The Banana Bread That Almost Was

In many places around the world, it's customary after a birth for friends to bring along gifts of food. It's something nice that people do for each other not only to relieve some of the burden from discombobulated new parents, but as an expression of love and a pleasant reminder that "Hey, we're all in this together."

Of course, not in New York City. Now maybe that's because good delivery food is so easy to come by, or maybe it's because no one knows how to cook here, but I think it's largely because in NYC we're not all in this for each other, we're all in it for ourselves, or else we would live somewhere different and less anonymous, rude, and frenetic.

Our friends The Bomber and The Bomber's Husband just had their first baby, Maxwell, and I am going to meet him today. I intended to bake banana bread to bring to them -- really, I did -- but instead I stayed too late at work last night and then made the last-minute decision to attend a drinks reception for The Viking's prep school. If this sounds tedious, then you do not know The Viking's prep school. Going to a drinks reception adds up to mingling with people with names like Hugo Cadogan Finchley-Armitage and Richard Frederick von Wriothesley (pronounced: Risley) , all of whom are wearing ties and socks that mean something and are several measures wittier than the wittiest Americans I know. It's like walking into a staged production of Right Ho, Jeeves!, and opportunities like this one are not to be missed. But, as a result, now I'm just another one of those selfish New York people who doesn't bring anything homemade to new parents.

I've already seen pictures of baby Max, and he's a real dreamboat. I'm not just saying that. The truth is, some babies are ugly -- of course not your baby, reader, but some babies. I've seen babies who look like Vladmir Putin, Luciano Pavarotti, and Yoda. I know that it would be social suicide to indicate this to new parents but I do I feel that saying every baby is cute really takes something away from the babies who actually are cute, in the same way that "participation trophies" take something away from the person who really did win the 100 meter dash or had, without a doubt, the best original limerick of anyone in her fourth grade class. I'm just saying.

Back to the banana bread. I know it's not as fun to talk about a hypothetical banana bread as an actual one (and even less fun if you're The Viking, because hypothetical banana breads do not taste great with a cup of tea), but the recipe I had in mind last night was a really, really good one from Cook's Illustrated. I first made it in August, which is when the above picture was taken.

I love Cook's Illustrated. While the rest of us are groping around in the dark trying to get it right, Cooks applies not only the scientific method to cooking but also actual science, referencing things like sodium receptors and osmosis and fermentation and other terms that you have not thought about since a final exam when you were 14. Cooks Illustrated is the unfashionable yet clever lab partner who methodically completed the experiment while you spend all period "borrowing more sodium carbonate" from the cute soccer players one bench over. The main innovation in their banana bread is that they evaporate off some of the water from the bananas to pack flavor into the bread without making it soggy and dense. I can't vouch for it being the best banana bread in the whole wide world, but it's incredibly moist, crumbly, and addictive, and I for one will look no further for my banana bread needs.

You can get the recipe for the "Ultimate Banana Bread" here. Unless you're The Bomber, her husband, and Max, in which case you'll probably get the Ultimate Banana Bread sometime next week.

An Armchair Scientist Takes On The Hangover

Today, I have hangovers on the brain. Literally and figuratively.

Last night was The Scribe's birthday, and a group of us went to DBGB and gorged ourselves on thick, unctuous hamburgers, shoestring fries, and sausages. To drink, I had a martini and [an unnamed quantity of] beer -- all in all it wouldn't have been so bad were it not for the red wine-soaked dinner at Aureole the night before, which left my systems teetering on the brink of collapse.

And thus the situation that I find myself in today. It would all be fine and dandy if I could sit around feeling sorry for myself all day, eating junkfood, snoozing on the couch, watching House reruns, and getting better on my own time. Clearly that is not in the agenda, and I'll assume the same is true for most of you on any given Thursday in October. We lead busy lives, and we need to stay in fighting form.

So, I'm doing damage control. Just as there is a right and wrong way to roast a chicken, there is a right a wrong way to treat a hangover, and after years of experimentation I believe that I've found the winning formula. Let's be clear: there is absolutely no science or data of any kind to back up the following claims. Just one bon vivant's experiences.

