"It's All About The Beans..."

Coffee has been my defining fuel of choice for as long as I can remember. It got me through early morning classes in college and late nights of grading papers when I was teaching. It gave me the energy to stay awake after sleepless nights with young kids, and fueled my 5 AM workouts. When I taught high school, my students used to say I had a cup of coffee surgically attached to my hand since I was never without one.

My first screen name on aol was gabbyjava and one of my blogs is Fitness Barista; so, you get the picture.

I used to settle for anything with caffeine just to get going, but over the years, I've come to appreciate the complexities in the brews that different coffee shops and roasters can offer. But, as much as I love coffee, my son takes it to another level. He and his family live in an area surrounded by incredible coffee shops, so they have developed a taste for amazing roasts.

When the quarantine all but stopped everyone's daily coffee runs, I figured my Keurig would have to suffice. I still wanted to support local stores, especially my neighbohood favorites like Kaldis and Northwest Coffee, so I sent my son and his family some of Kaldi's Gratitude blend. He sent back a picture of it being brewed in a French Press. With the full bodied beans, a pourover kettle at the perfect temperature, and the patience to wait for the brew, it looked better than anything I'd had in a while!

A few days later, a French Press arrived, and he ( my son) told us exactly how to brew our own perfect cup. And seriously, what a difference!

It was like sitting and watching the baristas make our order. If I though the K-cups were giving me bursts of energy, this took it to another level! We more than double our workout distance and pace on the days we make coffee in the French Press. Since we are still social distancing, we actually have the time to grind the beans, "wake" them up, let the coffee brew another 5 minutes and enjoy!

My daughter-in-law also introduced me to oat milk, which makes for an extra creamy taste in a latte.

It's a far cry from the vending machine sludge in my college dorm and the stale pots of coffee in the teacher's lounge.

I know places are opening up, and there's always curbside or drive through, but it's kind of fun and almost meditative to take the time to make it yourself. And you can use your own wi-fi!!

I'm partial to my local roasters and have tried a number of blends these past few months. And we need to support our neighbors.

The proceeds from Kaldi's gratitude Blend went to the Gateway Resilience Fund which provided short-term relief for independent restaurant and bar owners.

And you can support Black owned business by trying Northwest Coffee in the Central West End. Jason Wilson is unique in that he is a coffee roaster as well as a retailer. Plus, their Roaster's Choice and Rocky Bay  blends are outstanding!

"Mickey Mornings.."

Breakfast has always been one of my favorite meals.

Honestly, I could eat breakfast food for lunch and dinner as well. But when my kids were growing up, it was always a rush in the morning to get ready for work and school. Consequently, during the week, it was usually cereal or a Pop-tart as we ran out the door.

They DID love frozen waffles though, so one day while wandering around a cooking store, I saw a magical piece of cooking equipment stashed behind all of the professional pots and pans.

The familiar Disney face stared at me from the front of the box, begging me to pick it up. Reading the contents, I discovered I could make waffles that looked like Mickey Mouse in a non-stick, virtually foolproof waffle maker. No special mixes. 3-4 minutes per waffle. How could I resist the chance to so easily impress my kids?

So Mickey came home with me and the waffles became the “special” breakfast I would make for them when they had friends sleep over and on holidays. We’d put all kinds of toppings on the table and the kids would decorate their waffle with raisins, chocolate chips, berries, orange slices, whipped cream and fill in the crevices with the extras! (But of course, everyone always wanted to eat the ears first).

It became a tradition, and if I mistakenly put a box of cereal out on a sleepover weekend, you can bet they made sure I had that waffle maker out within a few minutes. Even throughout high school and when they came home from college, I would make the waffles for a special breakfast or just for fun!

I found the appliance in my cabinet last year when we were packing up and getting ready to move out of our house. Having been ruthless about getting rid of kitchen things I no longer used, I just couldn’t let go of Mickey. There was still a “need”, so he came with us to our new place.

I now have a 10 month-old granddaughter and she’s staring to eat “real” food. So, when they came to visit over the holidays, I couldn't wait to make the Mickey Mouse waffles. I was so excited to see her eat the little bits of waffle and smile.  I’m pretty sure she liked them, and my adult kids really enjoyed the memories that eating them brought back.

Since then, she’s even had a Mickey shaped pizza! (Genius idea!)

They’re heading to Disney World soon and I know seeing the "real" Mickey will put a smile on her face. 
Just as long as she doesn’t try to eat his ear!

