(acorn) squashing writer's block.

I was an English major. For me, this meant learning to navigate murky post-modern novels, while dissecting Shakespeare and writing decent papers. In my first semester, I heard two contradicting sentences uttered by my professors that altered my relationship with my pen.

Statement A: Philosophy Class. “The only thing I know is that I know nothing.” –Socrates

Statement B: Journalism Class. “Write what you know.”

Statement A rang very true for me. Usually, when you think you’ve figured it out, whatever it is, you find yourself back at square one, admitting that you, in fact, still need to figure it out and learn a little more. 

Statement B was downright scary. Write what I know, I thought. What do I want to devote myself to learning enough about, to know that I can write about it? I didn't know.

If I write what I know, and I know nothing, then I write nothing.

And that’s what happened, dear friends. For the next ten years, I put writing aside. Well, let me clarify. I wrote professionally about weddings and beauty products and other people. When it came to me, there was radio silence. The expansive white computer screen was intimidating beyond imagination. With every blink of the cursor, I was reminded that I was speechless.

But everyone has stories to tell.

Thankfully, I've learned that jumping head first into something is the best way to learn/cope/get out of your comfort zone. Dipping my toes in the water allows too much time to think about whether I'll sink or swim. So now, whether or not I feel inspired or chatty or creative, I write. It has to be total submersion or bust.

When a lack of inspiration strikes in the kitchen, this little all-in-one dish saves the day. 
The stalls at the farmer's market were looking a little sad this week, still offering the sloppy seconds of winter's produce: squash, root vegetables, onions. The stuffed acorn squash that ensued turned a bitterly cold day into a brighter one. The best part is that they can be assembled in advance with whatever vegetables you have on hand and baked off when you're ready to eat--comfort food at its best.

Roasted Acorn Squash with Parsnip Stuffing
Serves 4

2 acorn squash, halved with seeds and pulp removed
3 T. extra virgin olive oil

2 large parsnips, grated

2 garlic cloves, thinly sliced

1 leek, white part only, thinly sliced

1 cup roasted broccoli florets

½ cup dried cranberries

½ cup toasted pecan pieces

Salt and pepper to taste

4 T. butter

¼ tsp. nutmeg

Pinch cinnamon

Minced chives to garnish
1/2 cup shredded fontina cheese (optional)

1.) Arrange squash halves cut side up on a sheet pan and drizzle with olive oil. Season with salt and pepper and roast at 350 degrees for 35 minutes, until cooked through.

2.) Heat a medium skillet and coat the bottom with olive oil. Add the leek and garlic and cook until softened, about 4 minutes. Add the broccoli and parsnips to the mixture and saute for 3 minutes--parsnips should be soft and golden, but not heavily browned. Stir in the pecans and cranberries. Season to taste.

3.) Make the sauce: Slowly brown the butter in a small skillet over low heat. The butter should take on a medium golden color and have a warm, nutty fragrance. (If it becomes black or starts to smoke it's gone too far.)
Once the butter is browned, add the nutmeg and cinnamon and a pinch of salt to season. Set aside.

4.) Fill each squash half with the vegetable mixture and drizzle one tablespoon of the brown butter sauce over each half. Broil on low for 2 minutes until the tops are golden. Cut each squash in half, sprinkle with chives and serve. Note: If you're a cheese lover, and who isn't, sprinkle the tops with shredded fontina and broil until a golden crust forms on the top.

Photos by Jamie Federico

Surprise Me

There's not much of a story here. Actually, the story is that sometimes taking a chance on the unknown can result in the most pleasant of surprises. And sometimes not.

Exhibit A: Husband and I (read: husband) kept revisiting the idea of bringing an animal into our apartment. Our options have been whittled down to two, maybe three, as there are no dogs allowed in our building: fish, hamster, cat. The hamster idea never stood a chance, and I wanted something more fluffy to cuddle up to than a fishbowl. So, cat, it was.

One visit to the local shelter later, and I arrive home with not one, but two kittens in tow. Did I mention that I'm not a cat person? However, these two lovelies were sitting in the window, half-scared and half-lethargic. The owner let me know that they had been rescued together, were scared of everything, and were each other's only comfort. Going once, going twice, SOLD to the softy who doesn't like cats.

