Winter Wallowing

My house in holiday dress. It's all gone now...


The holidays are over, and I finally got the Christmas decorations down. My mother's perennial excuse that the season isn't really over until after The Feast of the Epiphany expired last week. Well , I did leave a string of lights wound around my Eiffel Tower. Every time I plug those in, I'm instantly transported to Paris. Those are staying put.

... except for the Eiffel Tower lights (sorry about the blurry photo).

The house seems so naked now! What with the bare trees, dead grass and general blah-ness outside, it's all rather depressing.

But the post-holiday lull does bring with it the soul-soothing benefits of winter wallowing. And Lord knows, I do love a wallow.

I snuggle on the sofa in my cozy yellow and red family room, under a toasty throw, surrounded by purring kitties (Want to learn how to wallow? Observe a cat.) and watching old movies while sipping from a generous-sized mug of cinnamon vanilla tea or hot cocoa with chocolate-coated mint marshmallows melting inside. (Thank you, Kimmy!)

Everything I know about wallowing, I learned from my cats.

I flip through the new cookbooks I received for Christmas in search of wallow-worthy recipes.

Unlike holiday food --opulent, over the top and designed to impress -- wallow food is simple, homely, hearty fare meant to be enjoyed alone or shared en famille. That's another thing I love about mid-January: It's the least judgmental time of the year, completely lacking in pretension or pressure.

Sammy finds a private place amidst the pillows for his wallow time.


The other night I tossed a couple of cans of rinsed white cannellini beans with a pint of grape tomatoes, olive oil, chopped fresh oregano, thyme and rosemary, smashed garlic cloves, sea salt and freshly ground pepper, topped them chicken thighs, drizzled with more olive oil, sea salt and freshly ground pepper and baked for about 45 minutes. Voila --- wallow-worthy winter food just like I ate in Paris last winter.

I also baked a dense, moist chocolate orange loaf cake from Nigella Lawson's new cookbook (now there's a lady who makes wallowing look downright sexy). It was a lovely, lumpy, sunken in the middle, frosting-less cake perfect for nibbling.

Tonight I'm going to take the remnants of the show-stopping standing rib roast I served at Christmas out of the freezer and simmer it with onions, potatoes, carrots, celery, garlic, beef broth, red wine and baby pasta to make my grandmother's famous beef soup. If I work up enough energy (difficult to do when properly immersed in a state of wallowing), I will make up a mess of tomato and pork-simmered sauerkraut to serve alongside it.

Just thinking about it lifts my spirits.

Mashing and Cleaving in the 'burg

A few weeks ago (OK maybe longer), I told you about my brand-new potato ricer and Francis Lam's recipe for perfect mashed potatoes.

In anticipation of christening my new tool, I bought a 5-lb bag of russets which have the highest starch content of any potato and apparently make the fluffiest potatoes -- although I wouldn't be adverse to using Yukon Gold just for the yummy buttery flavor.

The problem is mashed potatoes cry out for a juicy roasted bird or a big slab of roast beast to go alongside them. And with the heat index up in the 100s here in the 'burg lately, I just haven't been into the whole idea of turning on the oven.

But by last weekend, the spuds were wanting to sprout. I decided to go for it. I talked the Recurring Gentleman Caller (RGC) into firing up the grill. Because he is a man and, therefore, a meat and potato whore, he even peeled the potatoes.

Step one: I put the peeled spuds, cut into quarters, in cold salted water, and let them come to a boil. OK, I already knew about the cold water part from my mama. They cook more evenly or something like that.

I should point out that even though cooking is basically one big science experiment, I am not a math and science geek, and, because of this Alton Brown will never be my favorite Food Network star.

I don't want to know all the nerdy factoids. I just want magic -- and for my food to taste so good that people will weep with pleasure, sing hosannas to my greatness and possibly buy me jewelry and small islands. Is there anything wrong with that?

Lost in this self-absorbed little reverie, I forget to turn the potatoes down to a simmer and almost let them overcook, a big no-no according to Mr. Lam. After about 15 minutes, you're supposed to poke them with a fork to make sure they are tender. They are.

Now ordinarily at this juncture, I dump the potatoes into a bowl with some cream and butter, mash the heck out of 'em and call it a day.

But Francis recommends drying out the potatoes on a baking sheet in a 300 degree oven for a few minutes. Damn, I have to turn on the oven after all.

Meanwhile I put some milk and cream in a pot on slow simmer and dump some salt and pepper into the mixture. Living in South Mississippi, I have a fairly comfortable relationship with my spice rack, so I am generous with both shakers.

I am tempted to chop up some fresh herbs a la Ina Garten (my favorite Food Network chef), but decide no fancy stuff this go round. I don't want to skew the results of this little experiment.

Oh joy, it's time for the potato ricer! The potatoes really do come out looking like rice. It's just like pressing garlic, except no smooshed pods to pick out and no smell clinging to my fingers. This is fun!

