the thin chef

I really thought I had turned over a new leaf with this here blog…I had three, count ‘em, three consecutive posts in less than as many weeks, which was quite a feat (for me). And then…and then. Then I didn’t post. And now it’s been 10 days, and I know it’s not as bad as 3 weeks, which has been the average span between posts in the past, but it’s not exactly the regular pattern I was hoping I’d started. Anyway…there’s always tomorrow. (Or today, as the case may be.) I’m trying for regularity. Fingers crossed.

Earlier this summer, Jason and I were on an avocado kick, where we’d eat at least one a day. Calorie-wise, it’s not the best idea to consume so many of these little green orbs, which are, in essence, all fat. But we were comforted by the fact that it’s heart-healthy fat, which somehow seemed to excuse the actual fat grams. I digress. I have always loved avocados, with their silky texture and their barely there flavor. I used to say, when I was little, that they tasted like water, which I now realize makes zero sense. I’ll eat them any way I can get them, and sometimes they’re brilliant with just a squeeze of lemon and a bit (or a lot) of salt on top of a saltine cracker.

Or, on toast. One day, I found myself craving this simplest form of avocado consumption, but I was lemon-less. So I reached for the closest acidic thing my pantry could offer, which happened to be rice vinegar. So then I sprinkled it with soy sauce, because—let’s be honest—those two Asian condiments sing a bit louder when put together. And the whole thing was delicious. So, this isn’t exactly a recipe, but more of an encouragement… go get a ripe Hass avocado (no offense to my sweet Sunshine State, but the avocados that grow here are not so good), smoosh it on some toast (the crustier the better) and then sauce it with some rice vinegar and soy sauce (organic tamari if you have it). A few drops of sambal olek or sriracha definitely don’t hurt. Chow. Enjoy. Try to keep it to one avocado, for your girlish figure’s sake.

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Fried rice is comfort food at its best—carbs, fat, and salt. I’ve eaten and loved it since I can remember. When I was little, there was Jum-Bo, our go-to Chinese takeout place. Their pork fried rice is among the best I’ve ever tasted…and even though I haven’t had it in years, I still remember that perfect balance of salty-greasy-chewy-sweet of the pork and rice.

When I was in high school, there was Miss Le, a lovely Vietnamese lady and a teacher at my brother’s elementary school. To thank my parents for helping out at the school, she lovingly made us dinner several times. Each of those dinners included a heaping plateful of fragrant Vietnamese fried rice. Different from the Chinese version, hers was softer, and flavored with fish sauce and rice vinegar. A memorable and truly special treat.

In college, there was Steamers, a tiny shack of a place that served sloppy joe sandwiches on onion bread, spicy coconut curry, and cheesesteaks. Oh, and fried rice. Huge, overflowing plates of freshly made fried rice. The cooks sweat over bright, hot orange flames that lick the bottoms of the perfectly seasoned woks. Not particularly Asian, the rice includes veggies, eggs, and meat, and is simply seasoned with salt, pepper, and the burnished copper-hued seasoning of the well-loved wok. That’s it, and it’s wonderful.

Is your mouth watering yet?

My version swaps brown rice for white, and isn’t too heavy on the oil. The trick is to cook everything separately and to use day-old rice. You can cheat by making the rice about 3 hours in advance, spreading it out on a cookie sheet, and refrigerating it.

I always add in some locally grown broccoli when it’s in season for the sake of having something green…and because it’s delicious. You can use your favorite veggie—baby bok choy and mustard greens both make tasty (and healthful) additions.

Shrimp and Pork Fried Rice
Serves 2 big appetites as a main dish, with leftovers

5 to 6 teaspoons peanut oil, divided
1 small head broccoli (about the size of a man’s fist), cut into tiny pieces
1/2 medium or 1 small yellow onion, diced
2 eggs, whisked
1/4 pound lean pork (tenderloin or boneless center-cut chops work well), cut into bite-size pieces
1/4 pound large shrimp, peeled and deveined
3 cups brown rice, cooked, cooled, and refrigerated for at least 6 hours
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1 teaspoon toasted sesame oil

Heat a large wok or skillet over almost-high heat. (*See note, below.) Add 1 teaspoon of oil, and heat until it shimmers. Add broccoli and onion; toss in oil. Cook, stirring occasionally, until vegetables are tender but still slightly crisp. Remove from skillet onto a plate, and set aside.

