IT WAS A BUSY SUMMER

and I am so grateful to finally have a quiet September house. At the same time, I am stunned by the relentlessness of the meal prep. I have stopped counting up all of the school lunches I have made. And now that my kids have some sort of activity almost every day after school, I am trying to expand my one-pot-meal repertoire. Recipes coming.

Back in July, I recorded a Burnt Toast podcast with Amanda Hesser and Merrill Stubbs, co-founders of Food52. It is 23 minutes of us talking about children and food and cooking along with managing editor Kenzi Wilbur. Our kids even joined in for part of it. I was on top of my desk in Berkeley (no, really, sitting in straddle to reach the mic) and the rest of the crew was in a studio in New York City. Dash joined me on the desk towards the end (he is the one who very clearly states his hatred for anchovies). There was this moment (minute 18:27, in fact) when the kids started talking to each other and it felt like we were all sitting around the dinner table. I swear my heart just exploded.

If you feel like it, let me know in the comments below if you have any stories or tips or triumphs or frustrations relating to kids and cooking. I love the beautiful and the ugly and everything in between. So bring it on.

Click either image below to link to the podcast.

More soon about my book and various other projects. Lots going on. Can't wait to share.

xoxo

Phyllis

t

REMOVED

Full beard and strapping body aside, the bartender is young enough to be my son.

Hendrick's martini, please. Straight up with olives.

Hey. I like your style.

My entire body smiles back.

Thank you.

I want to ask what he sees. Does he know I'm a mom? 

Instead, I gather all of the candles from one end of the bar, vow to get my eyes checked soon, and tuck my head into a book.

The air is warm, the martini is cold, the music is loud. The room smells like chicken and potatoes and the late eighties: like my first years in New York City, all full of bigness and potential and the scariness of it all. 

I need food.

My eyes glide down the menu and get stuck on two of my favorite words: romaine and anchovies. 

I wave to my bartender son.

This salad looks exciting.

That salad is exciting.

Two seats down is a body dripping with tattoos, motorcycle leather, fatigue. He is old enough to be my husband.

He picks up his burger. I pick up my grilled romaine. He dips his fries in ketchup. I scoop up the creamy, smoky, fishy salad dressing with my bread. I moan yum. He sighs. He doesn't look to the right. I don't look to the left. We eat together. I feel safe.

I pay, pick up my martini, and head for the hotel elevator. I don't look back.

I climb up on the coffee table with my martini and watch the flashing lights of Manhattan through the floor-to-ceiling Brooklyn windows. I start to relive the thirteen years of pining and dreaming and never ever sleeping that I crammed into that little island. What did I do with all of that kid-free time? I didn’t even like anchovies back then.

I step down.

I lower the shades, wash the martini glass, and tuck myself into the soft and clean king-sized bed. No morning light, no buzzing phones, no barfing kids, no nothing will wake me up until I am ready.

You can find the recipe for Grilled Romaine Salad with Corn and Creamy Anchovy Garlic Vinaigrette in my column over at Food52.

HOW WE MEDITATE IN BERKELEY

Call out I'm massaging some kale, who wants to join me?

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Receive the very familiar rejection chorus of I'm doing my homework, I'm snuggling with the dog, I'm going to clean my room, I need to work on my screenplay.

Dodge a kiss from your husband because you don't remember the last time you brushed your teeth. Throw six anchovies into a hot cast iron pan. Thwack the garlic cloves off the microplane grater and watch them merge with the melting fishies. Scare your husband out of the kitchen by turning the radio to Ryan Seacrest's American Top 40. Whisk in dijon, olive oil, scrappily chopped shallots, and one two three big splashes of sherry wine vinegar. Drag your finger through the warm mix. Taste. Forget who you are, where you are, what you are.

Wipe the anchovy grease off the stove with a paper towel and toss it into the overflowing compost bin. Wash, dry, stack, chop the kale. Place in a large bowl. Drizzle with olive oil. 

Smell a fire. Wonder if someone is smoking outside your kitchen window. Imagine smoking your first cigarette in over 18 years. See yourself enjoying an 11 a.m. martini along with that cigarette. Shake shake shake that dream right on out of your head.

Start shifting the leaves between your fingertips.

Smell a fire. Worry that someone's house is burning down.

