It seems that this Tibetan-inspired morning joe is the newest of the coffee trends, and I am not terribly impressed. I am known to switch up my morning coffee routine with whatever liquids are in the fridge. Almond milk is typical, but other nut milks, cow’s milks, and hell–even heavy cream, make their way in from time to time. So of course I had nothing inherently against adding my favorite grass-fed butter and some coconut oil to the mix.
The problem I had is that, for the extra step of transferring to a blender and whirling it about, it just wasn’t worth the effort. I’ve had coffee just as tasty and satisfying as when I add heavy cream. I’ll even argue that, if you stir in some grass-fed heavy cream, you’ll accomplish the same thing. And that thing, when it comes right down to it, is a delicious cup of caffeinated goodness–not a super”food”.
I have three huge sausages (freshly made, from school!), and I also have a cup of red lentils that have been sitting in the darkest area of my cabinet. Oh–and a leek and a half that will go limp very soon.
All I need is one more ingredient to tie these three things together. And there it is: butter.
Prepare the red lentils according to the package’s directions (add a bay leaf to the broth or water for a bit more flavor). Meanwhile, sweat thinly sliced leeks in a combination of butter and oil. Once soft, add crumbled sausage (casings removed–sorry boys) and cook until no longer pink.
Combine the lentils with the leeks and sausage. Stir in a generous amount of butter and season with S & P and freshly squeezed lemon juice.
This hearty dinner came together in less than half an hour, and couldn’t be simpler to prepare.
One of my favorite things about spending time with my parents and brother is all the incredible food we prepare together. This past Christmas vacation, I was assigned a night to make dinner, and this is what I created:
Whether it was my mom who was quick to clean a bowl or stir the red cabbage; my dad who poured the cocktails (my mom warned, “Watch how much you’re drinking–I don’t want drunk pork chops!”); or my brother who is always armed with a joke, I kept great company in the kitchen. And that truly is what I enjoy most about cooking.
The pork chop was simply seasoned with S & P, seared and then finished in a 400-degree Fahrenheit oven. Deglazed the pan with white wine, and after that reduced I poured in chicken stock. Once the liquid evaporated by half, I stirred in some heavy cream and mustard.
As for the mashed potatoes, I did the same old thing I usually do.
The red cabbage? Well that’s a breeze. But I’m gonna save that for another post. Keep ya coming back for more (either that or you’ll be so annoyed with me, you’ll boycott EIYU all together. Please don’t).
Now stop reading about my family and my meals–grab someone you love (gently, of course) and make something delicious.
One of the most comforting foods I’ve ever known is cinnamon toast. Growing up, my dad was the one to make my breakfast. Often it consisted of a Breakfast Hot Pocket, or a Toaster Strudel, but on a good day, my dad would make cinnamon toast. Last week, in an effort to ease my pre-midterm nerves, I whipped up a few slices:
My parents had made me a loaf of homemade white bread, which I toasted and then topped it with a generous smear of butter and a good sprinkling of sugar and pumpkin pie spice (though, as the name suggests, cinnamon is the more traditional route).
I guess I should mention what I’m thankful for, since it’s Thangsiving and all. In reality, the basis of this holiday is gruesome and not something that should be celebrated. That being said, what it now represents is what I’m all about: good food, lots of drinks, all with the people you love.
I am thankful for my parents, because of their love, support and friendship, and because they gave me my brother, my best friend and partner in crime. I am thankful for my S.S., who actually tolerates me, and I think even likes me. I am thankful for my friends, both new and old. I am thankful to be on the path to pursuing my life goals.
And, of course, I am thankful for salt, bacon and butter.
Happy and healthy Thanksgiving to all my faithful readers.
It’s not much of a secret, really. It’s just that few are committed enough to use the quantity of butter, salt and heavy cream that truly decadent mashed potatoes require.
(This photo was taken in hindsight, after the taters had cooled in the fridge. They taste better than they appear.)
Do this to starchy potatoes: peel, dice, put in pot, cover with cold water, boil, cook till tender, drain, mash. Now here’s the important part: add tons of butter, heavy cream and salt. Do it little by little, each time pushing the limits of fat and sodium. Just when you’re on the brink of insanity, that’s when you stop. The point is to taste buttery, creamy, salty potatoes, but not taste just heavy cream, butter and salt. The three elements should meld together to your tastes for indulgent mashed potatoes that rival any decent restaurant.
Here you have a blank canvas. For this potato side, I added freshly ground black pepper and squeezed in a whole head of roasted garlic. Feel free to do the same. And, as always, feel free to remove your pantaloons for this ultra-comfortable comfort food.
The candied bacon made in the previous post is as versatile as regular bacon. My friend and culinary classmate Sonia suggested making a cake ball of corn bread, rolled in maple frosting and topped with said candied bacon. She is a genius.
I did something a little simpler, but definitely worth trying. Make popcorn (the real way, on the stove. Or if you can find micrwave popcorn with no salt or flavorings, that’s fine, too) and toss with finely chopped fresh rosemary, melted butter and crumbled or diced candied bacon. Season with S&P to taste.