Sweet & Spicy Snack Mix

I have this problem with Racheal Ray.  And, surprisingly, it's not the perkiness.  

When you think about it, I should admire her.  She's the first to admit that she's not a chef--she's a cook.  She rose to stardom by finding a niche and filling it--evidently filling it very well, if her now pervasive media presence is any indication of her popularity.  She earned a loyal following by doing something I fully support--stripping the difficulty from making new, exotic, interesting recipes and bringing quick, easy, and filling recipes to the masses, and giving people the confidence to branch out in their weeknight cooking.  Plus she seems just like a regular person--not a food genius, not a perfect technician, not a super-skinny spokesmodel (GIADA, i'm looking at you.  There's no way you eat the food you cook.) 

All of these things, I love.  I actually like her show, aside from cringing every time she says "EVOO" or markets some product with a twee name like a "spoonula." None of these things, however, are my problem with her.

It's her recipes.  

She's got tons of great food ideas.  But, by and large, at least with her recipes that I've made, they're VERY poorly tested.  The balance of ingredients is way off (like her sausage and spinach drunken risotto that called for 3 cups of red wine, and buried all other flavors besides wine in the finished dish).  The recipes lack specifics when they are seriously  needed, or just plain don't work.  Rarely do I make a recipe of hers without carefully monitoring it every step of the way, ready to fix, adjust, and abandon it halfway through if needed. When you stop paying attention to her recipes and trust them, more often than not you wished you'd modified something halfway through.  

This snack mix is no exception (I'll get to that) but DAMN if it isn't good.  Incredibly addictive, spicy and sweet, it's one bowl you can't stop reaching into.  The first time I made it, however, I was certain it would be a dud.  See, you cook butter, sesame seeds, brown sugar, red pepper and soy sauce on the stove, then stir in chow mein noodles and spread it out to harden into crunchy bits.  

But, because the recipe doesn't say how long to cook the caramel or to what temperature, there is no way to tell if it's reached the right stage to harden, instead of just congealing into a sticky mass--not the consistency you want in a snack mix.  Faced with this traumatic result, I just stuck the whole sheet into the oven for 15 minutes, hoping it would get the job done--and it did!  It dried out the sticky, crunched up the chewy, and resulted in this getting made a second time--and probably many more times to come.  


This is a crunchy, sweet, spicy, salty, slightly exotic snack mix that is worth making, especially when you've had one too many bowls of chex mix or gorp...or just want to try something different.  Adapted recipe after the jump. 

Marinara Primavera

Finally, my butt is parked on my couch again where it belongs.  Although San Francisco was a new, interesting city to visit, a massive head & chest cold prevented me from seeing much more of it than the few blocks radiating out from my hotel and the convention center (a last-minute foray to the In-N-Out Burger by Fisherman's Wharf notwithstanding).  

 So, home, and sick, and my body craved creature comforts.  Blankets, pajamas, movies, and food.  Usually when I have a cold my wants are specific--ginger ale, OJ, and chicken soup (usually of the Mrs. Grassman's variety, although often times of the Chinese wonton variety as well).  

This time, though, my soul and body a bit starved for attention, I wanted something more filling.  Something hearty and homey.  I wanted spaghetti.  It's an American comfort food, one many of us grew up eating time and time again, and likely composed of similar, ready-made ingredients:  Creamette boxed spaghetti, ground beef, and Ragu (or Prego) jarred spaghetti sauce.  It's the easiest way to fix yourself some faux-Italian comfort food, and not a bad one either.

This is still what I think of when I imagine spaghetti, but sometimes I want to branch out a bit...or just use up a bunch of veggies in the fridge without having to eat, well, a plate of veggies.  Why not cook them into spaghetti?  Or, more truthfully, I had canned tomatoes, tomato paste, and all sorts of veg in the fridge, and I felt that guilt at using pre-made ingredients, and thought, OH, I should make a sauce from scratch. 

