Exception to the Rule

Los Angeles, California


While life has been kinda sorta difficult of late, I do take heart in what I see around me. Fall has arrived, and there are pumpkins about, including a perfectly-shaped one, about the size of a cantaloupe, which is sitting on my front porch. If you've been following along (and really, why are you doing this, I ask you?) you might know that I love this season. My birthday falls smack in the middle of it, which kicks off a progression of celebrations I love, including Halloween and Christmas. But let's not get ahead of ourselves.


I know I've let everyone know that I've been a bit blue, so I'm going to cheer things right up by getting on to the topic at hand which is . . . my funeral. Now don't be alarmed. I don't think it's right around the corner, though frankly, one never knows. I've written and said to a lot of people lately that I think I see a light at the end of the tunnel; the tunnel being all the work that we have been doing on our rental property and in the care of my mom. On the other hand, I like to add, it could be a train coming right at me at full speed. But seriously, the issue at hand isn't when my funeral will be, but rather, what will be served, because, really, as with all things in life, it's all about the party. Billy and I once tried to have the cremation vs. burial discussion, but I just couldn't choose an option that felt, well, comforting,. Finally I told him that if I went first, he should make the decision and just . . . surprise me. One thing I do feel quite strongly about, however, is the food served to my mourners (the two or three of them). I once wrote a wake into a novel I finally finished, and it was exactly what I envisioned for myself. Well-dressed people milling about holding cocktails and/or champagne (yes, both, always) with lots of good finger food. OK, I know I'm describing a scene in The Big Chill, only I had eliminated those '80s hairstyles. Truthfully, it's not so much about what is served, so much as what is NOT served. I don't want casseroles at my funeral, but I don't really trust Billy to block them at the door. He's just too easy about these things. And, frankly, his family hails from Minnesota which is the center of the tuna hot dish universe, as anyone who knows their Garrison Keillor could tell you. So, not trusting Billy on this, I have placed some of my fristers on alert. What kind of food do you want? one of them asked. Real food. I've got the hate on for casseroles because I grew up eating them. Not a fond memory . . . mostly. However, I do want to make one exception (not to the no-casseroles-at-my-funeral rule, but to the above statement that I don't have pleasant memories of any casseroles).


That exception is Tamale Pie. And the truth be told, it is a guilty pleasure, as it isn't made with very good ingredients. A lot of it comes from cans. And then there is the ground beef. I suppose it could be modded up somehow, but why? It's Tamale Pie. It was what my mom used to make for Halloween. And I still make it occasionally. I know I'm dancing around here on a filament of rationalization, but the truth is, that's the funny thing about food. Sometimes we like things that don't make sense with our food philosophy. And, this is one of those times (Big Chill again).


Tamale Pie


2    tablespoons canola oil
1    onion, chopped
1    lb. lean ground beef
1/2 teaspoon salt
1    15 oz. can of fire-roasted tomatoes, chopped
1     tablespoons chili powder*
1     teaspoon ground cumin
1/4  teaspoon oregano
dash of Tabasco
1      clove of garlic, minced
1      15-oz. can corn
1      15-oz can pitted, ripe olives
2      cups yellow cornmeal
2      eggs, lightly beaten
1      cup whole milk


In large skillet, saute onion in oil until soft. Add beef, and salt, allow to brown up a bit. Add tomatoes, chili powder, cumin, oregano (crushed up by rubbing between your palms), and Tabasco. Simmer 20 minutes. Add garlic, corn, and olives. Let cool.


Combine cornmeal with eggs and milk. Add to cooled meat mixture. Pour into casserole (I use a square baking dish which is about 10x10, but don't dare hold me to that measurement).


Bake at 350 degrees, 30-40 minutes. Serve with Tamale Pie Sauce (see below).




Tamale Pie Sauce


1   15-oz. can tomato sauce
1    cup water
1/2 teaspoon salt
2    tablespoons canola oil
2    tablespoons chili powder*
1    tablespoon cornstarch
2    tablespoons water


Combine first six ingredients in saucepan and blend with a whisk. Heat over medium low heat. Combine cornstarch and water. Blend into hot sauce. Cook until it bubbles and thickens to consistency of enchilada sauce (mas o menos).


*Note: I use Gebhardt chili powder, which dates back to my earliest apartment shared with girlfriends. There are fancier chili powders on the market and you should feel free to experiment here. A chipotle-based one would add some smokiness to the recipe, which would be a particularly nice addition to the sauce.


All you need with this is a salad; greens tossed with pumpkin seeds, slivered dry, aged Monterey jack cheese, and a sprinkle of pomegranate seeds would be nice. The casserole is, well, a bit stodgy as Nigella Lawson might say. So serve it with something less so. We always had mini Snickers bars for dessert on Halloween. The Halloween house treat of choice.