Return pan to heat, and add 1 teaspoon oil. Heat until it shimmers, then add eggs. Cook eggs until firm, breaking into bite-size pieces. Transfer to plate with veggies. Wipe pan carefully with a paper towel to remove any egg remnants.

Return pan to heat. Add another teaspoon or 2 of oil; add pork in a single layer. Don’t stir for at least 1 minute, to get a nice sear on the meat. Cook until mostly cooked through, then transfer to plate with eggs and veggies. Repeat process with shrimp, keeping in mind that shrimp cooks very quickly, and will cook further when tossed with the rice.Ttransfer cooked shrimp to the plate with everything else.

Add remaining 2 teaspoons oil to the pan. Add rice, in a single layer, and let cook without stirring for about 2 minutes. Toss rice, and continue cooking for another few minutes until rice is coated in oil and golden in color. Add veggies, eggs, pork, and shrimp, tossing to combine. Drizzle with soy sauce and sesame oil, tossing to coat. Taste, and add salt or additional soy, if desired. Serve immediately.

*I put my stove on an 8 out of 10. You know your stove best, so adjust accordingly—you want the pan nice and hot, but you also want to give food a chance to cook through without burning.

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Today’s healing recipe is along the lines of warm, creamy comfort food…but without the heavy cream or cheese that often comes along with thick soups. Red lentils, unlike their green and black cousins, almost melt when you cook them. They lose all sense of the little hard rusty red discs they once were and become lush, soft orangey goodness with a creamy texture that’s oh-so comforting.

Full of fiber, protein, and iron, lentils are a perfect food to eat when you’re not feeling 100%. This soup also has turmeric in it, which has lately been the darling of health scientists who believe the marigold-hued ground root can ward off myriad ailments from melanoma to arthritis to Alzheimer’s. Impressive, no? Plus its vivid color pumps up the color of the soup, taking it from sun-faded orange to the gorgeous gold of a fiery sunset. (The addition of saffron does the rest.)

A drizzle of cool harissa-spiked yogurt gives this soup an added creamy-salty-spicy kick that I think completes it. When you deliver this soup to your ailing friends, place the yogurt in a separate container and leave a note about what to do with it.

Healing Red Lentil Soup with Harissa Yogurt
serves 6

1 tablespoon olive oil
3 large shallots, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 teaspoons ground turmeric
1/2 teaspoon hot paprika or 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 pinch saffron threads
1/4 teaspoon fine-grain sea salt
1 quart organic chicken or vegetable stock
2 cups water
1 1/2 cups red lentils
1/2 cup Greek yogurt
1 tablespoon harissa*
Juice of half a small lemon
2 teaspoons water

Heat oil in a stockpot over medium heat. Add shallot, and cook until it’s soft and golden, about 5 minutes. Add garlic, and cook until it’s fragrant and tender, about 2 minutes. Add spices and salt, stirring well, and cook 1 minute. Add stock, water, and lentils.

Increase heat to high, and bring to a boil. Lower heat to medium-low, and simmer until lentils are soft and falling apart, about 30 to 40 minutes. Taste, and add more salt if needed.

In a small bowl, whisk together yogurt, harissa, lemon juice, and water. Add more water if needed to reach a drizzle-able consistency.

To serve, ladle soup into serving bowls and drizzle with yogurt.

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Easter when I was young usually meant a trip to West Palm Beach to visit my mom’s aunt and uncle, new dresses (sometimes with lacy gloves or white woven hats), patent-leather mary janes, backyard egg hunts, dyeing eggs in vinegary water, peanut-butter eggs, Cadbury eggs, robin’s eggs (candies), and deviled eggs.

Eggs are the most common archetype of Easter, I think. They symbolize spring, renewal, (re)birth, and all that. We often ate deviled eggs at family functions all throughout the year, but for some reason, they still remind me of Easter. I do love the classic, with mayo and a touch of mustard, dusted with paprika, and served cold from the fridge. But when I let my mind wander, I started to think of the delicious combinations that could take deviled eggs from 1960s picnic staple to 2010 Easter dinner worthy. (Am I the only one who daydreams about making deviled eggs more interesting? Surely not…)

I landed on two I thought sounded the best. The first is just the classic, jazzed up: smoked paprika gives the filling a nice smoky depth, and smoked sea salt lends a tiny crunch on top. The second, my new personal favorite, blends bright green basil and lemon zest with just a touch of Dijon for a springy, flavorful take on the sometimes ho-hum classic.

