know I love to keep it dirty and can take a good ribbing, but if you are actively mean to me or anyone here, no treats for you. Assholes don’t deserve nice things.

4. One entry per person. Commenting 10 times will not increase your chances.

5. I refuse to bake anything containing coconut, so if you were hoping for macaroons, you are shit outta luck. That being said, we can negotiate what I make within reason; I wouldn’t want to send you peanut butter bars if nuts will send you in to shock.

Thanks again for reading and Good Luck!

xoxo, Lemm

PS: Contest closes tomorrow, Th, 7/17, at noon.

We stood outside in the parking lot of the rundown firehouse, the clanking noise of the tiny wooden cars in the background. It was the Boy Scout Pinewood Derby and my family was inside cheering my brother on in his efforts to win a trophy. I don’t know why he was there; he was an only child and he was not a Boy Scout…by any means. The shifty men found their way towards me, even in middle school.

He was very tall with dark, shiny hair. A chain connected his wallet to his too-short pants and I had never seen him in anything other than the clunky black boots that lived on his feet. As we stood in the parking lot, I felt a flutter that had only been reserved for Anthony Kiedis in the past.

I miss that feeling; the pulse quickening excitement when you realize you have a crush. As we stood there in that parking lot, I didn’t know what it felt like to be hurt by a guy. I had yet to adapt any sort of instruments of self-preservation, hadn’t yet begun the maddening see-saw of pushing someone away to protect myself and then pulling them back in because I craved the comfort. I didn’t see men as weak or strong then, just nice or mean. I hadn’t started picking them apart, trying to figure out what was wrong with them; I just wanted them to smile back. I had yet to acquire a stable of pithy responses to their come ons; them talking to me was enough. I stood there vulnerable and nervous, skin spotted, my adolescent hair greasy and my braces shining. I had not learned the lazy tricks I would come to utilize regularly–plunging tops, bedroom eyes and copious amounts of liquor–when I got older. In that moment, I was just stuck being me. Because I didn’t know any better, I fidgeted and stuffed myself full of the watermelon that sat on the refreshment table in an effort to make the time pass and alleviate some of the awkwardness. It made my stomach slosh and my hands were sticky, but that fruit seemed the only course of action.

I have learned a trick or two, though. You live and you learn and since him I have grabbed on to some important lessons. Maybe it does help me hide a little bit, but no one ever said the whole truth was for public consumption, anyway. I still hope I can find that girl again; the girl that is awkward and bare, excitement coursing through her veins, ignorant to the pain such a thrill can bring. She is in there, she has to be. But for now, she still chokes her watermelon down with some alcohol. It helps her conceal herself just a little bit.

Note: Ok, this stuff is the shit. Light, summery, and not too sweet, it is perfect for any party you may throw this summer.

Watermelon Ginger Punch

Adapted from Cooking Light

8 cups seedless watermelon cubes, divided
1/2 cup fresh lime juice
1/2 cup sugar (we used splenda)
2 tablespoons grated peeled fresh ginger
18 (1-inch) seedless watermelon balls
1/4 cup sparkling water, chilled
3/4 cup rum
Cracked ice, optional

Put 4 cups watermelon in a blender; process until smooth. Strain through a sieve into a pitcher; discard solids. Repeat procedure with remaining watermelon cubes. Combine lime juice, sugar, and ginger in a bowl; stir with a whisk until sugar dissolves. Add lime juice mixture and watermelon balls to watermelon mixture; stir in sparkling water just before serving. Serve over cracked ice, if desired.

Faced with a handle of cheap vodka–a toxic liquid that was more reminiscent of rubbing alcohol than anything a human should willingly consume–while in college, we struggled with what we should use as a mixer. Nothing could cut through the punishing burn that would linger on our tongues and sting the back of our throats. Coke, orange juice and apple slurpees were all candidates that did not pass the test; nothing was a match for this stuff.

Of course, in times like these, my friends looked to me for salvation. Let’s be honest; fat kids are fat for a reason. A disgustingly delicious idea could not pass my mind without me acting on it. I was the perfect candidate to serve as the Nancy Drew for this modern day mystery. If anyone could figure this out, it was me.

Many trips were made to the student center, “J Street”, as I tried to figure out how to best mask the truly awful taste of that alcohol. I am sure all of our parents would be so pleased to know we spent such an obscene amount of our meal plan points on these instruments of drunkening. Then, one day, I found the answer.

