A Bouquet in Both Senses

I wonder if a bride with a passion for cooking has ever put basil in her bouquet? I know there is a language of flowers; is there a language of herbs? Basil's probably better as an accent; you don't want your guests, not to mention your intended, to be thinking about food when they should be marveling at your dewy beauty. I'm re-launching "52 New Foods" as "Dancing With the Whisks" which doesn't limit me to writing about unusual/new ingredients (not that it has 'til now). Whatever fun I get up to in the kitchen is now fodder for the blog. This post was inspired by that garden-fresh bunch of basil my colleage Christine Zika brought me when we had lunch on Friday. Note to self: there is no better get-well gift than freshly picked, fragrant herbs with the dirt still clinging to the stalks. We're anxiously awaiting "Frankenstorm," a nor-easter roaring up from the Caribbean to devastate the coastline for the next three-four days, so I'll make pesto and Chuck and I can eat in in style. Who needs canned goods when you can whip up a batch of fresh sauce?

P.S. I hate you!

Dear New York Yankees, If I'd been at Comerica Park today with this, I wouldn't have known who to aim at, you were all so bad, with the exception of Eduardo Nunez who has some idea of how to earn a paycheck. Love, your longtime fan

T(ea) Ball

Today's the day--the Yankees win in Detroit or weeeeeeee're OUT (of the ALCS). Just in time for my "T(ea) Ball" came a delivery of insanely delicious, decadent treats from a Commerce Street bakery called Milk & Cookies (The Good Cook sells a baking book by the same name). If I could cheer them on with beer, I would, but me and Derek are on the DL, so it's the cricketer's drink for me. GO, YANKEES!

Adventures in Cooking

Chuck took us to West Africa tonight with a peanut stew, featured in Saveur's October 2012 Special Collector's Issue (it's their 150th). We'd made the braciola from this issue earlier which was just divine, but I have to admit I was a bit skeptical about this (I'm so Eurocentric, it's pathetic). Thanks again to Chuck's precise cooking, it was totally delicious (the $77 grocery bill would've fed a West African family of 12 for a year!). A combination of fresh ginger, ground coriander, turmeric, ground cumin, black pepper, ground cinnamon, fennugreek seeds (which we substituted with mustard seeds), chile de arbol, and cloves scented the kitchen as the chicken thighs cooked in a light onion, tomato, and peanut butter sauce to which we added eggplant and okra. What a wonderful balance of spicy, savory, and sweet! This one goes into the repetoire; in fact, the whole issue is a keeper.

Swedish Sweets

My college roommate Paula Green sent me a fantastic array of Scandinavian delicacies: lingonberry jam, ginger snaps, rye krispbread, smoked creamed roe, farmer cheese, pastilles, and chocolate! We reminisced about Nyborg Nelson, a Scandinavian restaurant first on the 2nd floor of an Midtown East brownstone, decorated with rough wood and folk art which moved to the recently opened Citicorp Center as a sleek and modern cafeteria. Both are long gone and we miss them. Their specialties can be had at SwedensBest.com or by phone at 877-865-8503. I'll be calling!

Childhood in a Can

If I worked for Campbell's Soup's advertising company, I'd pitch this for a series of print, TV, and social media ads. Nostalgia to the max, this would revive the brand for any baby boomer. Didn't all our moms serve us Campbell's chicken noodle soup with a sandwich on our days home from school? Wasn't it one of the first things you were allowed to make on your own? How many of us used the can to make a pencil holder? I'm sure there are a zillion delicious memories behind the red and white label among my generation. Here I am, 56 years old, three weeks into my six-week recovery for a new hip, and I've probably had Campbell's soup every day. If only Mom were here to put it down in front of me, in my favorite cup, and sit with me while I slowly slurped the broth, spelling out words with the letter-shaped noodles, chasing around the carrots or barley, leaving nothing but a little ring around the top. Pure pleasure.