Deviled Eggs Two Ways
makes 24 deviled eggs
I like the filling to be mounded on top, so I boil 1 extra egg for every 6, keeping the yolk and discarding the white. Older eggs are easier to peel, so if at all possible, buy your eggs about 4 days before you need them. If you prefer one of these flavors over the other, just double the add-ins for that flavor and omit the others.

14 organic eggs
1/3 cup low-fat or regular mayonnaise, divided

For the Smoked Paprika Eggs:
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
Smoked sea salt (or other coarse salt)

For the Lemon-Basil Eggs:
1/4 cup fresh roughly chopped basil
1/4 teaspoon Dijon mustard
Zest of 1/2 lemon
Flake sea salt (or other delicate salt)

Place eggs in a large stockpot and fill with cold water until the eggs are covered by about 2 inches. Cover, and place over high heat. When water boils, turn off the heat. Remove pot from hot burner (if you have an electric cooktop). Set a kitchen timer (or watch the clock) for 14 minutes. Meanwhile, fill a large bowl with cold water and ice. After the eggs are cooked, carefully transfer them from the hot water to the ice water. Let eggs cool.

When cool, lightly tap eggs on the countertop to crack shells, and peel. Cut eggs in half lengthwise with a sharp knife. Place two medium bowls on the counter. Gently pop the yolks out of each white half, putting 14 yolk halves into one bowl and 14 into the other. Discard 2 whole whites, and set remaining whites on a tray or plate, cover with plastic wrap, and refrigerate.

In the first bowl, add half of mayo and the smoked paprika. Use a fork to mash and stir the mixture until it’s smooth and uniform. Set aside. Place the yolks from the second bowl into a mini food processor. Add remaining mayo, basil, Dijon, and lemon zest. Process until basil is finely chopped and mixture is smooth and creamy. (Alternately, finely chop the basil and mash with a fork as described above.) Return basil-lemon filling to the second bowl. Cover both bowls with plastic wrap, and refrigerate for 1 hour.

To serve, spoon filling into the white halves. To be fancier, spoon fillings into 2 plastic zip-top bags, then cut a hole in one corner. Use it as you would a piping bag and pipe the filling into the whites. Sprinkle the paprika eggs with smoked salt and the basil eggs with big flakey salt. Serve cold or at room temperature.

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Ooops…has it really been two weeks since I last posted? Shame on me. Well, at least I have something tasty to share to make up for my absence.

I am, clearly, so very boring sometimes. Every time I am home alone, I eat pasta. Seriously, every time. And, when Jason isn’t here, I also tend to eat things he doesn’t like. So, when he’s away, pasta + his dislikes = my dinner. Without fail. So boring, right?

But truthfully, I never get bored with creating new things to mix in with, or put on top of, pasta. This time around, it was mushrooms and blue cheese—two things Jason will not touch. But also two things that go together harmoniously. I threw in some arugula since the gorgonzola makes a pretty rich sauce. Oh, and also because I cooked the mushrooms in a lot of butter, so I figured the green leafies offset the saturated fat. Or something.

This would be fine on any cut of pasta, but sometimes I just want the swirling and slurping that comes along with long strands. Simple and quick, but with an air of sophistication (maybe it’s the gorgonzola?), this is hearty and rich enough to make a lovely vegetarian weeknight dinner.

Pasta with Mushrooms, Gorgonzola + Arugula
serves 2

1/2 pound pasta of your choice
1 square container sliced cremini mushrooms (also called baby bellas)
1 large or 2 small shallots, thinly sliced
2 tablespoons butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
3 sprigs fresh thyme, leaves stripped and reserved, stems discarded
Coarse salt + ground black pepper, to taste
1/2 bag baby arugula
Crumbled gorgonzola cheese, to taste

Cook pasta per package directions. In the meantime, melt butter and oil in a large saute pan over medium-high heat. When butter bubbles and froths, add mushrooms, shallot, and thyme, stirring to coat everything in butter/oil. Don’t salt it yet.

Cook, stirring occasionally, until mushrooms are tender and deeply golden brown and shallots are slightly caramelized. Add salt and pepper to taste–go easier on the salt than usual, because gorgonzola can be salty.

When pasta is al dente, drain–but reserve about 1/2 cup of the cooking water (I use a coffee mug). Add pasta to the skillet with mushrooms. Toss to combine. Add arugula, and toss until it wilts. Add gorgonzola, as much or as little as you like, keeping in mind it can be pretty strong…just taste as you go. Add reserved pasta water, a little bit at a time, tossing, until the cheese melts and forms a nice creamy sauce that coats the pasta. Taste as you go. Serve immediately.