Pineapple juice and grape soda. I am sure you are thinking “Wow, that sounds gross and incredibly sweet”. Your thoughts would be spot on, but we were much more concerned with the courage that the alcohol afforded us than the lining of our stomaches. We could worry about ulcers and acid reflux when we were old. This discovery, this beautiful little combo, was seriously the best thing I did all freshman year. I certainly didn’t learn anything in my chemistry class, but I received an “A” in mixology that year.

So, it is no surprise that when faced with making a desert for the 4th of July, I took it to trashy new levels, pillaging the deep recesses of my brain for the most unhealthy and low class thing I could think of: peanut butter-chocolate rice krispie treats. Who doesn’t love rice krispie treats? The communists, that is who… I cannot be left to leave well enough alone, so while wandering the aisles of my supermarket, the cocoa krispies caught my eye. And where there is chocolate, I really think there ought to be peanut butter…so that is how these were born. Adding peanut butter to the marshmallows added a great little nutty undertone to everything and the chips were great… There were rice krispie treats with an added layer of sin; not much more to say here except they were really tasty.

It’s always good to have me on the case, all I am sayin’.

Rice Krispie Treats 2.0

Adapted from…a cereal box

3 tablespoons margarine or butter
1 package (10 oz. about 40) regular marshmallows 4 cups miniature marshmallows
2 heaping tablespoons peanut butter
6 cups Cocoa Krispies
1/2 sack peanut butter chips

Directions

1. Melt margarine in large saucepan over low heat. Add marshmallows and stir until completely melted. Add peanut butter and stir until combined. Remove from heat.

2. Add cocoa krispies and peanut butter chips. Stir until well coated.

3. Using buttered spatula or waxed paper, press mixture evenly into 13 x 9 x 2-inch pan coated with cooking spray. Cut into 2-inch squares when cool. Best if served the same day.

I am just going to come out and say it.

I once killed a bunny.

I was 8. Winters in New England are very cold. My brother and I had begged our mother for three rabbits the summer before, but the responsibility of caring for them was less than glamorous in the bitterly cold weather. I hated feeding those damn rabbits. I just wished…it would go away.

Oreo was the last rabbit standing–Greyhound and Angel had already retreated to the open field in the sky–and LittleBro and I took reluctant turns scooping pellets, unbundling hay and dropping lettuce and carrots in his cage. Angel and Greyhound had died mere months after we took them home, but Oreo, that bastard… he would not release his grip on life.

The days got colder, the burden grew heavier. I found myself secretly hoping Oreo would shuffle off this mortal coil.

One night, I went out to feed him. He seemed mighty tired; he didn’t even jump when I opened the cage! The next night, he was still “sleeping”, but I felt a sinking in my gut. By night three, it was time to admit the cold, harsh truth to myself: Oreo was no longer with us.

I sobbed. I wailed. Little Lemmy, age 8, a telepathic murderer. I had willed the death of an innocent and fluffy soul.

It truly is a wonder I can even face a head of lettuce or a bunch of carrots. They were Oreo’s one pure joy before I abruptly ended his sweet and innocent life. Luckily for me, like most childhood traumas, this unfortunate situation has been mostly repressed, so lettuce and carrots have been lovingly welcomed back in to my world. Praise be!

It would be a damn shame to not be able to enjoy these lettuce wraps; my life would be a bit bleaker. These super healthy wraps are bursting with flavor and a snap to make. Your meat and vegetables are all neatly contained in an edible wrapper and you don’t have to feel an ounce of guilt when you are done eating them. These are perfect for a quick week night meal.

Enjoy with a beverage of your choice…and pour one out for Oreo.

Asian Lettuce Cups
Slightly Adapted from Steamy Kitchen

Filling:
1 lb ground turkey
1 tsp minced garlic
1/2 tsp grated ginger
2 cups frozen carrot/pea mix OR red/yellow bell peppers, finely diced (we used peas and carrots)
2 stalks, scallions
1 green apple, finely diced

The Sauce:
1-1/2 tablespoons Hoisin Sauce
2 teaspoons soy sauce
1 teaspoons sesame oil
2 teaspoons rice wine vinegar
1/4 tsp ground pepper
1 tsp Sriracha hot sauce

Bibb lettuce for wraps

Heat wok on high heat with cooking oil. When oil is hot, add scallions, ginger and garlic and fry a few seconds until fragrant. Add chicken and fry until 80% cooked through. Add vegetables and cook 1 minute. Add sauce ingredients. Let simmer for 1 minute to thicken slightly. Add apples. Toss to coat. Immediately remove from heat. You don’t want to “cook” the apples - keep them nice and crunchy.