Squeeze and twist the leaves until they wilt down and explode in all their green glory. Know that you could do this all day long and be quite content.

Look up from the kale and realize that the fire is three feet in front of you in your own kitchen. Yell out unprintable words. Dump an entire box of baking soda on the flaming compost bin. Hide the smoking mess on the back porch. Hose it down.

Resume the massage. Hear a 5-year-old creature creeping up from behind. Spin around and scare your son by flashing oily green hands. Evade his questions about the smoky kitchen. Turn up the radio. Massage the kale in four-handed unison. Belt out I belong with you, you belong with me, you're my sweetheart. Tell your son that kale has been as overplayed in 2013 as this song by The Lumineers. Realize that he has no idea what you're talking about.

Toss the kale with the warm vinaigrette. Turn the radio off. Invite your husband to step away from his screenplay and into the kitchen. Give him a deep anchovy-garlic-flavored kiss. Watch your son scrunch his face up in disgust. Feel happy that he's more grossed out by kisses than by kale.

Motherfucking om.

I've made 20 different kale salads over the past month. A few thoughts:

—I 've used many different kinds of kale. Dinosaur, curly, Siberian, and premier. All with great success.
— You don't have to destem the kale. But according to Dash, it's more enjoyable if you do because then you don't have to pick the stems out of your teeth. Up to you. But don't bother when the leaves are small and delicate.
—If you choose to massage your kale, it will wilt down to about 1/3 of the original amount. So buy a lot of kale!

— These greens will suck up anything you put on them. The dressing must be flavorful or your salad will be boring. High acid. Hella garlic. Generous amount of salt. After massaging with olive oil, you can toss the greens with fresh garlic, olive oil, salt, and lemon juice. Or you can get a bit more complicated and make a warm anchovy garlic vinaigrette (see recipe below). 

— Kale goes beautifully with squash, potatoes, citrus, nuts, cheese, bacon, lamb, chicken. So you can make a side salad or pile on the components and turn the situation into a full meal.

— You can mix the already massaged kale in with other greens such as cabbage, fennel, romaine.

— Once massaged, it holds up really well in the fridge for a few days.

Things to add to the massaged kale:

— Toasted almond, navel orange slices, blue cheese.
— Pine nuts, parmesan, pomegranate molasses, chopped parsley (see first photo below).
— Roasted butternut squash, roasted garlic, thick balsamic vinegar (see second photo below).
— Avocado, tangerine, walnuts.
— Manchego, apple, pecans.
— Balsamic-grilled peaches, goat cheese.
— Flank steak, grilled onions.
— Chicken, caramelized shallots, preserved lemons.

MASSAGED KALE SALAD WITH ANCHOVY GARLIC DRESSING
printable recipe
Here's a template. See above for some possible additions. Almost anything works with kale. It also tastes great very simply dressed.

ingredients:

6 anchovy fillets, packed in oil

3 cloves garlic, grated or very finely chopped
2 tablespoons sherry wine vinegar

1 shallot, chopped (about 1 tablespoon)

1 tablespoon dijon mustard

4-8 tablespoons olive oil (for dressing)

2 big bunches kale (any kind)

3-5 tablespoons olive oil (for massaging kale)

crunchy salt

directions:

Heat a pan on medium heat (I use cast iron for this recipe). Add anchovies. Use a spatula or wooden spoon to help them disintegrate. Once they're a paste, turn heat to low heat and add grated garlic. Cook for about 30 seconds until the garlic smells sweet and fragrant. Whisk in vinegar.  Add shallots and cook for about 30 seconds. Take off the heat. Whisk in mustard. Slowly whisk in half of the olive oil. Taste. Add more olive oil if it's too tangy. 

With a knife or your fingers, strip kale leaves away from the stems. Save stems for vegetable stock or a gratin. Stack leaves. Chop into 2" slices. Wash. Dry. Place kale in a large bowl. Drizzle over a few tablespoons of olive oil. Massage for about 5 minutes. It will wilt down and soften quite a bit. 

Add big pinch of crunchy salt. Drizzle with a few tablespoons of anchovy vinaigrette. Toss. Taste. Let sit for 20 minutes. Taste again. You'll probably need to add a bit more dressing. Serve like this. Or toss with pretty much any meat, poultry, nuts, cheese, or fruit. See options above.