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Valentine’s Day isn’t really a big thing for us. Jason is usually much better than I am at the whole day, with pretty flowers and lovely chocolates to surprise me. This year, though, after the big move and outfitting our new digs with couches, tables, rugs, and the like, we decided that we’d give each other just the gift of an evening together. Of course in the house, that means an evening spent eating.

On the second day of our honeymoon in Paris last may, Jason tasted green peppercorn sauce (the one that came alongside his steak frites) for the first time. What ensued can only be described as true infatuation—I think he ordered this nearly every day we were there, and talked about it for weeks thereafter. But he had a point. The light but creamy sauce—speckled with mild green peppercorns and slightly sweet from the addition of brandy—is truly divine. No matter what. You could dip shoe leather in it and the leather would be edible. Delicious, even.

When we returned, I promised Jason I’d try my hand at making the sauce. We had some friends over for a bistro meal...but it wasn’t quite the same. Tonight, for our evening together, Jason suggested steaks with green peppercorn sauce. How could I say no to my Valentine? We couldn’t find brine-packed peppercorns, which are traditional, but that’s OK. The sauce was really, truly, spot on. As in almost as good as the ones we had in France. (Not to give myself too much credit…it’s a simple sauce…)

With roasted potatoes that were also among the best I think we’ve had in a very long time, (that post is to come) and, of course, the yummy, perfectly seared steaks, this was an absolutely fabulous evening in.

Honeymoon in Paris Steaks au Poivre
Serves 2

2 steaks of your choice (we like ribeyes, NY strips, or top sirloin)
Coarse salt and coarsely ground black pepper
Olive oil
2 tablespoons green peppercorns packed in brine (preferred) OR dried green peppercorns (still OK)
1/2 to 2/3 cup heavy whipping cream
1 cup beef stock or broth
Scant 1/4 cup brandy

Sprinkle steaks generously with salt and pepper. Set aside at room temperature for about 30 to 40 minutes. If your steaks are very thick (2 1/2″ or more), preheat oven to 400º.

Crush peppercorns in a mortar and pestle or in a zip-top baggie with a rolling pin. Add the crushed peppercorns to 1/2 cup cream in a small bowl. Stir, and set aside.

Heat a large skillet over almost-high heat (an 8 out of 10). Add just enough oil to barely coat the skillet. If the oil smokes, it’s ready. If it doesn’t, give it another few seconds until it does. Open the windows in your kitchen and turn on any vent fans and ceiling fans. Pat top side of steaks dry with a paper towel, and carefully place dry side in skillet. Pat other side dry.

Cook steaks about 4 to 6 minutes per side, or until nicely browned and medium-rare, or your preferred doneness. (Here’s a good guide for knowing the doneness of your steak.) If your steaks are very thick, this is when you transfer them to the preheated oven for about 7 or 8 minutes more.

When the steaks come out of the skillet, reduce heat to medium-high (about a 6 out of 10) and immediately add stock to the skillet. Use tongs to scrape bits from the bottom. Add the cream and peppercorns, and stir. Add brandy. Simmer sauce until reduced and slightly thickened, about 8 minutes. Add additional cream, if you’d like, until the consistency and flavor are just right. There should be enough salt from the steaks left in the pan, but taste, and add salt, if needed.

Serve sauce either in a ramekin alongside steaks or spooned over top. Bon appetit!

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For our Christmas party in December, I made bite-size meatballs inspired by the ones I’d had a few weeks earlier at my parents’ annual backyard party. I should back up—this party my parents throw is no typical backyard BBQ. Anyone who knows my family knows we simply cannot throw a party without this-is-why-we-came-to-the-party food.

A fabulous gastropub here in Winter Park called Ravenous Pig catered the party, and it was outrageously delicious. I managed to take a few pictures between the bites of food. For starters, there were miniature duck ruebens, Greek lamb meatballs, corn-and-crab fritters, mini biscuit BLTs, chicken liver mousse (I die. It was so good.), as well as artisanal cheeses and house-made salumi. For the main plates, we had braised swordfish (yes, braised, and it was awesome) and venison saddle. Dessert…oh, my. Root beer floats with malt ice cream, lovely little puffs of fried dough shaped like curlicue pigtails and propped in a puddle of rich dark chocolate ganache, and pumpkin crème brûlée with pepitas brittle.