First of all, hangovers are not just about the alcohol. Sometime you should try eating a big, rich meal loaded with butter and red meat and carbohydrates while drinking sugary, acidic non-alcoholic beverages and see how you feel the next day. Probably pretty hungover.

Think of it like this: after a night of intense drinking and dining your stomach is like a war zone, and the goal of your hangover treatment is to negotiate peace. Most people will tell you that the best solution is to eat greasy food: a bacony breakfast sandwich, Chipotle, a big, hulking bowl of pad thai. This is certainly what you feel like eating, but it's like sending another unit into combat. It's exactly the type of rationale that led you to say, "Sure, I'd love a nightcap!" And look how that turned out for you.

Without further ado, my hangover cure:

1. Tylenol and coffee: Tylenol dulls the pain, and the caffeine is going to be necessary to keep you alert thanks to the awful night of sleep that you just had (both alcohol and a full stomach keep you from getting into REM sleep, meaning that you aren't really getting your rest).

2. 2 liters of water: Dehydration is more than half your problem after a night on the town, so get a liter of water down the trap the next morning and then drink another liter throughout the day. And by water I mean water --not Gatorade, which is really high in sugar.

3. A 30 minute jog: Going for a slow, steady run raises your metabolism, which I personally believe "sweats out" the alcohol (so to speak), flushing your system and speeding the entire recovery process.

4. Vegetable juice: Yes, vegetable juice. Not a burger and fries. Vegetable juice is a mild, low sugar, high nutrient way to cleanse a system which needs a break in order to get itself back to normal. Ideally, I go to a juice bar and order the stuff fresh, but in a pinch I'll take V-8. Trust me on this -- if you can exert enough self control to pass on the pizza and stick to vegetable juice until dinner, you will be the better for it.

Recipe Edits: Campanelle with Sausage, Pumpkin, & Cavolo Nero

Pictured above is the pasta with pumpkin, sausage, and cavolo nero that I cooked for dinner last night. I dunno, it was okay. The Viking thought that it was phenomenal but I suspect that's just because he was long overdue for a home-cooked meal.

I was out of town at the end of last week and in that short amount of time, The Viking had already begun to go feral. When I returned to the apartment on Saturday I found the shards of a broken espresso cup strewn across the floor, peels, cores, and bones of various foodstuffs scattered about the dining area, and evidence of what I believe to be early attempts at toolmaking. All that was missing was the cave paintings. Maybe if I had stayed away an extra day.

Anyway, I think what my Early Man was responding to in last night's dinner was the flavor combination, which I agree was appetizing...but given a few small changes in execution, the dish could have excellent (not to mention easier). Raw squash/pumpkin is punishingly difficult to peel and dice; the sausage was overcooked and rubbery from sitting in the pan too long; the kale had a slippery, boiled quality most closely associated with seaweed; the whole thing was bound together in a watery broth that I could have been reduced down to better effect.

Most of the time we choose recipes because the ingredients sound good: sausage, pasta, cavelo nero, pumpkin. What's not to like? The actual flesh and bones of the recipe, though, may not be all that inspired. That's why it's always important to read fully through a recipe before beginning to cook, making substitutions or changes in technique as you see fit (or, looking for a new recipe using the same ingredients, if the whole thing just doesn't seem right). A recipe ought not to be the boss of you. It should just be a guideline, open to your changes and interpretations.

I'll use this recipe as an example. I'm not going to include the source, because I don't mean to pick on its creators - but here's how I might have done things differently, if I could do it over again.