Once massaged, you can refrigerate the kale for a few days and the texture will remain the same. But don't add the vinaigrette until the day you're going to eat the kale.

I'VE GOT THE FAMILY MEAL THING DOWN

(for my Bella)

Day 14 of winter break and my husband is in Bella's room knee-deep in pressed board and IKEA instruction manuals and Dash is so mad that I won't let him eat the first batch of crispy bacon that he is hiding under my bed with the dog and it turns out that as of the first of the year eggs in any form make Bella want to barf so I find myself staring at this layered salad wondering why the fuck I even bother when Bella starts digging through the dressed romaine with her fingers and I sputter out Bella what huh what are you kidding me um are you an animal and my tone is so awful and she looks so sad that she ended up with me as her mother that we find ourselves in a hands-on-hips standoff until poof her face opens up into a big smile and before I can yank her in for a hug she grabs some bacon and run run run slides into my bedroom to lure Dash and the dog out from under the bed and then she's yelling out daddy do you want some of mommy's salad because it's really good and I'll bring you some and then miraculously we are all eating at the same time with Dash commando crawling toward the kitchen holding a fistful of bacon and my husband allen-wrenching and nibbling on my five-minute eggs and Bella hovering with me utensil-free over the salad bowl tearing dipping slurping and when Dash finally arrives at the table we start talking about the events of the day like the arrival of Dash's new big boy bed and Bella's genius addition of Best Foods Mayonnaise to the Caesar dressing and the 1,254-piece Lego Millennium Falcon we just finished assembling and then Dash clears his throat and splays his hands with just-so-you-know emphasis and comes out with really mama you're so good at building things and there's a great Lego college in Los Angeles and you should go there you really should and for the first time since my daughter was born 10 years ago I don't want my babies to grow up.

ROMAINE SALAD WITH BACON, 5-MINUTE EGGS, AND CREAMY GARLIC ANCHOVY DRESSING 

printable recipe

You can do the 5-minute eggs a few days ahead of time and store them in the fridge. Bacon can also be done way ahead of time because it should be room temperature for the salad. The dressing also keeps for a few days in the fridge.

ingredients:

6  5-minute eggs (see below for recipe), peeled and halved

10 slices bacon

6 cloves garlic, peeled and whole (to be cooked in oil)

1 cup olive oil

2 cloves garlic, peeled and grated (kept raw)

5 anchovy fillets, packed in oil

1/2 teaspoon Colman's mustard powder

splash Worcestershire sauce

4 tablespoons champagne vinegar (or sherry wine vinegar)

1 tablespoon heavy cream

1 tablespoon mayonnaise (Best Foods, Hellman's, or homemade)

a large head of romaine, cleaned (perhaps stripped of any wilted outer pieces)

crunchy salt

lots of chopped parsley for garnish

directions:

Cook bacon on stovetop or under broiler until nice and crisp. Place cooked slices on paper towel to drain off excess fat until you're ready to assemble the salad.

Place garlic and olive oil in a pot on the back burner. Bring to the boil and immediately turn down to a simmer. Cook until garlic is tender (check with a paring knife; it takes about 15 minutes). Remove from heat and cool for about 15 minutes.

Scoop garlic out of oil and place in a mortar (or a regular bowl). Reserve oil for the dressing. With a pestle (or with the back of a spoon), mash the cooked garlic, grated raw garlic, anchovies, and mustard powder into a paste. Whisk in worcestershire sauce, vinegar, heavy cream, and mayonnaise. Whisking the whole time, slowly drizzle in 4 tablespoons of reserved garlic oil (it's okay for it to still be a little warm). Taste. Adjust. You will probably need to add more oil. But if you like it super tangy you can add more vinegar or worcestershire sauce.

You can leave the romaine leaves whole. Or tear them up. Or cut them into bite-sized pieces. They look more awesome when they're whole but it's a pain in the ass to dress them and eat them (you might need your fingers). Most of the time I cut them up. 

Dress your greens with several spoonfuls of dressing. Add salt to taste. Toss with your hands. Taste. Add more dressing or salt if needed. Top with 5-minute eggs, bacon, and parsley. Sprinkle crunchy salt and a few drops of dressing on the yolks of the eggs. Eat right away. Serve with the remaining dressing in a pitcher.

