Posts Tagged ‘Cooking


Celery and onions

The official start of Thanksgiving every year was not picking up the turkey and Libby’s pumpkin pie filling and canned cranberry sauce from Farmer Jack’s (as we called it back home). It was not the raucous bus ride home from school on Wednesday, the freedom of a four-day weekend spread out before us like a feast. It wasn’t even the America’s Thanksgiving Parade broadcast from downtown Detroit.

The official start of Thanksgiving was always the aroma of celery and onions sautéing in butter as my dad started cooking the stuffing for the turkey. It was better than an alarm clock or a nudge to the shoulder to draw me, groggy and pajamaed and rubbing my eyes, from my bedroom.

A lot of recipes start out that way, sautéing onions, celery, some herbs. But no matter what we’re making, no matter the time of year it is, that scent — heavy, sweet and ambrosial — always means Thanksgiving.

Continue reading ‘Celery and onions’


Cooking with Cream

From the Didn’t Want to Know files… Guess what’s in this:

semen dessert
Click to find out.

Didn’t know you could cook it.


Breakfast Yet?

How is it acceptable to crack open a chicken egg, shake out the snot inside, whip it up and fry it? What historical accident led to this? I could understand if someone decided that an egg on its own was something to be squished and swallowed raw. It’s practically a liquid. Lord knows I’ve swallowed worse. But to whip it up, cook it, flip it? Seriously?

Don’t get me wrong: A cooked egg is a step in the right direction. But I just don’t see what possessed someone to try so hard.

And why chicken eggs? I find the thought of caviar revolting, let alone the odor. Let alone the texture. And what makes a chicken egg any better? You go to the store to buy eggs. Chicken eggs. You order a three-egg omelette. Three chicken eggs. Why not turkey eggs? Pheasant eggs? Turtle eggs?

Ugh. Egg. Even the word sort of oozes. Buy they are sort of marvelous, aren’t they? Butter. Tarragon. Cream cheese. Chives. Salt and pepper. On toast.

With bacon.



East Meets West

Today, the best-looking ground beef we could find at our local supermarket was halal. Reminds me of one of my earliest memories of the neighborhood. Standing outside a Rite Aid while Jeff was buying a pack of smokes, I saw a white-robed man wheeling a metal shopping basket heaped with goat carcasses across 37th Avenue. He disappeared into a restaurant. I knew I was in New York.

Dinner tonight was Swedish meat balls. Swedish meatballs with halal meat. Why is this funny to me?

the untallied hours