"Hot Fun in the Summertime..."

   

   

It’s Memorial Day weekend and for many people, it means the start of the summer boating season. It’s been quite a while, but for years, it was the beginning of the best part of the year for me.

   Lake Cumberland, Kentucky is about five hours south of Cincinnati, but it became the center of my summer life when my husband and I first started dating.  He and a friend shared ownership of a speedboat named “GoldiLox” (so named for the bagel-loving Jewish owners). We’d make the trek every other weekend and spend three glorious days waterskiing, swimming and of course, eating!

   Days were spent driving the boat around the massive lake with miles and miles of smooth skiing water. We’d head out early in the day soaking up the sun until late afternoon. After hours of multiple ski runs and swimming in the lake, we’d clean up and head across the lake at dusk to feed the voracious appetites we’d worked up during the day.

   A gin and tonic in one hand and the wind from the speed of the boat blowing our hair and sunburned faces, we’d head across the massive lake to Grider Hill Lodge. Not a Four Seasons resort or fancy marina, Grider’s rustic dock and log cabin lodge might have been overlooked by a less discerning palate, but we knew what was waiting up the hill.

   With all the calories burned that day water-skiing, we were ready for a meal to replenish us . Grieder’s restaurant was known for its’ pan fried chicken and peanut butter pie and they more than lived up to the hype.

  Before the days of eating clean and low-fat, low-carb foods, the meal began with baskets of dollar rolls and real butter. A salad came next; mostly iceberg & tomatoes, dripping with creamy dressing. But the piece de resistance was the fried chicken. Lightly coated and pan fried (no doubt in lard), the magic spices couldn’t be duplicated. Add the mashed potatoes, buttered corn and green beans (something healthy) served family style, and we were in food heaven.

   We’d gorge ourselves to the point of “almost full” because it was almost time for pie. The choice was always difficult. They were known for the peanut butter pie, but often they had banana and chocolate cream as well. As good as those pies were, they were always a disappointment compared to the peanut butter pie. Fluffy and creamy at the same time with an enormous meringue top, the peanut butter pie was always cut into “Grandma”-sized slices.

   Always too full to move right away, we’d sit and talk with the lodge owners and staff for hours until they closed. It became a sort of summer family and we visited often. As time went by, we moved away from the area and sold the boat. But years later, we went back to Lake Cumberland for a family trip with our children, and of course, took them to Grider. Their menu still includes the Cumberland Skillet Fried Chicken and Laura Ann's Famous Mile High Peanut Butter Pie.

   It was delicious, of course, but I think what it stood for was more important . The tastes, the smells, and even the pictures on the wall brought us back to a carefree, easy summer life: even at a time when we were dealing with all of the stresses of careers and parenthood.

   And, from my first bite of fried chicken to the last morsel of pie, work deadlines, carpools, homework, and “mom” stress magically disappeared.

"Your Mother Should Know..."

   

As I’ve said in previous posts, food and love often go hand in hand. This is especially true when we think of how our moms showed their love as we were growing up.

   I hear amazing stories of Sunday night spaghetti dinners with homemade sauce and pasta. Cake baked from scratch with special icings and fillings. Bread and pies sitting on the window-sill cooling; fragrant aromas wafting outside the house. Special dishes that are remembered forever. But my food memories are a little bit different.

   My mom is an amazing woman, but cooking was never her forte. Between golf, tennis, bowling, and mah jongg, the days kept her very busy.

   My dad had office hours two nights a week, they went out to dinner on Saturday night, and we often ate at the golf or swim club throughout the summer. I only liked hamburgers, and my dad would go out for a late night snack after dinner, so it was kind of hit or miss when she cooked. There wasn’t a great rush to cook gourmet meals.

But heaven knows she tried!!

   Honestly, she was creative if nothing else. She was the first person to reinvent guacamole by making “Broccomoli” dip as an appetizer.

   

Didn’t have the right ingredients on hand? No problem for mom. Just ask my kids about the time she made them chili with black-eyed peas. (Where she found them in my house I’ll never know). 

   But what I DO remember is that every Friday night, (Shabbat for Jewish families), she would cook dinner served at the dining room table, complete with linen tablecloth and silver wine cups.

   

There was always a fresh Challah bread from the local bakery, and she would make chopped liver as a start (I was never a fan, but all of the Friday night guests loved it).