5-MINUTE EGGS

printable recipe

6 eggs

Place eggs in a medium-sized pot that has a tight fitting lid. Cover eggs completely with cold water. Without the lid, bring water to the boil. Immediately turn off the heat. Cover with lid. Set timer right away for 5 minutes. Place a few handfuls of ice cubes in a bowl and cover with water. When timer goes off, carefully scoop out the eggs and place them into the ice bath. Leave them in the cold water for about 10 minutes. You can leave them out all day until ready to peel. Or store them in the fridge for a few days.

OVERINDULGING AGAIN

I've been a stalker of Food52 and all of its loveliness for a few years now.

So right now I'm going to try and be all nonchalant and whatever, people it was no big deal but OMFG I wrote a story for Food52's Halfway to Dinner series.

Here it is if you missed it: One Batch of Gremolata, Six Dinners.

I've been cooking up all kinds of craziness. Follow me on Instagram or Facebook for a daily onslaught of tarts, French toast, and martinis. Or check back in next week. I have a few more stories to tell before the end of the year.

VACATING

Mama why is everything about Bella I can't carry this it's too heavy I wish Dash had never been born mama you are ruining my life you are the worst person ever why can't we have cotton candy you always say no why won't you get in the water you're no fun.

Times 100. For three days straight. I'm done yelling. It's time to bust out my ninth grade acting skills.

I throw down the boogie boards and leave my kids behind on the Santa Monica Beach Boardwalk. As I march away with an exaggerated sense of purpose and a smothered giggle, I can feel their astonishment in the back of my neck. I count to ten in my head and then throw my arms up in the air and yell out with pretty impressive fake tears I can't stand it anymore and I'm going home. I hit the top of the stairs, round the corner, and peek back down the path and there they are gesticulating, conferring, panicking. Then I see Bella comforting Dash by putting her hands on his shoulders, followed by a hardcore finger-wagging warning like whatever you do Dash don't cross the bike path and wait for me here and I'll see what I can do about mama. He nods and sits down on a boogie board. As she runs up the stairs to find me, she glows with a maturity that's way beyond her nine years. She's tears-in-her-eyes sorry. We hug. And our beach day begins.

Very quickly, Dash is tap dancing, arabesquing, conducting, funky chickening, and José Limóning down the beach, all the while chasing birds and smashing sand castles. Bella is way too far out, diving underneath the waves, staying out of sight a bit longer with each entry. Over and over again I inhale sharply, firming the muscles in my body to gather the strength required to jump up and run into the water and swim out in three seconds flat to save her life. And then she pops back up and I get to exhale. I start to wonder how much more my heart can take of this whole parenting thing.

Dash gets braver and takes his dance into the waves and under the water he goes and I am shit crap fuck Dash where are you running to find him and pull him up and out but he's not yet as resilient as Bella so he needs to recover from the washing machine of the Pacific Ocean. I burrito-wrap him in his towel and plunk him down on his butt between my extended legs, my knees pressing in to contain him as he presses out and the rhythm continues in out in out in out like I'm working a Suzanne Somers' thigh master because even at rest my son vibrates with movement. I give Dash the job of never ever taking his eyes off of Bella. You, Dash, are in charge of keeping her alive. He likes this job. And I'm psyched that I only need to track one child. And since I have the rare connection of my mouth to Dash's ear I decide to address a few pressing issues.

Dash, I want us all to stop yelling. And to stop hitting each other.

Yeah, mama, we need to find some love.

 And we need to stop being so naughty.

You mean like last night when I poked holes in the air mattress and when I put the glue all over the wall and at the restaurant last night when I ran away from the dinner table and locked myself into the bathroom like that like that mama?

Suddenly, all I want to discuss is food.

Oh, Dash, how I loved that dinner last night. Let's talk about the pasta sauce. How do you think you spell it?

Allamoonalabasomething. All I know is it starts with an a.

 

He helps me write the letters in the sand.

A L L ' A M A T R I C I A N A

It's Italian. I wonder what's in that tasty tasty tasty sauce?

I don't know, mama. Look it up on your iPhone.

No. Let's guess and then make up our own. I say tomatoes, anchovies, garlic, and some yummy fatty pig.

Mama, all I can say is I just loved slurping up that thick pasta.