Pasta with Pumpkin, Sausage, and Cavolo Nero

Kosher salt
1 lb. sweet Italian sausage, casings removed if using links
1 Tbs. olive oil (optional
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
3 cups 3/4-inch-diced peeled, seeded pumpkin 1 small pumpkin or butternut squash, halved
1/4 cup dry white wine
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 tsp. dried Marjorem a pinch nutmeg
1-1/2 cups lower-salt 3/4 c. chicken broth
10 oz. cavolo nero kale (aka Lacinato, black, or dinosaur kale), trimmed, ribs removed, leaves cut into 1-inch pieces
8 oz. dried campanelle pasta
1/2 cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano; more for serving
Freshly ground black pepper

Their instructions:

Bring a large pot of well-salted water to a boil over high heat.

In a heavy-duty 12-inch skillet over medium heat, cook the sausage, breaking it up into small pieces with a wooden spoon, until mostly browned, 6 to 8 minutes.Push the sausage towards the edge of the skillet and add the olive oil if the center of the pan is dry (this will depend on the amount of fat in the sausage). Add the onion and cook until golden and the sausage is well browned, about 8 minutes. Stir in the pumpkin, wine, garlic, and marjoram and cook until the wine evaporates, 3 to 4 minutes. Add 3/4 cup of the broth and cook until the pumpkin is almost tender, about 8 minutes. Add the kale and the remaining 3/4 cup broth, cover, and cook until the pumpkin and kale are tender, about 4 minutes.

Meanwhile, cook the pasta in the boiling water according to package directions until al dente. Reserve 1/2 cup of the pasta water and then drain well. Add the pasta to the skillet with enough of the pasta water to coat the pasta and vegetables generously. Stir in the Parmigiano and season to taste with salt and pepper. Serve with additional Parmigiano.


My Instructions:

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees, and place pumpkin halves cut-side down in a baking dish. Cook for 30-45 minutes, until a knife can be inserted fairly easily into the pumpkin. Remove from the oven, cool, remove peel, and cut into 3/4 inch dice. Set aside.

Bring a large pot of well-salted water to a boil over high heat.

In a heavy-duty 12-inch skillet over medium heat, cook the sausage, breaking it up into small pieces with a wooden spoon, until well browned, 8 to 10 minutes. Remove sausage from pan with slotted spoon and set aside.

Add olive oil if the center of the pan is dry (this will depend on the amount of fat in the sausage). Add the onion and cook until golden, 6-8 minutes. Stir in kale, wine, garlic, nutmeg, salt, and pepper, and cook until the wine evaporates, 3 to 4 minutes. Add chicken broth, bring to a simmer, and cook until kale is tender and broth has reduced to half, about 4 minutes.

Meanwhile, cook the pasta in the boiling water according to package directions until al dente. Reserve 1/2 cup of the pasta water and then drain well. Add the pasta, pumpkin, and sausage to the skillet with enough of the pasta water to coat the pasta and vegetables generously. Stir in the Parmigiano and season to taste with salt and pepper. Serve with additional Parmigiano.

I Think We Should All Have A Chair Like This

This past week we got a taste of family life. Ours friends The Vegetarian and The Botanist visited us in NYC along with their Munchkin, which provided not only a much-needed excuse to cook with vegetables, but a fascinating window into the habits and customs of those small people that we call babies.

The Munchkin likes: The Big Red Barn and other board books, puppies, fries, bananas, Swedish children's music, farm animals of all sorts, stuffed animals > she is.

The Munchkin does not like: Having her face and hands cleaned, socks, bedtime, strange men.




On to the vegetables. First up on Tuesday night was this vegetarian tagine. It was not dissimilar to the tagines that we ate throughout the mountains in Morocco, which didn't have much in the way of meat in them either. This one featured turnips, carrots, chickpeas, and lots of sweet potatoes. The tagine itself was wonderfully flavorful, likely due to the fact that all of the spices were toasted whole and then ground immediately before use (finally, a reason to break into the spices I bought in Marrakesh!). I was distracted by the limp texture and dull flavor of the couscous that I served along with it, but nobody else seemed to mind.



On Thursday I cut up root vegetables (beats, turnips, radishes, cool purple carrots, regular carrots) and roasted them with sea salt, black pepper, and olive oil. I also made an herb and Parmesan risotto, and for dessert, apple crisp. For the non-vegetarians, I cooked flounder en papillote (read: in a foil packet) with sun dried tomatoes, olives, and dried thyme and oregano. This remains the easiest and most hassle-free method of cooking fish that I have yet to discover.