I venture a taste. So far kind of dry and bland. Uh oh, Francis, you got some 'splaining to do. Per his direction, I cut up a few chunks of butter and start alternating them with the riced potatoes. I slowly add the hot (but not boiling) cream mixture to the potatoes and gently fold it in.

Ahhhhhhh, here's the magic! These potatoes are light, airy, floaty, fluffy, butter-drenched perfection. Now if you're one of those people who like lumps in your potatoes, well, lump them then, this may not be the method for you. I, however, consider myself a convert.

My man Francis, how could I ever have doubted you?

I steal a glance at the RGC sweating over the grill outside and face a moral dilemma: Do I eat all the potatoes now and tell him the cats got into them, or do I force myself to set some aside so he can share?

I decide to take the high road, but only because he bought me an early birthday present -- a Wusthof meat cleaver which he let me have only after I promised I would never use it on him or anything belonging to him.

It's a deal -- as long as he never comes between me and my mashed potatoes.

A perfect mashed potato recipe and an uber new kitchen weapon. I am one empowered kitchen goddess.

Now, what can I cleave?

A Trip to the Farmer's Market

The heat and humidity aside, there are some aspects of a Southern summer that I love. Fresh home-grown produce is among them.

While I usually spend my weekends sleeping in, sun-ripened tomatoes and sweet milky corn on the cob are well worth rolling out of bed early for on a hot Saturday in July.

The colors, smells, tastes, even the sounds, of a farmer's market entice me no matter where I am. I seek them out when I travel as well as on my own turf.

Hattiesburg's old-fashioned indoors farmer's market is a step back into time and Southern manners. Everyone greets me and asks how I am before getting down to the business of ... business. Tastes are offered. There's lots of commiserating about the weather.

Yesterday's haul: perfect unblemished eggplants, weirdly shaped yellow, green and red tomatoes, amber honey from Mississippi hives, a bottle of pepper vinegar, six ears of sweet golden corn, still in their husks (the seller politely offers to shuck them for free), and a dense, lemony homemade pound cake. "Child, that thunderstorm yesterday rolled in right when I put these in the oven, so you let me know how it turned out," the lady tells me. Delicious!

Back home, the eggplant was salted, cubed and cooked down to an ugly (yet flavorful) mush with olive oil, crushed garlic cloves and some thyme and oregano from my herb garden. Some of the tomatoes were sliced and slow-roasted with olive oil, salt and thyme and tossed -- along with the eggplant mush, slivers of fresh basil and more olive oil -- into hot pasta.

Tonight the rest of tomatoes will be sliced and topped with more fresh basil, blue cheese nuggets, prosciutto and vinaigrette for dinner. The menu will be rounded out by corn sauteed in a nugget of sweet butter and just a smidgen of bacon grease.

I'm already looking forward to next Saturday! Imagine the possibilities.

(The tomato salad was way prettier -- and yummier -- than it looks in this photo).

Stormy Weather

Well, it was one of those weekends.

Stormy weather. And my man and I weren't together.

So on that note -- and because I hate to drink alone -- let's all raise a glass to the late, lovely Lena Horne.

The weather let up enough for me to get this shot of my lilies -- the prettiest thing in my yard right now.

But mostly I stayed in the kitchen.

On the menu: one of my favorite pasta dishes -- lemon fusilli with arugula. Ina Garten, do you ever come up with a bad recipe?

I'm growing my own arugula this year, and for the first time I get what all the fuss is about. The freshly harvested leaves have a peppery bite to them -- much tastier that the packaged arugula in the grocery store. Because my arugula leaves are getting a little sparse, I had to supplement with some fresh basil which also works with the lemon and tomatoes in this dish.

The first summer cherries are starting to hit the produce stands (how I wish we could grow them here -- they are my favorite) and I celebrated with a cherry clafouti. I've eaten this yummy dessert -- a cross between a pudding and cake -- numerous times in France, but have never attempted to make it at home until today. Easy, easy, easy.

Cherry Clafouti

1 cup sour cream

1 cup ricotta cheese

1/2 cup flour

3-4 Tablespoons granulated sugar

2 eggs

2 cups pitted fresh cherries

powdered sugar

Mix the first five ingredients together. Pour into a Pyrex pie pan. Drop the cherries over the top. Bake at 350 for about 45 minutes until puffed and just starting to turn brown. Dust the top with powdered sugar. Serve while still slightly warm.

And then, after all that food, it was time for a rainy day nap.

Longing for Spring

I think I'm not alone when I say I am heartily sick and tired of winter. Bring on springtime.

Last weekend I managed to fake it a little.

Daffodils are popping up in really weird areas of my yard. I suspect my master gardeners may be squirrels. No matter. I was able to pick just enough for a proper little tabletop spring bouquet. Thank you, squirrels.