Thus, this primavera/marinara marriage was born of necessity, a bit of concern for heath, and mostly because I felt I should. Building a basic tomato sauce is easy, embarrassingly easy really.  Start with flavorful base veggies, add spices, and then add tomatoes and season.  The problem I usually find is that it's easy to make a quick marinara sauce, but not easy to make a quick and GOOD marinara sauce, one that doesn't need to be simmered on the stove half the day or require an absurd list of ingredients. 

Looks like marinara, but chock full of vegetables.  I like tricking myself into healthful eating. 

So I used a few tricks I've picked up from those much more intelligent, cuisine-wise, than me.  First, borrowing from Indian cuisines, I fry aromatic spices to intensify and release their flavor.  After the veggies have really cooked down (you want them to sort-of melt into the sauce), I like to "toast" the tomato paste in the skillet, another step that sweetens and draws out the strong tomato flavor.  Third, I use the juice in the whole tomato can to deglaze the pan, ensuring that no flavorful bits get left behind when the sauce is transferred to the pasta.  Fourth, add a parmesan rind into the sauce while its simmering--the cheesy flavor will infuse the sauce without having to add any actual cheese.  A great way to get another use from something you'd otherwise throw away.  Fifth, fry the pasta in a little olive oil before adding the sauce.  I don't know, it just does "something" - and that something is awesome.  


Ultimately, this married the comforting, nostalgic flavors of good ol' American spaghetti with an updated, richly layered, and veggie-riffic take on a classic.  Jump for a versatile, adaptable recipe.  

A. G. Ferrari's Deli in San Francisco

Across the street from this little hotel is a small Italian specialty food store and deli.  It looks like a nice, new little place.  A quick Google search reveals that it's a mid-size California chain, although it doesn't feel much like a chain when you walk in.  It carries Italian candies, wines, imported pastas, and olive oils, in addition to its well stocked deli of italian meats, cheeses, and prepared food items.  It would be a fun place to explore were I a local resident. 


But I'm not, so none of these food finds really caught my eye, since my 50.5 lb suitcase can take no more contents unless I want to pay a $100 oversize bag fee when I fly back to Chicago on Wed.  No matter how special that olive oil is, I'm not paying a hundo to take it with me on the aeroplane. 

They look like black-eyed peas to me...

Sandwiches, on the other hand, are something I can enjoy.  And A.G. Ferrari makes those by the tenfold.  Their "seasonal" (doubt it" menu lists about 20 varieties, and I'll give them credit that only one or two feature deli smoked turkey.  Instead, they stuff their (freshly baked?  maybe) bread with cured Italian meats, roasted veggies, house-made dressings, and less-common cheeses.  A welcome find. 


Going back to that across the street location, it's no surprise that it has fed me lunch two days running now.  Yesterday I selected #4, a tuna and celery salad with tomato, arugula, and olive tapenade on foccacia.  The not-too-mayo-y tuna salad had a fair bit of crunch, and the chunky olive tapenade cut through the richness with its salty brine.  The foccacia as well wasn't greasy like this olive-oil laden bread can sometimes be, making it a nice counterpoint to the savory contents it held.

Today the #9 Veneto called my name.  Layers of spicy, rich sopprasetta, asiago cheese, red leaf lettuce and--the deal clincher--pickled vegetables on crusty italian bread.  A side of cannellini bean, celery, and pecorino cheese salad with red wine vinaigrette somehow made its way into my cart, too.  Strange how these things happen.  


This was a great sandwich.  Great.  The peppery, salty salami balanced perfectly against the vinegary, crunchy vegetables, and mixed with the creamy asiago and the chewy bread it became perhaps my perfect sandwich. 


If you find yourself near this place (as I will tomorrow) I highly suggest helping yourself out and heading inside.  The #8 sure sounds good too.....   

Georgian Cheese Bread

While updating my external hard drive last week (sorting through my multitude of picture folders, really) I stumbled upon a forgotten folder titled, appropriately enough for this food nerd, "Food Porn."  Alas!  Food pornography shots I took way back when, before this budding blog took flight, before I had an excuse for my gluttony. 

This picture, though forgotten, reminded me of a delicious baking experiment that went horribly, horribly RIGHT.  "Horribly" because it was near impossible to stop myself from eating the whole damn thing.  This is what happens when you bake alone.