Serve with lettuce cups and shaved carrots.

Growing up, lazy weekends were spent at my Memere and Pepere’s house. (That’s Grandma and Grandpa to some of you.) We invaded their home and their lives, an intrusion they welcomed with open arms.

In their basement was a framed photo of John F. Kennedy, carefully hung on the dinged wood paneling. My brother and I would play “Bartender” in that basement for hours, clanking bottles of bitters and olives together, dusting off the bright green stirrers that had sat in dirty tumblers since before we were born. A rickety exercise bike, squeaky from years of neglect, sat in the corner. My brother and I would put on “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” and peddle as fast as we could as the record player skipped.

Their house was our house. I can still feel the smooth, gold knobbed, birch furniture in the guest bedroom and hear the low murmur of “The Price is Right” every time I think of that house. When I stayed home sick from school, Memere would make me grilled English Muffins in her ancient case iron skillet, slather them in butter and strawberry jam, and we would watch her “stories” together.

Summers were spent running around their neighborhood, cavorting with the kids on their block. I learned to ride a bike in their driveway. I also promptly fell off that bike for the first time on the withered, cracked pavement; my brother swiftly kicked a pile of gravel in my face. As my Pepere grilled on hot days, I would “assist” him, assaulting him with a stream of endless chatter. Along with my younger cousin, I would climb the swing set they had erected for us, shoving her out of the way for my turn on the slide. We would wander over to the rhubarb bush in the far east corner of their yard and sprinkle sugar on the stalks, eating stick after stringy stick in the sun.

That bush produced an abundance of rhubarb every year; strawberry rhubarb pie quickly became one of my favorite childhood desserts. The contrast of the tart vegetable (yes, it is a vegetable) with the sweet berries drowning in sugary syrup was pure heaven. I always enjoyed the filling much more than the crust, which is why I jumped for joy when I found this recipe for Strawberry Rhubarb Crisp. I didn’t think it could possibly get better, but when I saw this version called for cardamom, I was sold. Cardamom is one of my absolute favorite flavors; aromatic and fragrant, it makes anything just a bit more special. This crisp was excellent; it is truly one of the best things I have made in months. The orange was just perfect to balance everything and the nutmeg complimented the cardamom perfectly. The vanilla frozen we served with this yogurt made it simply divine. I promise if you make this for any of your summer parties, people will lavish you with compliments. It is easy enough for even a beginner to make.

Strawberry Rhubarb Crisp with Cardamom

from Bon Appetit

Topping
1/2 cup old-fashioned oats
1/2 cup all purpose flour
1/2 cup (packed) golden brown sugar
1/3 cup sliced almonds
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
Generous pinch of salt
6 tablespoons (3/4 stick) chilled unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes

Filling
5 cups 1/2-inch-thick slices fresh rhubarb (from about 2 pounds)
2 cups halved strawberries
3/4 cup sugar
1/3 cup orange juice
2 tablespoons all purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons grated orange peel
1/2 teaspoon (scant) ground cardamom 1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg

For topping:

Mix first 6 ingredients in medium bowl. Add butter; rub in with fingertips until moist clumps form.

For filling:

Preheat oven to 375°F. Butter 8×8 dish. Combine all ingredients in large bowl; stir to blend. Let stand until juices form, about 15 minutes.

Add rhubarb mixture to an 8×8 pan. Sprinkle topping evenly over mixture. Bake until topping is golden brown and crisp and filling is bubbling thickly around edges, about 45 minutes. Serve warm with sweetened whipped cream or frozen yogurt.

Someone needs a Xanax.

There may have been tears last night…and some fist shaking at the heavens.

I woke up this morning feeling much more optimistic. This may be one impulse I am glad I followed through on. The shock is still wearing off, but I think…I like it.

Ask me tomorrow, though; it is a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.

For indulging me in my hair drama, tomorrow one of my best recipes in months will go up…today, I just didn’t have the strength.

*The video isn’t just vanity, but surely that is an element. I am toying with the idea of short instructional videos here and wanted to take the camera/youtube for a spin. Let me know what you think and if there is anything you’d like to see a video on…that isn’t me naked.

One of my favorite things about friendship and intimacy with other people is knowing their foibles and ticks, the things that makes them uniquely them. I have a friend who always cocks her head to the right and squints her eyes when she is trying to remember something. Someone else meticulously footnotes instructions and directions, as if they were an official document. Another friend paces back and forth and continually musses his hair when he is stressed. The very deliberate and slow pace in which one friend gets ready to leave the house–picking something up, putting it down, picking it up again–makes me feel warm when I am around him.