And I loved watching him across the table as he maneuvered the drinking straw bucatini, sucking it in with such gusto that his lips got slammed and stained with sauce. 

I miss our kitchen, Dashi. I want to make that sauce right now.

He looks way way past Bella and out to the boats.

Mama, are pirates real? With the boat and the bird and guns and stuff?

They are real. But they don't always have birds.

Mama, do birds have eyeballs on the backs of their heads?

Before I can answer, he's tearing off down the beach to find out.

At first it's cute to watch him run. Then I realize that he's not going to stop and I need to go get him. No I don't need to get him, he'll be fine. He's just a speck now. Yes, I do need to get him. No, I don't. And then I run like a motherfucker down the beach to capture my baby boy before he completely disappears.

SOME THOUGHTS ON ALL'AMATRICIANA SAUCE:
Full disclosure, I did look up all'amatriciana sauce on my iPhone when Dash wasn't looking. I found so many variations but decided to stick with what we had guessed with the addition of red pepper flakes and an onion. I think a few Italians might get mad at me for adding an onion. And my market was out of guanciale so I used pancetta. And it's the height of heirloom tomato excitement around here so I went in that direction. I'm trying to be flexible as a cook and a parent (it's much easier with cooking).

This is a simmer-all-day sauce; it's the kind of home cooking that takes over your apartment, seeping into your sheets and rugs and sofa pillows and summer dresses, lingering for days. But the final sauce is a wonderfully balanced red jam that's sweet, salty, acidic, and packed with disintegrating fatty nuggets of pork. It doesn't require much effort, just don't rush it.

BUCATINI WITH HEIRLOOM TOMATO ALL'AMATRICIANA SAUCE

printable recipe

Makes enough sauce to serve 4. It's intense so you just need enough to lightly coat the pasta. It would also make a great sauce for lasagna. Or you can freeze it to enjoy in the middle of the winter.

ingredients:

4 cloves garlic

4 anchovy fillets packed in oil

1 tablespoon tomato paste

a pinch of red pepper flakes (or more if you like)

1 tablespoon olive oil

6 pieces thinly sliced guanciale (pancetta or bacon), chopped or cut with scissors into 2" pieces

1 yellow or white onion, diced

1/3 cup red wine

6 large heirloom tomatoes (stick with colors in the red family for a vibrant red sauce), cored and sliced and then cut into about 1" square pieces

salt and pepper to taste

1 pound dried bucatini (or spaghetti)
handful of salt (for pasta water)
1/3 cup chopped parsley
1/2 cup grated parmesan, pecorino, or piave cheese
olive oil
coarse salt

directions:

Make a paste out of garlic, anchovies, tomato paste, and red pepper flakes with a mortar and pestle or food processor. Set aside.

Cook pork over medium heat until golden and crispy on both sides. Removed with slotted spoon and place on paper towel. Pour out half of rendered fat. Place back on medium heat. Add onion and cook until softened (about 5 minutes). Add  cooked pork and garlic/anchovy puree and cook for about a minute, stirring the whole time.  Don't let it brown. Add wine and cook until it's mostly evaporated. Add tomatoes. When it comes to a boil, turn it down to a simmer. Cook for many hours, stirring about every 30 minutes or so. When it's nice and thick (3-4 hours), taste and adjust seasonings with salt and pepper.

Bring a big pot of water to the boil. Add a handful of kosher salt.  Add pasta. Cook until al dente. Before draining pasta, scoop out a cup or so of pasta water into a pitcher. Drain pasta and place pasta back in pot. Add about a cup of the sauce and a splash of pasta water. Crank heat. Stir for a few seconds until pasta is coated with sauce. You might need to add a bit more sauce or pasta water. Serve immediately with the following toppings at the table: pasta water, chopped parsley,  grated cheese, olive oil, and coarse salt.