Now here's the thing about this recipe: It's really not very good. I mean, it's ok. But it may very well fall into what Billy calls Spaghetti-O's Territory. One of those tastes of childhood, which when revisited, isn't at all what you remember. This can also happen with movies, but that's a whole 'nother post. On the other hand, I didn't make this for years, and when I wanted to make it again, I got the recipe from a sibling -- a sibling who is notorious for fussing around with recipes, adding way too many disharmonious seasonings, often to the detriment of the dish. I want to say that the original recipe may have come from Joy of Cooking, and I do have a copy of that cookbook around here somewhere. But I am faithfully recreating the recipe as I last made it in late October. It's not bad, just not as good as I remembered. So, here is my challenge to you. Try it. And please leave me a comment if you do. Let me know what you think, and, if you like, throw me some suggestions for improvement. If I hear nothing, I'll assume it's a dud. This happens in Spaghetti-O's Territory. Sometimes you're better off with the Proustian experience of just remembering when, while enjoying a couple of Mallomars. After all, it's Mallomar season. And, you can always count on them not to disappoint. So, thank you for reading my blog. It's November already! Can you believe it?

The M Word

Los Angeles, California


Speaking of things that don't change. Remember when Coca Cola came up with New Coke? How bad of an idea was that (even though I don't drink Coke...except at fifteen when, during a family vacation in Jamaica, my drink of choice was, you got it, rum & coke)? Anyway, bad idea was New Coke. But here comes something that seemingly hasn't changed. They are seasonal, so they disappear when the warm-weather months arrive. As a result, it's difficult to take them for granted, though possible to overindulge knowing that they won't be here forever. Even tempting. But, truly, right about the time that you're feeling, say, blase about them, they disapparate. Late spring and summer passes. Then, in autumn, they show up again -- just about when new-crop apples and pumpkins appear. They cause my heart to skip a beat when I first see their shiny yellow box shelved at my grocery store. They are here, and they are...Mallomars.


I used to know a professor who once said that if his students find out about his passion for chocolate, they have him. He confessed that he loved imported, Belgian dark chocolate, but that even a Ding Dong could bring him to his knees. That's me and Mallomars. And what is not to like? Unlike a lot of questionable-quality, market variety cookies and candy, these are dark chocolate. They are comprised of a little wafery cookie on the bottom, a blob of marshmallow on the top, with that chocolate enrobing it all. They have crunch, a bit of smoothness and a lingering finish of chocolate. Just thinking about them -- weak in the knees.


I'm not a glutton for Mallomars. A box of them will last me awhile. And while I savor them, I ponder the fact that they have been lauded in movies--specifically When Harry Met Sally and Regarding Henry. And I just bet they're name-dropped in other books and films as well. As they should be.


It being Mallomar season, and also time to provide a recipe, I searched my files and my brain for something chocolate. But, other than my Crazy Chocolate Cake, which I've already shared, and my Chocolate Ganache Cupcakes, which are cribbed intact from The Barefoot Contessa, I was surprised to discover that I didn't have a lot of chocolate recipes. This is probably because while I was growing up not a lot of attention was thrown to chocolate in our home. I have a sib who is "allergic" to chocolate. She suffers from migraine headaches, and was once given a list of potential migraine triggers. She only gave up chocolate. Not red wine. Not yellow cheese. Chocolate. As she continues to have migraines, chocolate-lovers might wonder what was the point of this. But you have to understand the secondary gain...that she has had a lot of fun sleuthing out chocolate in places one wouldn't expect to find it.


"I'm giving you back the lip balm that you gave me for Christmas."


"You don't like it?" I asked.


"Look at the ingredients. It's got cocoa butter in it."


Yikes.


But my favorite similar exchange about chocolate took place in the dining rooms of the cruise ships we were on each summer during a span of about fifteen years. Our mom thought it a great idea to take a 'girls' cruise' each summer, and she generously and graciously treated us to trips to the Caribbean, Mediterranean, Mexico, Bermuda, Canada, and Hawaii. No matter where we were cruising, I can guarantee you that this conversation always took place.


"For dessert tonight, we have apple pie, creme brulee, strawberry shortcake, chocolate mousse, ice cream and sorbets," our waiter (any waiter, on any ship), would announce.


"Excuse me," she said, gathering his attention with a fixed, suspicious eye. "The apple pie. Does that have chocolate in it?"


"No, Madame."


"How about the creme brulee?"


"No, Madame. No chocolate in the creme brulee."


"Are you sure?"


"Yes, Madame, I'm quite certain."


"The strawberry shortcake. Is there chocolate in that?"


By this time ALL of us table mates were rolling our eyes. There's no f#%&=$*! chocolate in strawberry shortcake we all wanted to yell, as this had been going on every friggin' night. Although...although...I do know people who line their pie crusts with a thin smear of melted chocolate in order to protect against sogginess. And in pies like pumpkin? White chocolate. It makes you think.