Georgian Cheese Bread, which I first saw in the May 2008 Gourmet, was one of many recipes I made simply because the photos left me an unstable drooling heap, unable to contemplate a life without making. this. now.  I did make a few variations on the recipe, though. Mine contained only mozzerella...because that's all I had.  I also recall the dough being very stiff (7 Tbsp water just doesn't seem like enough) and had trouble getting the dough to nicely flatten, much less reach an 11" circle.  I bet mine was around 8"--good enough for me.   

I can't resist showing it from multiple angles...

Regardless of these changes, this is seriously good. And despite having to make a dough and allow time for it to rise, this bread is relatively easy, so delicious, and--just look at it--pretty darn impressive!  Imagine serving this bubbling beauty instead of plain ol' dinner rolls at your next meal, party, shindig or secret alone-time feast.  Hey, I don't know what you do in your spare time, just what I do in mine....

Close up of the molten, delicious center. 

Let me just take a moment right now to acknowledge that the road to this blog has many, many direction-givers without whom I would never have had the idea and motivation to start it up.  The Food Pornographer, namely, and Smitten Kitchen, two well-known blogs whose images and stories, though different, are equally enthralling if you love to eat.  And Ms. Pioneer Woman, as well, who reminds me not to editorialize or to take on a voice that isn't my quirky, obnoxious own. As I reach for stardom, or just another cookie, you're all who I thank. 

Or thank me, because if you click through the jump you'll have a recipe in your hands that will make you into a star of your own kitchen.  Mmm.

Thirsty Bear Brewing Co.

First free night in San Francisco, and I happened to know that there was a little brewery and tapas restaurant not three block from my hotel.  “Happened to know” being, of course, a euphemism meaning, “as always, I heavily googled the area surrounding my hotel to unearth any available information on local restaurants, and then spent hours reading over their menus, and then when I got to the hotel also perused the magazines, handouts, and hotel guide to learn if I might have missed anything.”

So I knew of this brewery, is the point.  In addition to my sincere, deep, and abiding affection for beer—the bitterer, the better—I love tapas.  Because, my friends, you get to eat so many of them.  If you are, like me, cursed with the affliction that prevents you from deciding between a handful of options from any menu you see, then a tapas or small plates restaurant may well be the cure.  Instead of choosing one, you choose three, four, five, ten, depending how many people are around, or just how gluttonous you want to be.

We'd already eaten a couple. Oops.  

The Thirsty Bear Brewing Co. was our destination on Friday.  While I was honestly not too impressed with the two beers I tried, my mind changed when I stood up and realized how STRONG they must have been. Wow.  The Howard Street IPA was nicely bitter, but didn’t seem to have many additional citrusy or floral flavors that I usually crave (especially citrus) to give more interest to the shocking hoppiness.  The Brown Bear Ale likewise was caramelly, a bit malty, but also a little thin bodied.  Of course, to be fair, my sinus cold could have been the true factor swaying me away from liking - or tasting - them more. 

But the food provided no such challenge to taste.  We started with a Jamon Serrano Flatbread with Manchego and Figs---great, great simple snack.  The crunchy crust had a buttery richness that elevated it above your standard dough, and the quartered figs brightened up the salty, cheesy dish. I could have used more ham, but the sweet, perhaps balsamic syrup underneath all the toppings made up for it.  We also had the empanadas, filled with pulled pork shoulder and queso fresco and sitting atop a squash and pepper sauce.  These were tasty little morsels, but perhaps not anything too out of the ordninary.  Still, a fried dumpling is a fried dumpling, which in my book means delicious.

I will have dreams about this. 

I must have been hungry when the second round of food came, because I forgot to take pictures and instead dove right into eating.  Who would have thought, right?  We got one of the night’s specials—squid stuffed with house-made chorizo and sitting atop braised winter greens.  The chorizo was not as spicy as I would have preferred, but the squid was perfectly cooked and tender, not chewy, with a bit of char from a grill/salamander.  Greens gave a nice herbal note to the meaty bundles, but were otherwise not too out of the ordinary. 

