HWG Redux

{insert witty comment about not posting in six eight months}

So, it's been a while. A long while. And I start asking myself "why?"

I could give you excuses about not eating well (partially true) or being just too busy (not true in the slightest), but if you are reading this you can probably see right through one of my lies so I best not even chance it. The reason there has been no posts here is because I've been in quite a funk. Have you ever been in one of those lost, directionless funks that last for way too long? The kind that have you searching for meaning or at least searching for something to do so you aren't so bored? That's been my reality, especially of late. So I've decided to start my baby back up again. The blog I conceptualized last year and then let sit fallow for far too long. It's time for a fresh start.

New to Halfway Gourmet? Let me tell you what it's all about.

HWG is about food. It's not just about sharing recipes and the triumphs in the kitchen, it's about real people and the real food we eat. Sure, sometime we'll have a nice risotto for dinner but sometimes we'll be too tired to cook and order out from Sun Luck Garden or Rascal House.

Sometimes it'll be about the flub-ups (most likely when I am in the kitchen) like when I used up all the dijon mustard yesterday to make a marinade for the flank steak and leaving none for Kelly to use on her glaze for the salmon- thus forcing her to use the honey dijon mustard which was, well, slightly less successful.

No matter what, it'll always be real and hopefully educational or at least entertaining. I'll be taking the lead here, but from time to time Kelly will take a break from her insanely popular project 'Bama on the Brain and grace us with her presence.

If I haven't scared you away, check back for more soon. Getting back into blogging's going to be a bumpy ride but it should be a fun one.

You, too, can cook Risotto without burning the house down!

Today was a typical Monday here in Cleveland. It was grey, cold, and started to snow which was quite pretty as it fell in fat flakes. Anyhow, I was feeling bold, daring, and more than anything I was feeling like comfort food. Now, I know there are people out there who hate Rachael Ray. Admittedly, she isn't my favorite. But gosh darn it if she wasn't making Butternut Squash Risotto on a recent episode and it got me thinking!

I've always been intimidated by Risotto. All that stirring and waiting and whatnot. But it was warm, creamy, and delicately seasoned (if I do say so myself). Mostly, though, it was E.A.S.Y. And something you my friend can totally do. I promise it's worth it.

Winter Squash Risotto

Ingredients:
1 box of frozen Winter Squash, defrosted and drained of excess water
1/2 a medium white/yellow onion, chopped finely
2 T butter
1-1/2 C Arborio Rice
1/2 C White Wine (we used Mirassou Savignon Blanc--a new favorite)
6 C (roughly measured) Chicken Stock/Broth, heated in a pot on the stove
1/2 C Parmesan Cheese
1/2 T Chopped fresh Sage

1. Set the Chicken Stock/Broth to heat in a pot on the stove.  While that's heating, chop half the onion finely.
2. In a separate pot, melt the butter.  Add onions and a pinch of salt and sweat onions until translucent.
3. When onions are translucent, add the 1-1/2 C rice to the butter and onion mixture. Mix to coat the rice and "toast" for a minute or so on medium heat.
4. Add the wine and stir.  Let the wine absorb into the grains of rice, which are pearly and shiny in the buttery goodness.
5. Begin to ladle in the chicken stock/broth a couple of ladle fulls at a time, stirring inbetween and letting it full absorb before adding more liquid.
6. When the rice is tender, let the last of the liquid absorb. Add the thawed winter squash and stir in to warm the mixture. 
7. Add cheese and sage, mix.
8. Serve in low shallow bowls and enjoy!

I'm telling you, you will NOT be disappointed.  And it took me less than 1/2 an hour to make it. Sure, there was stirring involved, but if you were cooking a more involved meal (and why would you?) you'd be stuck in the kitchen anyhow chopping, and slicing, grating, etc.  All you have to do is stir, my friend.  Stir!

But there's oil in my peanut butter

For years when I was little, my mother always bought natural peanut butter. It was gross, lacked flavor, and you had to stir in the oil before you could spread it on anything. My brothers and I begged and pleaded for "real" peanut butter and my mother finally caved and started buying Jiff. It was probably one of the greatest victories that that Hatgas boys ever won over Mom.