Wilma's distrustful stare.

I keep convincing myself that this will work out by using phrases like "they're coming around" and "making strides". The truth is, it's been two weeks, and I still can't touch them without a frenzy breaking out.

A friend recently summed the situation up perfectly: "So let me get this straight: you paid for them, bought them toys and blankets, feed them, clean up their crap and you're getting nothing out of the relationship?"
Hmm, yes, that sounds about right. Time will tell whether this story turns into a pleasant surprise.

Exhibit B: What is pleasantly surprising is this dish I threw together earlier this week. It made sense when I was thinking about what I have at home versus what would actually be a satisfying dinner. I had tons of shittake mushrooms, avocados and some lemons. I was in the mood for scallops and what resulted was the perfect meal to pull me out of my kitty stupor. The contrast in textures from the crisp, sauteed mushrooms and the creamy avocado was enticing and the sauce was amazing. I'm not just saying that. It was I'm-embarrassed-to-be-using-a-scallop-to-consume-every-last-drop amazing. Here you go:

Scallops with Shittake Mushrooms, Avocado Puree, Lemon Cream Sauce

Serves 2

For the Avocado Puree:

1 avocado, diced

1/4 tsp. fresh serrano chile, minced

1 garlic clove, sliced

2 T. sour cream

1 lime, juiced

salt to taste

Combine all ingredients into a food processor and process until smooth. Cover and set aside.

For the Shittake Mushrooms:

1.5 cups Shittake Mushrooms, stems removed, sliced

2 T. vegetable oil

1 shallot, minced

2 tsp. fresh lemon juice

salt and pepper to taste

In a skillet over a medium flame, heat oil and and add the shallot, cooking until translucent, about 3 minutes. Raise the heat to medium-high and add the mushrooms, salt and pepper. Saute until well-browned and cooked through, about 5 minutes. Stir occasionally to cook evenly. Right before they are finished, squeeze the lemon juice over the top and cook for about 15 seconds. Remove from heat and set aside.

For the Scallops:

1 T. vegetable oil

6 Large Sea Scallops

1 lemon, juiced

1/4 cup creme fraiche

2 T. cilantro, chopped

salt and pepper

Season the scallops and pat dry. In the same pan used for the mushrooms, heat oil until hot, nearly smoking.

Add the scallops and sear on high heat until a crust forms, about 2 minutes. Turn to cook other side briefly, about 2 minutes. Remove from pan and set aside. Lower to medium flame and add lemon juice, stirring the juice with a wooden spoon to scrape up browned bits on the bottom of the pan. Add the creme fraiche and continue to stir until the sauce is homogenized and reduced to a thicker consistency. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Assemble: Create a bed of mushrooms on the bottom of each plate and place three scallops on each.

Top each one with a dollop of avocado puree and finish with sauce and cilantro.

Gremolata Fingers

My announcement that I had enrolled in culinary school was met with an equal mix of high-fives and incredulous stares.

"But why would you do that when you're a writer?" "Do you honestly want to work as a cook?" "That's so exciting, you can be a food writer!"

Because I wanted to get into the culinary world. I did, actually, want to work as a cook. Many intelligent women actually manage to pull this off brilliantly every day and they aren't derelicts. And yes, I sort of wound up a food writer. Unintentionally, but still.

I spent the summer before starting culinary school working for a mammoth catering company on Long Island. There were some things I witnessed that I was not proud of--cooking in mass production is never a pretty sight--but I also learned other important work habits that proved invaluable both in and out of the kitchen. Maintain a sense of urgency, work clean, know how to prioritize, be precise, do it right the first time.
By the end of the summer I had found my way around a knife, and that September, I confidently marched into The French Culinary Institute, thinking I had this in the bag.

The first day of class we worked on knife skills. Our chef-instructor showed us the different cuts we were to practice--the juilienne, the brunoise, the macedoine, and so on. I was proudly whizzing through each cut, putting into practice what I'd learned that summer. The chef has even commented on my success, and deep down I felt highly satisfied with myself.