And the bocadillos?  GREAT.  Sure, they are a Spanish riff on a slider/mini-burger, but the interesting addition of hard boiled eggs and capers to the garlic aioli sauce gracing the lamb, pork and meat-burgers was interesting—salty, tangy, rich and delicious.  And the lightly pickled squash salad on their side once again balanced the plate, cutting through meaty, rich flavors with vinegar’s bit and veggies’ crunch.

Definitely recommend.  In fact, I want to go back before I leave…

Braised Brussels Sprouts with Bacon and Shallots

It’s no secret that Brussels sprouts are not the most exciting vegetable.  They’re immortalized in cartoons and sitcoms as the grossest of vegetables, the one that no kid will eat and that always gets fed to the dog.  They are most often found over-boiled, mushy, and, frankly, pretty gross. You can gussy them up with vinegar or butter or whatever, but it can’t overcome a good veggie cooked badly. Because of this, I totally understand how and why they got their bad rap.

How can you not want to eat that?

Yet it doesn’t have to be that way!  We can live in a different world!  One where Brussels sprouts get their due appreciation.  One where little cabbages (they aren’t, but don’t they look like it?) are loved and celebrated in all of their miniature glory.  I want to live in that world.

I’ve read interesting recipes where you shred or very thinly slice the sprouts into delicate little ribbons, then lightly sauté theme or use them in a slaw.  This is a good idea, because dramatically changing their shape tricks the eater into forgetting past associations with the humble sprout and trying them with an open mind.   Plus, the little shreds are much more approachable than the somewhat dense, compact green leafy balls. 

A good idea, yes.  But I wanted to try a different tack to give these sprouts a new life.  A more direct route.  And what’s the easiest way to make something not delicious into something delicious?  Add bacon.  Hey, it’s just science.  Bacon + other food = good.  You can’t argue with a proof that thorough.

Another problem with the common approach to sprouts is a lack of imagination.  Take vegetables, put in water, boil until soft.  I mean, I suppose boiled potatoes are fine, blanched green beans are OK too.  But they're plain, boring, and bland.  Most times you employ this method, it's merely a step toward a finished product.  Even boiled potatoes usually get buttered and seasoned at the table!  Why relegate sprouts to the blandest of cooking methods?  Look at cabbage ("Cabbages is beautiful"--line from one of my favorite novels...).  They're versitle, used both raw and cooked, in all sorts of applications.  A sprout can be just as loved. 

Building layers of flavor by using bacon and shallots to create a base, gently braising the sprouts in chicken stock, and finishing it off with some coarsely ground pepper melds these sprouts into something greater than the sum of their parts. Give them another chance.  Served with some Parmesan Garlic Bread, it easily transforms from a side dish to a meal. One you won't believe started out with Brussels sprouts.  Believe. 

Jump for a recipe. 

Grilled Vegetable Salad with Creamy Feta Vinaigrette

I have this problem, one I'm trying to address.  I buy something from the market or grocer, needing it for a certain recipe or to satisfy a specific craving. And then, once that solitary need is met, I'm left wondering what to do with the remainder. 

For whatever reason, this seems to happen all the time with feta cheese.  There are only so many Greek Salad we can make before I get sick of that salty snack.  It's not a cheese I eat plain or on crackers, my go-to methods for getting rid of excess cheese (not really a chore...).  Sure, I blended it into the Turkey Artichoke Meatballs, giving them some extra richness and flavor.  I used some in the Tilapia Cakes that I'll soon share with you. 

The cast of characters

But, aside from random recipes or adding it to random salads, I struggle to think about what to do with the remainder of the package It’s a strongly flavored cheese, so a little goes a long way—even my heavy hand with cheese can’t put more than a tablespoon or so into a big salad.  Consequently, some always ends up, lost and forgotten, in the deli drawer of the fridge.

Some was languishing in the fridge the other day when I stumbled across The Bitten Word’s recipe for a Creamy Feta Vinaigrette.  AHA!  Don’t put the cheese in the salad, put it on the salad!  Or better yet, don’t put it on salad at all.  Use it to top fish, shrimp, chicken, grilled veggies, as a dip, or in any other vehicle you can find. 