You see, we were the type of family that never (and I mean NEVER) had sugar cereals. We ate Wheaties and Chex and on occasion we were surprised with a box of Kix (which never lasted more than a day). More often than not my mother bought generics so we really didn't eat "Chex" it was more like "Corn Flavored Lattice Squares," but that's besides the point. What I am trying to get at was our breakfast options were pretty limited so I would usually default to peanut butter toast; but that natural stuff was just so nasty.

It's possible that my palate has matured (it's probably more possible that I am just not as lazy to think that the extra step of stirring my peanut butter was worth it), but I really love natural peanut butter now. When I opened up my cupboard this morning to look for a morning meal that natural peanut butter was staring me right in the face. It's funny how things come full circle sometimes.

Thanks Mom.

My journey begins here

I recall very vividly my first solo attempt in the kitchen. I was about 8 years old and had been pouring over the Peter Rabbit's Natural Food Cookbook. There was a recipe for Mrs. McGregor's Fudge Cake that I was dying to try (of course).

My mother was working on some new silk designs in her studio next door and I convinced her that I could and would be the responsible young woman she had raised and could handle making this cake "all by my self". Thinking I would stay out of her hair so she could perfect the batik she was working on, she agreed.

She advised me to read the recipe carefully so I would understand the steps and know what ingredients were necessary. Standing in the kitchen with bowls, measuring spoons, cups, and the usual suspects (flour, eggs, butter, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, salt, cocoa powder) I was ready for the adventure set before me. I thoughtfully sifted flour. I timidly cracked open each egg. I whisked, blended, mixed and folded. Each ingredient was so carefully measured. Finally, I poured the mixture into the 8x8 pan greased just like the recipe called for. I knew this was going to be the ultimate masterpiece. The perfect book end to a delicious family dinner.

My mother helped me put the pan in the oven and set the timer. Only 35 minutes to transform the buttery batter into heaven on a fork. When the timer dinged, it was all I could do to distract myself until dinner. On the back of the stove, cooling, Mrs. McGregor and her fudgy goodness sat. Oh glorious cake! When would you be mine?

I can't to this day recall what was served for dinner that evening. But I can tell you how much I beamed when the plates were cleared and my fudge cake came to the table. Everyone was served a piece. All afternoon, I was awaiting this very moment. But I was too nervous! I paused to wait for the applause, the enraptured "mmmmm" signaling that this was the most decadent of decadent desserts. It was, afterall, Mrs. McGregor's Fudge Cake.

My eyes were on my mother as she, too, anticipated the sweet delicacy before her. She took the first bite. This was it! Her lips pursed and her eyes rolled in what I was sure was the ultimate compliment. And then she spit the cake back out into her napkin and took a huge gulp of milk from the frosty glass.

I was devastated. It looked just like I thought it should look. I read the recipe 3 times over. I did everything right. Thoughtfully, my mother went through everything step by step with me asking me to show her exactly what I had used to measure each and every ingredient. It then became clear to her (and later to me) that she and I had very different ideas about what careful measuring was. To me, careful measuring was leveling the flour in a measuring cup or making sure the liquid was just to the line. I was a precocious child so it never occured to my mother that fractions hadn't been introduced to me yet, that I was unsure of when to use a "T" or a "tsp" and definitely that I hadn't grasped how many "tsp" are in a "T" or vice versa.

Still, it's kitchen tradgedies like this that have made me who I am as a cook. I have loved to bake since I can remember and of all things I can do in the kitchen, it is one of my favorite things to do. Mistakes and success are all a part of the culinary journey. Julia Child is famous for her mistakes and I doubt Hubert Keller made a perfect omlette right out the womb either.

This blog is about halfway gourmet. Halfway because I can say without pause that I have a long way to go before anyone calls me a gourmet. Sure, I can throw in a little bit of this, a touch of that, and top it with some pine nuts and it comes out looking like something you'd pay alot more to eat someplace else. But what makes a true gourmet? White linens, fine wine and flickering candles, fancy plating with foams, essences, and reductions? Whatever it is, we don't even eat our meals at a real table, so I can't possibly be there.

This is also halfway gourmet because I will be the first to admit that there are days when I would rather (and actually have) eaten a bag of Doritos for dinner. Can you imagine Alice Waters with nacho cheese fingers?

Lastly, it is halfway gourmet because I represent one half of this project. Along with my husband and fellow contributor to this blog, we will be sharing our experiences through the food that we eat. Afterall, a dish worth serving is a dish worth sharing.