SUMMER VINYASA

Wake up with the birds and the sun. Check to make sure the dog is still alive.  Clean rat shit off the butcher block. Take tart dough out of the freezer. Make a hella strong cup of coffee. Ninja your way into your son's locked room and find him asleep with a pocket knife, Liquid Paper, and a spy pen. Offer eggs. Offer oatmeal. Offer cinnamon toast. Watch your kids' eyes bug out above the cinnamon toast when you rant about the importance of gun control. Pile into the car. Tell your daughter you're sorry but you just can't explain Pink's lyrics it's just you and your hand tonight. End up at Target. Try to talk your daughter out of the short short denim shorts. Try to talk yourself out of the hot pink bikini. Buy both. Yell at a woman in a black SUV to slow down bitch and pick a fucking lane already. Boil garlic cloves in olive oil. Listen to your daughter do a mama-style door slam when you tell her she can't have a new iPod. Pour hot garlic oil over cherry tomatoes and simmer them with salt, sugar, and lemon thyme. Consider returning the hot pink bikini. Ask your son how much he loves you and shiver when he says mama I love you neverending and forever. Assemble your third cherry tomato, garlic confit, and anchovy tart of the week. Drink a martini and cut your son's hair. Regret being that annoying mom who says you don't like anchovies what is wrong with you? Smile when your daughter offers to do the dishes. Snuggle in bed with your daughter and allow her to pet your head. Sit down at the computer to try to articulate your excitement about this tart and realize you're so tired that all that you can write is I fucking love this tart I fucking love this tart I fucking love this tart. Crawl into bed without brushing your teeth and notice you're still wearing your apron. Hug your dog and mumble who the heck do I think I am attempting to do anything around here except trying to keep all of you creatures alive? Wake up at 3 a.m. drenched in sweat. Check on your kids. Go back to sleep until your screaming son wakes you up at 5 a.m. Lie down forehead to forehead until his nightmare fades and he drifts back to sleep. Flip on the kitchen lights and say good morning motherfuckers to the rats. Watch the sun rise. Eat some cold tomato and anchovy tart. Clean the rat shit off the butcher block. Make a hella strong cup of coffee. Remove the tags and tuck the hot pink bikini into your underwear drawer.

CHERRY TOMATO, GARLIC CONFIT, AND ANCHOVY TART

printable recipe

This tart would be super tasty made with pizza dough or puff pastry.

Make sure to prepare the tart dough a few hours ahead of time. It works better to cool garlic confit and tomato mixture before assembling tart. But if you're in hurry then just throw it all together and it will be fine. And if anchovies gross you out, skip them. Corn is a wonderful addition. Or  spread under the tomatoes a layer of goat cheese mixed with 1 egg, salt, and heavy cream. Play. Maybe some pancetta? Prosciutto? Or an egg or two cracked on the tart? I'm hungry.

ingredients:

1 1/2 times this recipe for tart dough, refrigerated for a few hours (or just make double and saves scraps for mini-tarts)

1  head of garlic confit, cooled

2 pints cherry tomatoes (any kind, color, or size)

2 tablespoons garlic confit oil

4 sprigs lemon thyme (or regular thyme)

big pinch kosher salt

big pinch white sugar

2 tablespoons Dijon mustard (I love Grey Poupon)

at least 10 anchovy fillets (packed in oil)

parmesan or pecorino cheese

directions: 

Roll tart dough into desired shape. You can press it into a large tart pan or leave it free form on a sheet pan. Refrigerate until needed. Put garlic oil in medium-sized pot on medium heat. Add tomatoes, thyme, salt, and sugar. Cook and stir until tomatoes soften just a bit (about 3 minutes). A few tomatoes will probably explode. Take off heat and cool to room temperature.

Preheat oven to 350°F.

Spread mustard over cold tart dough leaving about 1/2" at the edges. Strain tomato mixture and save remaining broth for soup (very important or tart will be soggy). Spread cooked tomatoes all over tart dough. Drape anchovies over the tomatoes. Squeeze garlic confit cloves out of skins and onto the tart (I like placing a clove next to each anchovy fillet). If you want, place a few more cloves in the center of the tart along with the thyme sprigs. Grate cheese all over. Paint exposed tart dough edges with garlic oil.

Bake until nice and brown and beautiful. It should take between 30 and 40 minutes. A good test is to pick up the corner of the tart and see if it's floppy or firm. Take it out when it doesn't bow at all. Or, if you like it a bit gooey, take it out when it's not quite firm.

Eat right away. Maybe with arugula and avocado bowls and anchovy salad dressing.

FAIRY TALE

You might want to sedate your children before making squid ink pasta with anchovies, potatoes, sliced lemon, and crème fraiche.