I don’t know why this seemed so revolutionary, but it did.  I thought it would be a good, different way to introduce this salty, savory goodness into my life.  And it was.  Plus, it’s soooooo easy.  Not like when a chef says easy and you still use 10 pots and 20 techniques.  REAL easy, as in you throw a bunch of stuff into a blender and press the button.

Plus, serving it meant I got to use my cute little creamer for the first time, so I knew I’d be predisposed to like it.  And I did.  The vinegar really sets off the feta’s salty richness, the olive oil smoothes it out, and lots of dill and pepper

The prettiest still life I've ever seen...

Yes, dill—the recipe calls for oregano, but I had bunches of fresh dill, so you can guess why I used it.  And I didn't want just a simple lettuce bowl to showcase this dressing.  No, its bold flavors call for something much more robust.  I had a bunch yellow squash, some red onions, and some already roasted peppers from FIL's garden, so building a Grilled Vegetable Salad was a no-brainer.  It really, really worked.  The caramelized onions' sweetness balanced the salty richness; the squash's mild flavor was a perfect plate to showcase the creamy, sharp dressing.  Work in some protein somehow--grilled chicken, fish, or tofu--and this would easily become a hearty meal.  

Thus, my slightly modified recipe, as well as my recipe for grilled vegetable salad, after the JUMP. 

Are you going to San Francisco?

If my last hotel was “the hotel from the FUTURE,” this hotel is definitely a thing of the past.  And I say that is a fond, affectionate way.  While it’s not my personal style, as in I’m not gonna run out and get a four-poster bed for our little apartment bedroom, I appreciate the history of the place. 

Around since before the big ol’ earthquake, San Francisco’s Palace Hotel surely reflects a storied past of when this “City by the Bay” was, in some respects, still the wild west.  It feels old—again, in the best possible way—and reminds me of how much differently we see and experience life today than they did just 100 or even 50 years ago. 

Take, for instance, my shock at stepping off the elevator on the seventh floor and seeing a marble staircase across the foyer.  Stairs!  On the seventh floor!  Who would climb up that many flights?  Of course, everybody, if they were born before the elevators were installed.  Then I scoffed at the completely functional, non-ornate bathroom.  What?   No slick basin sink?  No iPod dock for shower tunes? No in-mirror TV screen? (Yes, I actually stayed in a hotel – for work – with one of these.  And I actually called to the front desk to get a replacement remote for my broken one, because I’ll be damned if I’m going to stay in a room with an in-mirror bathroom TV and not watch that thing every hour of the day.)

But then I remembered that the bathroom works. The ceilings are luxuriously high.  And the wingchair alongside the heavy wooden desk is just something you don’t see every day.  Sure, they’ve made some concessions to the changing times—a flat screen TV on the sideboard; a wireless connection; I suppose even the digital alarm clock next to the bed counts as a modern concession, although it sits upon an honest-to-god piece of furniture, not some slickly installed plasticine shelf. 

Really, would you want it another way?  It does us good to remember that what we take for granted are beyond luxuries; they’re unfathomable to those who came 25, 50, 100 years ago and slept in this very room.  Maybe I should spend more time thinking about those who came before me than how I’m going to best feed media into my brain today.  No, today I’ll do it the old fashioned way, with a book and a bath—kindle and Jacuzzi-free, of course.

And, lest I forget the point of this blog, this historic hotel has a foodie connection! As averred on its website, the Palace Hotel is the birthplace of green goddess dressing.  So when I landed tonight, half sick with a sinus cold and coming off 5 ½ hours in the air (DC to San Fran is not a short flight) I knew that room service once again would be my destiny.

My kind of cold medicine.

Chicken noodle soup—addressing the virus-y half of me—and veggie crudités with green goddess dressing—for my hungry, food-loving half. Chicken soup is chicken soup--it was good, darlings, but i just don't think it can be great.  Great for a cold, though.  The green goddess is unlike any other incarnation of the stuff I've ever come across--and, like the hotel, i mean that in the best possible way.  Tangy, thick, herby, it definitely leaves you wanting more, while being also much lighter on the taste buds than a heavy ranch or onion dip.  