And since the table looked so inviting, I decided to add to the ambiance with one of the fastest, tastiest and most colorful meals I've ever stolen, er adapted, from Bon Appetit Magazine: BLT Chicken. It's really easy.

First I chopped up about 3-4 strips of bacon (if you're a pork fiend, feel free to add more) and sauteed. Meanwhile, I made the mayonnaise dipping sauce -- 1/2 cup of mayonnaise mixed with lemon zest and chopped rosemary. Yum. I could eat this all on its own.

When the bacon was brown and almost crispy, I raised the heat and tossed some cumin seeds into the skillet (you want the seeds here, not the powder) with a handful of grape tomatoes and cooked in the bacon grease for a couple of minutes until I could smell the cumin and the tomatoes started to wrinkle. I said this recipe was fast, tasty and easy; I didn't say healthy.

Then I tossed several handfuls of baby spinach in with the tomatoes (the recipe calls for mixed baby greens but whatever) and wilted that down for about a minute then tossed the entire mixture with a tablespoon of red wine vinegar, some sea salt and freshly ground pepper.

While all that was going down, I pressed panko crumbs onto some chicken tenders and, in a separate skillet browned them in a few tablespoons of olive oil until cooked through, about 4-5 minutes. The original recipe calls for whole boneless chicken breasts, but that doubles the cooking time. And I'm all about getting it all out there FAST, so I use the tenders when I have them.

Serve the chicken on top of the wilted greens with lemon-rosemary mayo.

The flavors in this dish come together so well -- the brightness of the rosemary and lemon, the tartness of the vinegar, the smokiness of the bacon and cumin, the roasted sweetness of the tomatoes and the crunch of the panko. Good stuff.

The Football Pizza Gourmet

As much as I love fall, I can't say I'm a football fan --although I am always happy when the Saints or the University of Southern Mississippi Golden Eagles win as they both did this weekend.

However, when you live within a stone's throw of a football stadium, as I do, like it or not, football lives at your house during the fall. The kitties aren't sports fans, either. They hide in the closets and under the bed when the booming stadium sound system brings every touchdown, field goal and half-time show number into our family room.

I've learned to adapt. Except for one thing. It seems that every time we have a home game invariably, I get a craving for pizza -- piping hot, cheese-dripping pizza. And that's too bad because while you can't always predict the outcome of a football game, you can lay money on not getting a pizza delivered to your doorstep in less than two hours on gameday in Hattiesburg. And that's only assuming you make it through on the continuously busy pizza delivery phone lines.

You have three options when your craving, like mine, just won't go away. You can wait and wait and wait knowing your pizza, if and when you get it, probably will be cold and possibly not even what you ordered.

You can brave the throngs of tail-gaters and go get it, not a job for the faint of heart.

Or you can make it yourself.

I usually choose option 3. Two things I always have in my kitchen: ready-made pizza crusts and chocolate.

I must say I am turning into something of a pizza gourmet.

Some of my favorite creations: prosciutto, goat cheese and basil pizza; fried artichoke and spinach pizza, and, quite possibly my favorite, the one I made yesterday, barbecue chicken pizza. It was a great way of finishing off Thursday night's rotisserie chicken and summer's half-used bottle of BBQ sauce.

BBQ Chicken Pizza

1 large ready made pizza crust (Boboli, Mama Mary's or the like)

Cooked chicken cut into bite-size chunks (about 2 cups). May also use leftover pork roast.

1/2-1 cup of BBQ sauce

1 sliced green pepper

1 sliced red onion

2 cloves of garlic, minced

1 1/2 cups of shredded Mexican cheese or a Colby/Monterey Jack mix

2 T olive oil separated

2 T chopped fresh cilantro (optional)

Salt and pepper to taste

Preheat over to 450 degrees. Brush pizza crust with 1 T of olive oil, then brush the crust lightly with BBQ sauce to taste (I use about 1/4 cup). Heat remaining olive oil in skillet and saute pepper, garlic and red onion with salt and pepper until crisp-tender. Scatter over the BBQ sauce on the crust. Toss the chicken chunks in the remaining BBQ sauce. to coat evenly Scatter over the veggies on the pizza. Scatter cheese over all.

Lower oven temp to 425 degrees.

Place pizza directly on the middle oven rack. Bake about 10 minutes.

Remove from oven. Sprinkle with chopped cilantro

I think this may become the official pizza of The House Where the Black Cat Lives.

Go Eagles!

Cooking with Koko

Koko (full name Kokomo Magee Willis) is the sous chef at The House Where the Black Cat Lives

Of all my cats he is the only one who shares my penchant for all things culinary. He's like the rat in Ratatouille. Except he's a cat.

On Saturday mornings, he likes nothing better than curling up next to me on the sofa, head in my lap, all four paws touching me, and easing into the weekend watching Food Network. Looking back on it, I should have named him Emeril.