The moment those 24 little fish hit the hot pan, your daughter will sniff sniff the air and look concerned. She will jump to her feet as the light show of spattering anchovy oil glistens high above the stove in the evening sun. Hands to hips, she will look at you like you should be locked up for committing such a heinous crime. Your son will join in the protest because he loves his sister to distraction. And you'll have to put on your ninja-bitch-mom armor and start deflecting numerous requests for a different dinner.

Turn the music way up to drown out your little drama queens.

Be strong.

This dinner will not kill them.

Bring your attention back to the delectable umami mass and watch its magical disintegration. Slide in some sliced pre-cooked potatoes. Fry up paper-thin lemon slices in garlic oil and have your kids chop the parsley. If you've all made it this far without hurting each other, smear an anchovyfied potato on grilled bread, drape it with a garlicky lemon slice, and splash it with a teaspoon of crème fraiche. Offer this bite-sized preview to your kids but don't be disappointed when they turn you down. As you place it in your own mouth, you will moan out oh my god this dinner is going to be so fucking tasty.

At first, it will not be a relaxing or friendly dinner. Have red wine available. When you hit that wall of irritation and desperation, you will stand up, shake your hands in oh là là frustration, and yell out just cover it with crème fraiche and get it down!

As you sigh back down to the table, your kids will help themselves to so much of the thick and creamy white condiment that the mounds of black pasta will look like mountains covered in fresh snow.

And there will be peace across the land.

Crème fraiche recipe #5:

SQUID INK PASTA WITH LOTS OF ANCHOVIES, GARLICKY FRIED LEMON, AND POTATOES
printable recipe
serve 4

ingredients:

6 medium-sized yukon gold potatoes

handful of kosher salt for potato water

1 lemon

3 tablespoons garlic confit oil (or plain olive oil)

at least 1jar or tin of anchovies packed in oil (20 or so fillets)

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 pound squid ink spaghetti (or plain spaghetti)
handful of kosher salt for pasta water

1/2 cup chopped parsley

lots of crème fraiche

directions:

Peel potatoes and cut into bite-sized pieces. Fill a medium-sized pot with water. Add a handful of salt. Place cut potatoes directly into cold salty water. Place on high heat and bring to a boil. Turn down to low and cook potatoes until just cooked through. Gently strain in a colander. Don't overcook them or you will have mush! Set aside.

Thinly slice the lemon. Pick out the seeds. Add a few tablespoons garlic oil to a sauté pan. Once it's hot but not smoking, carefully slide in the lemon slices. Flip them over after a minute. Just make sure to get a bit of color on each side. With a slotted spoon, remove lemon slices from oil and set aside on a plate. Reserve lemon/garlic oil. Boil large pot of water for pasta. Add salt. Drain anchovies and save remaining oil for something else.

Place medium-sized pan on medium heat and add olive oil. Carefully place anchovies in the hot oil. They will spatter like crazy if the pan is too hot. Stir them for a minute. They will fall apart and come together into a mass of melted anchovy. Slide in cooked potatoes. Saute on medium heat for 30 seconds until potatoes are anchovy-laden. Turn heat down to low.

Place pasta in boiling water. Cook until al dente. Reserve a cup or so of pasta water in a pitcher. With tongs, pull out pasta, drip off some (but not all) of excess water, and place into potato/anchovy pan. Turn the heat up and stir for 30 seconds, boiling off a bit of the pasta water and integrating the sauce with the pasta. Be gentle. You don't want to squish the potatoes because they will look ugly on the black pasta (with white pasta this is not a concern). Slide pasta into a large warm bowl.

Top with chopped parsley, lemon slices, lemon/garlic oil, and lots of creme fraiche. Serve with pitcher of pasta water and extra creme fraiche. Most likely, you will not need to add any salt!

mama, why do you always lose your keys?

because i worry about the important things like keeping you alive and there's no more room in my brain thank you dash i do know that my sunglasses are on top of my head yes i'll turn up the music i love that you feel bach in your legs and next to your heart but i think i feel bach right smack in the middle of my heart and a bit going up the back of my neck dash did you know these aren't songs they are pieces called the goldberg variations dude you must chill i'll define the word a variation is a version of something that stays fundamentally the same with a bit of a change a shift a modification like me this morning when I used that tinted eyebrow gel no not tintin's eyebrow gel it's tinted as in expresso-colored no i'm not laughing at you wow you think the makeup makes me look younger i'm still mama but i'm a little different see now that's a kick ass variation 

I make the same food over and over again. Recipe variations take up very little brain space. Trust me. Memorize a few of your favorites, get out of your head, absorb the recipes into your hands, and then start to play. If you need inspiration, you can start with my two favorites: salad dressing and onion tart.