Not going to eat it all, surely, but the wood-paneled mini-fridge hidden in the sidebar—a holdover from the 70s, surely—can contain the veg for snacking in the work-heavy days to come.  Bear with me, friends.  Like my turbulent flight…it’s gonna be a bumpy ride. 

Gotta sneak in a taste...mmm!

Although I do have some backlogged food porn on my flash drive with me, so don’t get too lonely.  Cheeks will keep you well fed. 

On the road again...

I’m out of pocket this week….or, more accurately, out of the kitchen.  Another work meeting has taken me first to DC, and next to San Francisco, for the next 8 days.  I shouldn’t complain, really.  We get to stay at nice hotels—much nicer than the the hotels my cheap ass reserves when I’m paying the bill.  I get to travel with my friends, as I’m lucky enough to have some really good friends at my workplace.  And we get $60/day to spend on food. Whatever food we want.  Wherever we want.  FOR FREE.  This is sounding better already….

First stop, the Donovan House in DC—or, as I’ve been calling it, using a mystical robot voice in my head (sometimes out loud too…), “the hotel from the future.”  It’s very modern—sharp angles, lots of chrome and white lacquered furniture, and the strangest shower I’ve ever seen.  A snail-shaped molded plastic maze, the shower serves as a semi-translucent wall dividing the bed from the bathroom.  Since I’m traveling alone (miss you A), nobody got to witness the silhouette shower show that undoubtedly was on display for the empty bedroom.  Unless I forgot to close the shades…

Aside from the bizarre, non-private shower, it’s a great hotel.  All the staff members I’ve encountered are super friendly, helpful, and willing to go above and beyond—fixing problems for me, extending checkout to 1 for no extra charge, and just being awesome.  I’m loving this hotel, even if the room is a little small. The décor, futuristic though it may be, is sharp and streamlined.  The bathroom (always the first thing I check out) is appointed with Bigelow toiletries.  And, the bed – specifically the pillows – are actually comfortable, which though seemingly easy to accomplish is so often overlooked that I’m willing to award an extra star just for that.

But my favorite thing about business trips?  Always?  Is room service.  Yes, it’s deliberately, outrageously overpriced.  Yes, it’s not usually the best food you can find in the city.  Yes, it’s really lazy to order in instead of exploring a town you’re visiting.  But it’s so indulgent, and so rare that I do it, that I can’t stop myself from putting on the hotel robe, ordering up a feast, and eating in bed.  Evidence?

Another plus—the house restaurant is a sushi place!  Love it. Love love it.  Instead of crappy onion soup or club sandwiches, which seem to be on every hotel menu (and, having done my fair share of business trips, I feel well acquainted with hotel menus), I got myself some unagi sashimi, a “firecracker” roll (shrimp tempura and spicy crab, topped with cucumber-avocado slaw), and steamed vegetable dumplings. 

YUM.  Maybe not the best sushi I’ve ever had, but certainly the best sushi I’ve ever eaten in bed!  Let’s hope I don’t make this a practice when I get home.  Promise.

Layered Cauliflower Salad

Pretend those aren't canned peas you see.  I didn't have enough frozen ones.   Canned peas are gross, and to be avoided. 

A short post today, owing to my lack of attention span, the hunger in my belly that writing about food is not helping to abate, and the 8-day business trip upon which I embark tomorrow taking my time away from fun thoughts.  So don't be surprised if you don't hear much from me over the next week, although San Fran should provide some tasty diversions after the workday is through.  Will I develop the courage/lack of self-consciousness to take photos of food inside restaurants?  We shall soon see.

A fall outing to the pumpkin and apple farm this weekend started in the best way possible--a feast of homemade (not by me) baby back ribs, smoked over hardwood, glazed with Coca Cola and BBQ suace, and devoured by four foodie friends.  BFranks, best ribs ever, by the way.  Major accolades are being metaphorically heaped at your feet by my literal sticky, sauce-stained hands. I could smell the delicious porky smoke on my fingers for hours....god, i want some more ribs!