You know that saying, "Pride comes before a fall"? There's a reason people say that; there's a reason why that actually gets passed down through generations. I soon found out why.

We were working on mincing and I had a pile of parsley on my board. I looked away for a second. One second--or the amount of time it took me to realize that I was missing a fingertip. I cut the top of my finger off. On the first day of school. Before our lunch break. What am I doing here?

After rushing to the bathroom, avoiding passing out, and dissuading my chef from sending me to the hospital, I realized that I instinctively threw the other part of my finger into the recycle bin. I couldn't even get sorting the garbage right.

If taken to the task of creating a litmus test for how badly I wanted this, cutting a finger off was the way to quickly figure it out. I returned to class, silently digesting a wedge of humble pie.

But today I didn't make pie. Today, in an effort to redeem haughty herb-mincing, I made gremolata. And my hands are still in tact.

Gremolata is a condiment made of fresh herbs, lemon and garlic. Although it can be made with a number of herbs like cilantro or mint, it is classically made with flat-leaf parsley. Gremolata is most often served with osso bucco (veal shanks), but also lends bright flavors to steak, seafood and vegetable dishes.

Gremolata

1/4 cup flat-leaf parsley, minced
1 garlic clove, minced
zest of one lemon
1 T. olive oil
pinch of salt to taste

Combine the ingredients and set aside until ready to serve.

Simple roasted lamb chops are a perfect springtime dish to showcase this humble, but, worthy condiment.

She needs an umbrella with her chocolate chips.

New York is not for the faint of heart. I have a theory that New Yorkers are unlike anyone else, if only because of the brutal and often unpredictable weather patterns we brace ourselves for every season.

March in New York proves this point in its entirety.

On Friday, it was a balmy 75 degrees, with the promise of warm spring around the corner. Today, freezing rain and gusty wind escorts us into the new week. If New Yorkers, at times, seem too tough and not quick enough to exchange toothy grins and hugs, this is why.

If you lived in sunny Miami, wouldn’t you be inclined to smile a little bigger and step a little lighter?

Luckily, there are certain things that make the gray days more palatable: Family, friends, chocolate-chip cookie bars—or a combination of all three, not always in that order. Fortunately for me, all of the above assembled in our apartment this weekend. As I think about us laughing, acting silly, and passing around a plate of these cookies, I find myself more capable of dealing with a gloomy Monday. At times you need a vacation, other times you need family and sometimes you simply need comfort food. Clouds are lifting.

This recipe is adapted from Food & Wine’s Chocolate-Chip-Pecan Cookie Bars. I prefer to replace the pecans with sliced, toasted almonds.

A bit of espresso mixed into the flour highlights the flavor of the chocolate;  replacing some of the sugar with quality maple syrup deepens the flavor, while cutting out some of the processed sugar.

Rainy days never tasted so good.

Chocolate-Chip-Almond Bars

(adapted from Food & Wine)

Makes about 16 bars

1. 1 cup sliced almonds, toasted
2. 4 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
3. 2 tablespoons canola oil
4. 1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons granulated sugar
5. 1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons maple syrup
6. 1 large egg
7. 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
8. 1 teaspoon ground espresso
9. ½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
10. 1 1/2 cups whole wheat pastry flour
11. 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
12. 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
13. 1 cup semisweet chocolate chips

1. Preheat the oven to 350° and line the bottom of a 9-by-13-inch baking pan with parchment paper. Spread the almonds in a small skillet and toast over low heat until golden and fragrant, about 4 minutes.
2. In the bowl of a standing electric mixer, beat the butter and oil with the granulated sugar and maple syrup until light and creamy. Beat in the egg and vanilla until smooth. In a small bowl, whisk the flour with the baking soda, espresso, cinnamon and salt; add the dry ingredients into the mixer at low speed. Fold in the chocolate chips and almonds until evenly incorporated.  
3. Transfer the dough to the prepared baking pan and press into an even layer. Bake for about 20 minutes, until lightly browned and nearly set in the center. Let cool completely, then run a knife around the edges and invert the rectangle. Peel off the paper and invert onto a cutting board. Cut and serve.