Pictured here: Lots of amazing house-made salumi and artisanal prosciutto; Cowgirl Creamery Red Hawk cheese, aged gouda, Miniature duck reubens; root beer floats; and the pigtails.

So, yes, back to the post at hand. The meatballs. I failed to get a picture of them, probably because I was too busy, you know, eating them. But they were perfect little bites perched atop dollops of cool tzatziki.  When it came time for me to make party food our Christmas get-together, these were at the top of my list. (For the record, they were a big hit…but that’s not what this post is about.)

This post is, actually, about dinner. The other night, I was thinking about those party meatballs, and how I could make dinner around them. I thought it might be fun to do a Greek-inspired twist on that ever-loving Italian classic spaghetti and meatballs, using orzo and the aforementioned Greek meatballs. I used ground chicken, but I think I’ll try lamb next time. The result was a quick weeknight meal with lots of interesting flavors and textures. And it all started with those little party hors d’oeuvres.

Greek Pasta and Meatballs
Serves 4

2 teaspoons olive oil, divided
1 small yellow onion, finely diced
2 large cloves garlic, minced, divided
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cumin
3/4 teaspoon salt, plus additional for sauce
1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper, plus additional for sauce
1/4 teaspoon hot red pepper flakes
2 1/2 tablespoons chopped fresh dill, divided OR 2 teaspoons dried dill, divided
2 tablespoons chopped fresh mint, divided
3 tablespoons dry breadcrumbs
3/4 pound ground meat (i.e. beef, lamb, turkey, or chicken)
1 egg white
2/3 cup uncooked orzo
2 cups canned crushed tomatoes or great-quality jarred marinara sauce
Crumbled feta cheese, to taste

Preheat oven to 400º. Line a large, rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper. Set aside.

Combine oil and onion in a small skillet over medium heat. Cook until mostly translucent, about 3 minutes. Add 1 clove minced garlic, cumin, salt, pepper, and red pepper flakes. Stir, and cook until very fragrant, about 2 minutes. Transfer onion mixture to a small bowl, and set aside to cool for 5 minutes.

Combine 1 1/2 tablespoons fresh dill (or 1 teaspoon dried dill), 1 tablespoon mint, breadcrumbs, and cooled onion mixture in a medium bowl. Add ground meat and egg white. Use your hands to mix everything thoroughly, being careful not to squish or compact the meat too much.

Roll meat mixture into 1-inch meatballs (you should end up with about 20 total). As you roll them, place meatballs on the prepared baking sheet. Bake meatballs until tops are golden brown and insides are cooked through, 15 to 20 minutes, depending on the kind of meat you choose.

While meatballs bake, cook orzo according to package directions. Heat the remaining oil in a small saucepan over medium-low heat. Add remaining garlic, and stir until fragrant and just turning golden. Add crushed tomatoes or marinara, and remaining herbs. Stir, and taste. Add salt and pepper to taste. Cook until heated through.

To serve, divide orzo among 4 serving bowls. Spoon 1/2 cup sauce over each serving, and top with 4 or 5 meatballs. Top with crumbled feta, or pass it at the table so everyone can add the amount they prefer.

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Last week’s CSA box contained a plump, perfect little pumpkin. The only pumpkins I’ve ever done anything with are the ones you carve a toothy grin and funny eyes into. I’d read stories about the type of pumpkin you actually cook, but I’d never attempted it.

Of course there are about a million things one can do with pumpkin puree (or just roasted pumpkin, for that matter) but the first thing that came to my mind was pumpkin bread…or, better yet, cupcakes that taste like pumpkin bread. Though I’m not usually one for sweets, pumpkin-spice bread is definitely a seasonal favorite…and if there’s ever a reason to eat cream-cheese frosting, well, you can sign me up.

Since we all know I’m not a baker, I went to Smitten Kitchen for a cupcake recipe, and looked to Elise for a cream-cheese frosting. I also called on my friend Amy, baking expert and photo stylist extraordinaire, to keep my scattered brain on track and to help make the pictures extra pretty.

Deb’s cupcake recipe called for cloves, but we subbed allspice. And, thanks to my gorgeous little pumpkin, the puree we used was fresh. I really do think it made a difference, though these will still be awesome using canned. And though the frosting tasted fabulous with just 3 cups of powdered sugar, I threw in probably another 3/4 cup in for extra fluffiness.

Below is how I roasted my pumpkin. If you have a food processor and you want to make something using pumpkin puree, I highly recommend making your own. It’s super easy and very fulfilling. Obviously, the yield depends on the size of the pumpkin you use…mine was probably 5-6 pounds, and it made right around 2 cups of puree.