To help our arteries survive the meat barrage, I made a quick, easy overnight salad to go alongside the ribs.  Teamwork is a good thing.

It's something that just seems really well suited for a potluck.  Easy-to-find, lowbrow ingredients.  Must be made ahead, then grabbed from the fridge when needed. And, it has bacon in it.  Any salad that manages to work bacon into the mix is a friend of mine.

Ahhh, you are so good.  I was too busy eating you to take a picture of you all stirred up. 

Easy family recipe after the....you know what.

Stromboli!

The STROMBOLI will get you!

People, I like simple foods.  Easy, simple, hearty, real food.  Complicated French recipes and processes never fail to frustrate me. I lack anywhere near the amount of patience and attention to detail to master--or even attempt--to make things like, say, puff pastry, pate, delicate sauces like hollandaise, and many other "fussy" foods that, I tell myself, just obscure what it is you're eating.  Instead of puff pastry, I do make a mean biscuit and pie dough.  Pate I'll never make, but the meat grinder I just acquired means I might attempt homemade sausage this year.   Delicate sauces elude me, but I can whip up a super-duper pan sauce, gravy, salsa, browned butter, vinaigrette, and most anything else that doesn't require 10 egg yolks and 3 sticks of butter.

The way I look at it is simple:  I'll never be a chef--I'm a cook.  My occasional dreams of a Cheeky restaurant aren't a high concept dinner place, but rather a casual breakfast/lunch diner spot where anyone feels comfortable and welcome.  Or maybe a specialty food shop that's 1/2 packaged gourmet goodies and 1/2 soups, sandwiches, salads, and small apps/entrees that you can buy and eat there or carry out to enjoy elsewhere. But really, my aspiration at this point is just to cook good food, eat good food, and write about good food. In Reggie's immortal words, "F. O. O. D., food food. / G. O. O. D., good good."

The point is...I know my skills, I know my limits, and I know what I like.  My food ethos is that it should make you feel sated, comfortable, and at home.  Other people can be innovative, border-pushing, and complex.  I'm approachable, simple, and (hopefully) good.

The downside to simplicity is creativity.  Sometimes I'm not the most creative cook.  I make my favorite recipes and dishes over and over again.  I don't always rush to try new techniques and ideas.  So when faced with a pound of pizza dough the other night, I sought to think in a dimension other than a circle.  Apparently, my science-y Discover magazine influenced my brain that day, because I took a circle literally to the next dimension--a cylinder.  Yes, people, I rolled up a pizza into...well, what is it?  A pizza log?  A calzone?  How about...a stromboli!

I could also have called it a pizza volcano. 

I'm calling it a stromboli because that word is just so darn funny.  It reminds me of an evil, portly Italian villain in a 1970s cartoon or something equally bizarre, not a giant hot-pocket (A's word for last night's dinner, which just reminds me of the Jim Gaffigan bit).  But weirdness aside, it was a nice variation on an overused pizza theme.  While we both agreed that, in a title bout, pizza would come out as the undisputed champion, this is a nice alternative, and much more convenient that starting a pizza from the kneading dough stage (where, my friends, I pretty much invariably start it). And giving another name to a similar dish means I'm not eating pizza as much...right?  Right...?

All sliced up, before belly time. 

When I made it, I stretched the dough as if for a regular thin crust pizza, just in a squarish shape.  I spread with sauce, leaving a good border all around, then topped with a slightly different strategy than with regular pizza.  I went heavy on the sauce and veggies, perhaps a bit more pepperoni than normal, but less cheese than I otherwise would have used.  The stromboli wasn't as puffy as I would have liked it, a fact perhaps due to my rolling it too thin.  I'll keep it thicker next time, and let it have a longer rise before freezing.

It won't replace pizza, friends, but it's an interesting variation.  What I liked most about it was that it survived my freezing experiment, and went straight from the freezer to oven to belly with great success!  Click to see a basic, variable recipe.  Oh, and an awesome recipe for Grilled Vegetable Salad with Creamy Feta Vinaigrette, glimpsed in the photo above, is also coming soon.