Wherever he is, whatever he is doing, at the sound of kitchen cabinets opening, he comes skidding into the kitchen. He knows the fun is about to commence.

I don't approve of cats being on the kitchen counter during meal preparation. Or anytime for that matter but try enforcing that one when they're there all day and you're not. But dinner wouldn't be dinner without Koko perched on the island, neck stretched, eyes agog, perpetually engaged.

Koko has a particular fondness for dishes involving dairy products -- omelets, gratins and cream sauces rank among his favorites. After writing my post about eating aligot in Paris a few weeks ago, I had a craving for it. I had a hunch that with all those dairy products, Koko also would approve. I was right.

The recipe is simple enough. But there aren't many places -- make that any places -- that carry creme fraiche and artisanal cheeses in the 'burg. So I've had to adapt the recipe using a mixture of sour cream and heavy cream for the cream fraiche and subbing out the best cheddar I can find for the traditional cantal. Still it works. It reminds me a lot of a cheesy potato recipe my mom always made. Any time I can combine two loves, French cooking and my mama's cooking, it's a good thing.

I'm heading out to the Washington, DC, area for a work-related conference next week. While there, I'm also going to have a chance to hang with my sister, who lives in the area. Unlike the 'burg, the District and its environs are full of gourmet food markets and artisanal cheese shops. I'm thinking I'll be able to score the real ingredients there, and that I'll be whipping up authentic aligot for the family by this time next week.

Yummy. I can't wait. Neither can Koko. I see him in the corner trying to stow away in my suitcase.

Aligot

2 pounds potatoes, peeled and cubed (plain russet potatoes are fine)
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon ground white pepper
6 tablespoons butter
1 1/2 - 2 cups crème fraiche (substitute equal parts sour cream and heavy cream)
1 clove garlic, crushed but kept intact
3 cups grated tomme fraiche de cantal cheese (substitute good-quality white cheddar or Gruyere)

Boil the potatoes for about 20 minutes, until they turn tender and drain them. Mash them with a potato masher and vigorously mix in the salt, pepper, and butter for about 2 to 3 minutes, until the potatoes fluff up a bit. Set them aside in the pan for a moment.

Slice the garlic and saute lightly in a dab of butter to infuse it. Then In a medium saucepan over medium heat, bring the crème fraiche and garlic to just steaming. Remove the garlic and pour the steaming crème fraiche into the mashed potatoes and transfer the pan of potatoes to the stove top over low heat. Using a sturdy wooden spoon, beat the crème fraiche into potatoes.

Raise the heat to medium and beat in the cheese, 1/2 cup at a time. Continue beating the mixture over the heat until it forms a smooth, velvety texture with ribbons of cheese. Pour onto warm plates and serve immediately.

It's Flea Season!

Most parents with seven children dread the Christmas holiday season. Me, I hate flea season.

However, it is a universal truth that She Who Sleeps With Cats will one day be She Who Wakes With Fleas unless said she buys seven tubes of flea medicine and squeezes it onto the back of seven hissing necks once a month.

Do not believe the propaganda the makers of those ridiculously overpriced little tubes put out on TV. Clearly those calm, happy cats who sit patiently during their treatment are on drugs (and I don’t mean just flea meds).

At The House Where The Black Cat Lives, flea treatments never go down without lots of running, hiding, hissing, scratching, crying (me), spitting, sulking and drinking (me again).

I’ve resorted to luring my babies into my bathroom and nabbing them in the tub. I have to block out this creepy visual of Andrea Yates every time I do it, but it seems to work. I don’t know why, but no cat can resist the sight of a closed bathroom door. Ask any cat owner.

Mission Accomplished. Seven sticky necks. Seven empty tubes in the trash can. Seven chocolate martinis left in the cocktail pitcher.

Gawd, I love flea season.

Mama’s flea treatment: CHOCOLATE FLEA-TINI

2 cups of vodka chilled (regular or vanilla flavored)
1 1/2 cups chocolate liquer (oh, hell, splurge for the Godiva)
1/4 cup raspberry liquer (like RazzMatazz)
1/4 cup half and half
1/4 cup light corn syrup
1/4 cup sweetened ground cocoa
chocolate kisses or truffles (optional)

Stir first 4 ingredients together in a pitcher. Chill. Fill martini glasses with ice. Stand 5 minutes. Discard ice. Dip rims of chilled martini glasses in corn syrup, then dip in cocoa. If desired, place a (peeled) chocolate kiss or truffle into the bottom of each glass. Whisk vodka mixture just before serving. Pour into glasses. Yields 8 servings.

These are good any time, but go down especially well at the end of a long flea treatment session. Some brands of raspberry liquer will turn your drink that lovely brownish purple color the French call puce, which, appropriately enough, means flea.