Homemade Pumpkin Puree

Preheat the oven to 375º. Cut very top off pumpkin, to get rid of the stem, and discard. Use a long, sharp knife (one that’s heavy-duty) to cut the pumpkin in half lengthwise. Use a grapefruit spoon (or a regular one) to scoop out the strings and seeds. Save the seeds for roasting, or just throw it all away.

Place pumpkin cut side down, and cover loosely with foil. Roast until very tender, aynwhere from 50 minutes to 1 1/4 hours. Let cool until you can handle it, about 30 minutes. Scoop flesh from skin into a food processor. Process for 1-2 minutes, until it’s totally smooth.

If the puree seems overly wet (some pumpkins have a lot of moisture), strain through cheesecloth, squeezing out excess moisture. Use as you would canned puree.

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I’m a little late on this, but I figured I’d add my voice to the overwhelming number of food-blog posts written in response to last month’s announcement of Gourmet magazine’s closing. I’m still shocked and disheartened by the news…as schmaltzy as it sounds, it kind of felt like a mentor or a personal leader was leaving me. I remember picking up the magazine when I was in college and completely losing myself in the pages, finally understanding my interest in food and writing could actually lead to a career. Stories on faraway places and beautiful—if not intimidating—recipes never failed to inspire me. Ruth Reichl is someone I have long admired, and I think what she did at Gourmet was fantastic. I can’t wait to see what she does next.

Luisa posted on Twitter that she was going through all of the Gourmet.com web-exclusive recipes and saving those she wanted to try. Rumor has it that when the magazine closes its doors, the web site will be kaput, too. I followed her advice and searched the Gourmet.com archives. I found 40 or so recipes to print and save. (I was like a contestant on Supermarket Sweep, grabbing anything that looked good, lest it be gone tomorrow!)

Among those was Roasted Cauliflower Barley Risotto, a lovely twist on classic risotto. Chewy and perfect, this is the kind of dish that sates you fully on a cold night…but would also taste great in the middle of summer paired with a glass of chardonnay. Even if you don’t want to make it this week, or even this month, do yourself a favor and print this recipe today, because there’s no telling if you’ll be able to get it the next time you think to make it. And you should make it…it’s absolutely fantastic.

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I come by my love of sharing a meal with people very honestly. When I was little, every calendar (or made-up, or self-imposed) holiday was an excuse for a cookout or some other occasion to get together and eat. So, every July 4, memorial day, birthday, school holiday, etc., my immediate and extended family (the ones who live in Orlando) would gather for a meal.

Aunt Glo, my grandmother’s diminutive, curly-haired, sweet-souled sister, was always in attendance, and almost always contributed something delicious. Aunt Glo is one of those cooks whose love is clearly evident in her food. Most of the classic dishes she makes are painstaking and laborious, but with every succulent bite, you are thankful she took the time. My childhood memories are infused with the foods Aunt Glo (who also has an unabashed love of hot wings) lovingly made for us. Luscious, velvety chicken soup with hand-rolled dumplinglike noodles, pickled macaroni salad with precisely diced vegetables and a sugary, vinegary dressing, and those 50s-style Bisquick/sausage/cheddar balls that are so bad they’re good…plus crumbly, nutty pecan balls—my favorite cookies of all time. And I can still taste the fresh peach ice cream Glo’s late husband, Web, made every summer.

She’s someone who is comfortable in the kitchen, having spent a large chunk of her life cooking in a kitchen so tiny it is smaller than most closets. She knows all the tricks of the trade, and everything she makes comes out just right. One of my favorite tricks of Aunt Glo’s is her ingenious way of steaming the buns for an entire batch of burgers. We would often gather at Aunt Glo and Uncle Web’s thimble-sized house for summer cookouts, drinking Susie’s sweet iced tea, playing horseshoes, and swinging in the shade on the metal glider. When the burgers came off the grill, Aunt Glo immediately put each one between a soft, white bun, and then placed them back inside the thin plastic bread bag, securing it with the twist-tie. In just a few minutes, the buns were steamy hot, ready for grabbing out of the bag and dressing with French’s yellow mustard, fresh Florida tomatoes and iceberg lettuce.

A burger in a condensation-coated plastic bag is a snapshot from my formative years. Every now and again, I need a sentimental reminder of those good old days. Sure, I love a good crusty bun surrounding a gourmet burger, but sometimes…sometimes simple and familiar are exactly what I want.

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