   Roasted Chicken was the go-to main course. She didn’t want to mess with success so that’s what we had every week. It wasn’t bad, considering that her stove hadn’t been working at full capacity for years.

   Again, she was creative. Although the temperature in the oven never got above 250 degrees, she miraculously fully cooked the chicken by putting it in the oven around 10 AM for a 6 PM dinner. My husband compared it to a full-sized EZ Bake oven with the heating power of one light bulb.

So, do I have stacks of her recipes that I’ve cooked for my family? No.

But what I do have is her recipe for a wonderful life:

She doesn’t expect much, so she’s constantly overwhelmed by what she gets.

She never tried to “Keep Up With The Joneses” because she knew that if they really cared, they’d be there for her.

She is grateful for everything. Her health, her living situation, her friends, her children, grandchildren, and their families. She considers it a gift just to be here.

She never stops learning. Just like the recipe “tweaks”, she’ll try something new until she almost gets it and figure the rest out on her own. She’s a voracious reader. She Skypes & e-mails, texts, and calls on her IPhone. She has a Facebook page with more friends than me. She still does yoga when she can, even if it's sitting in a chair.

She is open to new friendships daily. She believes everyone has something to offer and tells me stories about the interesting people she talks to all of the time.

She loves her family unconditionally and we are the lucky recipients of her recipe for life! 

And I wouldn’t trade that for all of the pies and fried chicken in the world.

"Great Balls of Matzo..."

   

It's Passover, and who doesn’t love matzo ball soup? It’s the staple of every Jewish holiday, and a delicacy in both delicatessens and high-end restaurants. Jewish mothers swear by its healing powers and the “hard” vs “soft” matzo ball debate has raged for centuries.

  If you grew up in a Jewish household or have Jewish friends, you most likely have a relationship with the dish. Even our favorite Italian restaurant in St. Louis has the soup on their menu. 

   It’s a simple dish in theory; matzo meal, eggs, and oil to make the dough and roll into balls. Chicken soup to cook them with, and maybe carrots, celery, and a little onion and seasoning. But….the nuances of each recipe can make or break the taste.

  My Bubbie (Yiddish for Grandma) used schmaltz or chicken fat in her matzo balls and made the soup from scratch. I probably didn’t appreciate the depth of flavor that the fat added to the soup at such a young age, but I remember it being delicious.

   In later years, my mom and aunt would either make the matzo balls and buy the broth, or order it from the grocery store. It always tasted the best on Passover because, after sitting through and hour and a half seder (Passover service), the soup was usually the first course eaten.

    I love most food homemade, but I have to confess, I have always used a packaged soup mix for my matzo balls and added a few tweaks. The matzo balls were light and fluffy and the broth was rich and flavorful. My kids loved it growing up, and I kind of prefer it to homemade, even now. But the first time I made it, I rolled the balls into golf ball size before I cooked them. I didn’t realize that they would “grow” in the boiling broth and ended up with six-inch diameter meteors.

    

However,  what I remember most about matzo balls was the song. My father was always the jokester, and every Passover he would make me, my brother, and my cousins sing the “Matzo Ball Song” before he would let us eat dinner. It was a silly song, but it became such a big part of our family tradition, that all new family members had to participate. My husband, my sister-in-law, my kids; they all had to sing for their supper too.

I think Dad sized up our potential spouses by their willingness to participate.

   

   Years after he passed away, my mom came to visit us on Passover. Since our close friends include us every year in their family and friends seder, my mom was excited to celebrate.

   The meal was beginning, and some friends went into the kitchen to help. Just as mom was telling the group about the matzo ball song, one of the guests spilled an entire bowl of matzo ball soup he was serving directly onto my mother’s head. She was fine; no burns or injuries, but she swears it was Dad letting her know he was watching.

   Any time I’m ready to enjoy a bowl of the soup, the tune pops back into my head with a picture of my Dad, like a band director, making us all sing along:

“I wanna be a matzo ball,

And swim in the middle of the chicken soup.

And float down on a noodle,

Right to the bottom of the whole caboodle.

And when I’m tired and I get kinda hungry,

I eat me a matzo while I’m floating on my tummy.

I wanna be a matzo ball,

And swim home for Pesach (Passover)”

Happy Holiday to all!!

This year, at our virtual Zoom seder, I sang the song to my granddaughters, hoping they will sing the silly song too.