Having grown up with this, and knowing that she will not even eat chili because there may be cocoa in the chili powder (who knew?), I was groomed to be hyper-vigilant about what I serve to her. Except . . . there were those edamame. I always seasoned them with Williams-Sonoma's French Fry Seasoning. And she always, always ate them. Then there was that one time when she complimented me and asked me about the seasoning. So I read the label. And I put the can back, way far back on the shelf of the pantry, behind all the other seasonings.  I said nothing about the cocoa, listed as it was at the bottom of the list of ingredients. Of course I stopped using it when she was visiting (and, by the way, she never had a migraine while she was a house guest at our home). But still, you have to think that a little chocolate got through. And a good thing that. I don't think there are many syndromes worse than chocolate deficiency. Can make a person cranky, and sometimes even downright miserable.


OK, to be fair about this, it's not like this was a real food allergy that could cause death from anaphylactic shock. I mean, she avoided chocolate like the plague, but she still got migraines. And those of us jumping through her anti-chocolate hoop got a few headaches of our own. But I am a dutiful sister, and so this is what I often made for her, beginning way back when I was in elementary school. It may have helped me get my cooking badge in Girl Scouts. I certainly made enough batches of it during that time.

Butterscotch Brownies


1/4   cup (1/2 stick) unsalted butter
1        cup light brown sugar
1        egg
3/4   cup flour, unsifted
1        teaspoon baking powder
1/2   teaspoon kosher salt
1/2   teaspoon vanilla
1/2   cup coarsely chopped pecans (optional)


Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees.


Melt butter over low heat.  Remove from heat, add sugar,and  stir until blended. Cool. Add egg, mixing well. Stir in dry ingredients, then vanilla and nuts (if using).


Spread into a well-oiled eight-inch square or 5x7-inch pan.


Bake  approximately 20 minutes.



You can, of course, frost these. Chocolate frosting would be pretty nifty, as would adding mini-chocolate chips to the batter. But traditionally these are prepared sans chocolate. I'm such a traditionalist, I would suggest that these go well with a glass of cold milk. And certainly a chaser of Mallomars couldn't hurt. 'Tis the season, after all, and thank you (especially you chocoholics -- you know who you are) for reading my blog.

Going To The Mattresses

Los Angeles, California

Ok, enough is enough. I've written about loneliness and heartache, separation and rough reentry. We've come home to a continuing bad economy, a leak in our roof, and don't get me started on what our heinous health insurance company has recently done with our rates. Enough with the chicken and the lamb, and even the namby-pamby cake. It's time to go to the mattresses. It's time for chocolate.

Now, I'm probably the last person who needs to tell you about the chemical properties of chocolate. In other words, what chocolate does for you, which is a lot. There is a reason why desperate people in desperate times turn to chocolate. And most likely you don't need me to explain this because YOU ARE ONE OF THEM. And if you're not -- well, I don't want to play in your yard.

Chocolate is oft equated with love -- those heart-shaped boxes for Valentine's Day. Or the scientific evidence that chocolate releases some endorphin-like chemical which makes you feel just like you're in love when you eat it. And I am in love. And, here's what I love with regard to that: Baskin Robbins chocolate chip ice cream; See's Candies dark chocolate bordeaux; Benes' Bakery brownies (cakelike, not fudgy); Girl Scout Thin Mints; Mallomars; Fun-sized Snickers bars, frozen; Fran's Gold Bites; Fluffernutter from Williams-Sonoma (alas, no longer available because of an absurd lawsuit), Nanaimo Bars, Boston Cream Pie. And that's the short list.

I also like chocolate pudding. And, I like chocolate cake. My mom used to make this cake when I was young. She could whip it up easily after dinner. I started making it when I was about eight. I've been making it for years, from a battered card which has the recipe written in my mom's handwriting. It's not rare. Occasionally I run across a recipe for it in food magazines, and most recently in the Los Angeles Times. But you needn't research it, as here is the recipe:

Crazy Chocolate Cake

1 1/2 cup flour
1 cup sugar
3 tablespoons cocoa
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
6 tablespoons canola oil
1 tablespoon white vinegar
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup cold water

Sift flour, sugar, cocoa, soda and salt into ungreased 8-inch square pan. Make three depressions of graduating size in the combined dry ingredients. Into the largest, pour the oil; place vinegar in the second depression, and vanilla in the smallest. Pour water over all; mix by stirring with fork. Do not beat.

Bake for thirty minutes.
Serves nine, theoretically (cut into nine squares).


The interesting thing about this cake is that it is vegan. Now who knew we were that trendy? I think the recipe came about because it could be made with ingredients almost always on hand. Plus the no bowl thing made it attractive to busy moms who weren't really jonesing to dirty both bowl and pan. Theoretically you could eat the cake with the same fork with which you stir the ingredients together. A really good idea if you are going to eat the entire cake, in which case you won't even need a knife to cut it into squares. Seriously, you could be tempted to eat the whole thing. However, even when one needs to go to the mattresses, this could be . . . overkill.

What would Sandra do? Yes there is a Sandra & chocolate link as she makes a killer chocolate treat called Cook's Treats. Stay tuned, and thanks for reading my blog.