SALAD DRESSING:

It's a bit different every time I make it. You don't need fancy oil or vinegar. Just vary it a bit every time so that you don't get sick of the flavor. Don't add salt to the dressing. Instead, sprinkle coarse salt on the greens when you toss them with the dressing (use your hands).

I usually do 2 parts extra virgin olive oil to 1 part vinegar. Any combination of champagne, white wine, red wine, and sherry wine vinegars will do. I avoid balsamic, apple cider, and rice wine vinegars because they tend to overpower the dressing.

Peel and finely dice a few shallots. With a mortar and pestle (or on a cutting board with a chef knife), bash an anchovy fillet and a peeled garlic clove into a paste. If it is large enough, use your mortar as as your mixing bowl. To the anchovy/garlic puree, add the diced shallots and some vinegars (maybe 4 or so tablespoons) and stir together. Set aside for 10 minutes. Whisk in a few teaspoons of creamy dijon mustard. Slowly whisk in olive oil (maybe 8 or so tablespoons). It should start to emulsify after about half of the olive oil is added. Taste. I like it nice and tangy but add more olive oil if you like it mellower. Store in a jar. It keeps for a week. No need to put it in the fridge.

A few things to play with. Crank up the garlic and anchovy flavor. Use lemon juice instead of vinegar. Mix in chopped capers. Use spring onions instead of shallots.Whisk in some caramelized onions (see below). Add chopped mint to your salad. Or whole parsley and celery leaves. Or lemon zest.

Other uses for the dressing: as a marinade for chicken or fish, on a sandwich, drizzled over pizza, or as a dip for your kids' vegetables. But the best thing ever is to slurp it out of what Dash calls "avocado bowls." 

ONION TART:

(heavily influenced by my mom, my grandmother, and Lulu Peyraud)

Here's a recipe for tart dough. Frozen puff pastry works well too.

There's no point in caramelizing one onion. It's too much work for so little reward. And the resulting jam is just too fucking tasty. I usually do 8-10 onions which supply me with enough caramelized onions for one big tart (I'm left with an extra jarful to add to pastas, sandwiches, and salad dressings). You can also cook down a combination of onions, leeks, green garlic, and spring onions. Be warned that red onions taste great cooked but they look hella ugly when caramelized.

To start, peel and slice onions as thinly as possible (but don't be perfect about it). Heat a large heavy-bottomed pan with a big splash of olive oil. Throw in 2 tablespoons of butter. Add onions. Stir. Add a few teaspoons of salt (many say to add salt at the end for more even cooking but I'm a little stuck in my ways here and I love the juices that are released). Add a sprig or two of thyme. Turn to medium heat. Keep stirring every few minutes. When the onions have softened a bit, turn fire down to low, throw on a lid, and make yourself some tea. Don't start drinking wine yet. Your tart won't be done for hours. Remove lid and stir every 10 minutes or so. Make sure it's not browning. After about an hour, remove lid for good and boil away most of the onion liquid. Stay with it. Don't let it burn. Stir, stir, stir until it's honey-colored. Remove from heat. Locate thyme stems and discard.

Preheat oven to 350°F. Roll out tart dough or puff pastry (keep free form or press into a tart pan). Prebake shell for about 10 minutes. Spread a thick layer of the cooked onions all over the partially baked pastry shell. It's fine if all the components are warm. Here's where you can play. Add black olives and anchovies for a more classic pissaladière. Make a pattern with peeled, cooked, and sliced yukon gold potatoes (sprinkled with salt and painted with garlic confit oil?). Tuck cooked bacon under the potato slices. Maybe scatter some halved cherry tomatoes all over the top. Or place a layer of wilted winter greens mixed with garlic and lemon zest on top of the onions. Bake until crust is cooked through and the top is nicely browned. Serve warm or room temperature.