Of course, we all wonder what that thing is about us. We ask ourselves: what makes me me? What is that thing I do that I am wholly unaware of? Is it annoying? Charming?

I was once telling a story to my friend Waspy Wasperson and became very animated. As I became more and more excited, my gestures became wilder, more pronounced. I was incredibly caught up in the moment until I heard Waspy proclaim to his now-wife, Irish Lebowski:

“She just did it! She did the Lemmonex happy dance!”

Apparently, that’s my thing. I get excited and I do a hoppy little jig. It could be much worse. I never knew I did it until it was pointed out to me. I was vaguely self-conscious of it for a while, but now I embrace my little dance. I cannot stop it anyway; it’s part of me.

Rest assured, when I found Food Party, the “Lemmonex Happy Dance” was rolled out in full force.

This website is the most bizarrely compelling thing happening on the internet right now, let alone in food blogging. The pixie who hosts the webisodes of Food Party, Thu Tran, cites “Pee Wee’s Playhouse, Sesame Street, Martha Stewart, Yan Can Cook, John Woo movies, and Abba videos” as inspiration…that pretty much says it all. I cannot take credit for discovering this; props must all go to B.

Words cannot even describe what is going on over at Food Party; it truly is to be experienced. If I was pressed to describe it I would say this: Hunter S. Thompson, Graham Kerr and Jim Henson got together, dropped a shit-ton of acid, raided Liberace’s closet and the brain of the John Lennon during the “White Album Era”, and this is what resulted. There are puppets, there is singing and dancing, there is the Devil and a villain named “Yolko Oh-no”…all with recipes. It’s beautiful insanity.

Go look. I promise…you will be doing your own version of the happy dance.

I am constantly plugged in to my iPod, drowning out the noises of the world that surrounds me. My earbuds act as a social shield, creating a barrier on the Metro and as I walk down the street. The background noise allows me to escape and ponder pressing questions that plague me.

There are many things in my life I just do not understand.

How can I hate sand, but love the beach? Why must something as delicious as champagne give me such vicious hangovers? How am I so organized at work, but I lose my keys twice a week? Why does someone as attractive as Javier Bardem exist, but I cannot touch him? Is it finally time to cut my hair? (OK, that one does haunt me a bit…) My little world is full of so many things to ponder. Sometimes I mull over weightier questions, matters of peace, war, international politics and domestic policy, but I cannot tell a lie; the peep toe vs. wedge debate is pondered with a much higher frequency. (Peep toe, hands down. Duh.)

Another mystery I have thought over many times in the past week: why was this dinner so damn delicious?

It really doesn’t make much sense. It is shrimp and eggs, a bit of an odd pairing. I found this recipe on Mark Bittman’s blog, Bitten, and was intrigued, yet apprehensive. My friend sassE tried it and described it as “fried rice without the rice”, which piqued my curiosity further. I finally decided to pull the trigger last week when I invited my pescatarian pal, Sunshine, over for dinner.

I am so glad it did. This recipe is one of those magical creations where the sum of it’s parts is much more than the individual components. sassE was right on with her description that this is like fried rice without the rice, which makes it better than fried rice, if possible. It is all the yummy stuff–the soy, the scallions and the sesame undertones–without the heaviness of the rice or greasiness of all the excessive oil used in woks. The continual stirring of the eggs keeps them creamy and smooth; it was a perfect dinner served along side a pineapple-basil salad (Sunshine’s interesting and satisfying contribution to dinner) and some whole wheat bread.

I don’t quite understand it, but it works. For me, that’s explanation enough.

Scrambled Eggs with Shrimp
from Bitten

3/4 pound raw shrimp, peeled and deveined
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
3 tablespoons peanut oil, butter or neutral oil, like grapeseed or corn
8 eggs
2 tablespoons soy sauce
1 tablespoon sesame oil
1/2 cup chopped scallions
Chopped fresh cilantro leaves for garnish, optional

Sprinkle shrimp with salt and pepper. Put oil or butter in a large skillet, preferably nonstick or cast iron, and turn heat to medium. When hot, add shrimp. Cook, stirring, until shrimp is somewhat pink. Beat eggs in a bowl with soy sauce and sesame oil. Turn heat to medium high and add eggs and scallions. Cook, scraping pan with a rubber spatula. Fold eggs over themselves, breaking up curds. If mixture clumps, remove it from heat and stir, then return to heat. When eggs are creamy, adjust seasoning, garnish if you like and serve immediately.