May 2007 Archives

Which would you start with? The TKO (Thomas Keller's "Original" take on the Oreo) or the enormous Nutter Butter?

I have my usual way of making oatmeal, but I never realized that it was the best way (for the Walkers, anyway). My husband likes my oatmeal although he kind of hates oatmeal in general. The way I discovered this is that I made our morning oatmeal a different way this morning and Todd could hardly hide his disgust; it was sticky, mushy stuff.

My usual technique, which I picked up from Todd's aunt, results in pleasantly chewy oatmeal with firm, loose oats. You can taste the toastiness of them. And I just use regular (not 1-minute) Quaker Oats. You bring the water to a boil, add the oats (amounts according to the box), boil for 1 minute, then turn it off. Then you let it sit for about 5 minutes. I usually have to use a slotted spoon to remove the oats from a slight excess of cooking liquid (which is probably why they stay so firm; they haven't absorbed all the water), so I guess it's a little like cooking pasta (although not that much excess water is involved).

Chopped walnuts add even more texture, and my son usually likes raisins in his. Maple syrup, honey or brown sugar.

When my son was born, I was going to keep him away from sweets. Then his first birthday hit, and he had to have cake. I was even kind of proud of the ginger way he nibbled at his first sweet, unsure whether he liked it. Then I decided if it was homemade, he could have some (especially if he helped me make it). Then we let him try salty licorice, and, incredibly, it was a hit. Then Altoids (I think we we so struck by the strong, bizarre flavors he was willing to eat that we couldn't deny it - it's hilarious to hear an almost-2 asking for salmiakki). Now it's the mints every time we get in the car, fruit snacks to get him to put his clothes on, jelly beans because Daddy's have a handful. It's a slippery slope, people. You've been warned.

And he's got a little bit of a cold now, so he's striking. He won't eat anything BUT the aforementioned junk. In fact, he turned his little nose up at my banana-chocolate snack cakes, too. And I've tried ALL his usual favorites.

Yesterday I made a quesadilla with diced ham, shredded Cheddar and broccoli florets. Nope. Onto the floor.

I poached a couple of eggs in a herbes de provence-seasoned mixture of sauteed onions and diced tomatoes (it was really good, especially with some bread to soak up the juices). He took some bites of the eggs, then the tomatoes, when I spoon-fed it to him. But before that he cried.

Today we ordered doughy, not-very-good (but he loves them) vegetable dumplings. He made me scrape the vegetables out and ate the doughy wrapper.

Turkey meatballs. "I don't like it." Almond butter sandwich. "What's that funny stuff?" (the crust). Asparagus spears do not pass his lips.

Argh. This was the kid who would eat anything I put in front of him 6 months ago. I'm thinking of banning the junk from our home (for all of us) until I can get him back on track. But am I putting the blame in the wrong place? Maybe he has no appetite. Maybe he's just reached the "terrible twos." It's frustrating, though, to cook for someone who not only doesn't appreciate it but who more than likely will smear it all over the table, sink it in his milk or push it onto the floor.

When my son was born, I was going to keep him away from sweets. Then his first birthday hit, and he had to have cake. I was even kind of proud of the ginger way he nibbled at his first sweet, unsure whether he liked it. Then I decided if it was homemade, he could have some (especially if he helped me make it). Then we let him try salty licorice, and, incredibly, it was a hit. Then Altoids (I think we we so struck by the strong, bizarre flavors he was willing to eat that we couldn't deny it - it's hilarious to hear an almost-2 asking for salmiakki). Now it's the mints every time we get in the car, fruit snacks to get him to put his clothes on, jelly beans because Daddy's have a handful. It's a slippery slope, people. You've been warned.

And he's got a little bit of a cold now, so he's striking. He won't eat anything BUT the aforementioned junk. In fact, he turned his little nose up at my banana-chocolate snack cakes, too. And I've tried ALL his usual favorites.

Yesterday I made a quesadilla with diced ham, shredded Cheddar and broccoli florets. Nope. Onto the floor.

I poached a couple of eggs in a herbes de provence-seasoned mixture of sauteed onions and diced tomatoes (it was really good, especially with some bread to soak up the juices). He took some bites of the eggs, then the tomatoes, when I spoon-fed it to him. But before that he cried.

Today we ordered doughy, not-very-good (but he loves them) vegetable dumplings. He made me scrape the vegetables out and ate the doughy wrapper.

Turkey meatballs. "I don't like it." Almond butter sandwich. "What's that funny stuff?" (the crust). Asparagus spears do not pass his lips.

Argh. This was the kid who would eat anything I put in front of him 6 months ago. I'm thinking of banning the junk from our home (for all of us) until I can get him back on track. But am I putting the blame in the wrong place? Maybe he has no appetite. Maybe he's just reached the "terrible twos." It's frustrating, though, to cook for someone who not only doesn't appreciate it but who more than likely will smear it all over the table, sink it in his milk or push it onto the floor.

You would expect Nancy Silverton, of the La Brea Bakery, to know what to do with day-old bread. And the pesto croutons that accompany the Roasted Tomato and Red Pepper Soup I assembled today were the best part. To make them, you're supposed to tear, not cut, 1-inch pieces from the center, not the crust, of a round loaf of sourdough, then toss them in olive oil and bake for 30 minutes in a 350 degree oven (shaking them occasionally). Then you drizzle a mixture of equal parts pesto and olive oil over them and toss. August got to them before lunch today and I couldn't keep him out of the bowl. I think I undercooked them, so they had all these crispy little edges but were still kind of soft in the center, and the pesto flavor was refreshing, not that salty, fake flavor that boxed croutons often have.

Not to say the other component of the recipe, roasted tomatoes, weren't good; they just didn't make it into the soup. You toss halved grape tomatoes with olive oil, a tiny pinch of sugar and some salt then broil them for about 7 minutes. The sweet, intense little bites of tomato were good on our tacos of chicken thighs with yucatan spices, in our pasta salad with chickpeas and vinaigrette, and in our cheese quesadillas.

Frankly, the red pepper soup (a carton) I bought was pretty sweet, and I can't imagine the sweet, sweet tomatoes offering the foil the soup needed. The pesto was a nice contrast; maybe some swirled in would be good.

The cookbook this comes from, A Twist of the Wrist, makes me giddy, though. Of course, the success of all these recipes, which rely on opening cans, jars, boxes and bottles, depend on the quality of the purchased prepackaged ingredients. That's why she offers so many brand suggestions throughout the book. What she's doing really reminds me of some of the simplest tapas, which involve some good-quality ingredient simply drizzled with oil or fried up and skewered.