Then came the weekend. We headed out to stay with my mother in the Hudson Valley in order to show The Vegetarian, The Botanist, and their Munchkin a proper Northeastern fall. This meant taking in a spectacle of over 4,000 individually hand-carved, illuminated jack o'lanterns, a hike to the top of Monument Mountain famously walked by Hawthorne and Melville (but never, I don't think, by a jet lagged 13 month old), a hayride, many pumpkin foodstuffs (pancakes, pasta sauce, fudge), lunch at an old fashioned burger shack, and much, much more. Somehow I didn't see fit to take pictures of any of these wonderful activities -- I need to get better at that.



When we returned to the city on Sunday night, The Vegetarian and the The Viking were responsible for dinner. This marked the second time The Viking has ever prepared dinner for me, so needless to say, I was excited. The menfolk went out on a hunting/gathering expedition to Wholefoods, and brought back two big bags of groceries including but not limited to soup, bread, an heirloom tomato the size of a kickball, and Icelandic yogurt (because who can resist yogurt from Iceland?). Then we all drank a middling Malbec and ate insalata caprese, vegetable soup, and tortellini with pesto (served in a souffle dish, shown above). It was a fabulous meal, largely due to the excellent company, partly because I didn't lift a finger.

Now The Vegetarian, The Botanist, and The Munchkin are all gone. It's sad and silent in the apartment and once again the cooking has come to a temporary halt.

Is There Such A Thing As A Desk Potato?

Hi there. Long time no blog.

Things have gotten a little out of hand in recent weeks. I've fallen off the wagon -- the cooking wagon, that is -- so much so that I don't even have a kitchen-related photograph to show you today. Instead, I give you the view that I've been seeing a lot of lately: my desk at work. This is where the magic happens. Can't you tell?

Of course, I would be lying if I said that work has been the only thing keeping me from my chef's knife...

Usually on Saturdays I potter around in the kitchen. This is not a kitchen so much as a swanky hotel pool in Miami. The occasion: a bachelorette weekend. We spent the day reading Wolf Hall US Weekly and talking about Rahm Emmanuel's mayoral bid weddings.


And this? This is trouble.


This is the two laptop-sized pieces of Artichoke Basille pizza that I inhaled on the way to work on Sunday, in a frantic attempt to combat my hangover. A.K.A. double trouble.



These are gorgeous desserts about to leave the kitchen during a charity event at one of our restaurants on Sunday night. At least someone's been doing some cooking...

Listen, I'm not looking for pity here. I'm just pointing out that a busy schedule makes it difficult to take care of oneself properly; not taking care of oneself makes one feel exhausted; feeling exhausted makes it hard to care for oneself. And the vicious cycle goes on and on. Maybe I haven't been a couch potato lately but I've been the next worst thing, which is someone glued in front of a computer screen for many too many hours each day. Yes, a desk potato. And when not desk potatoing I've been spending my time consuming alcohol and animal fat in various forms.

And notice what isn't pictured above? Vegetables. Unless you count the ones swimming in grease and cheese on the pizza. Which I do not.

This calls to mind a New York Times article that I read last week about how you just can't get Americans to eat more vegetables. No matter what you do! Partly because they don't taste as good as, say, Twinkies, but they're also more expensive than Twinkies, and more time consuming to prepare and inferior in their shelf-life to the Twinkie. This makes them a very hard sell.

Even as someone who takes nutrition seriously, as you may have noticed, my enthusiasm for the CSA deliveries has waned in recent weeks. As it turns out getting odd quantities of strange vegetables at inconvenient times is not all that it's cracked up to be. I miss going to the greenmarket. I hate myself for putting Swiss Chard directly into the trash every single time. I'm annoyed at having to puzzle about what I could make that requires exactly three red onions, 5 baby turnips, and a head of bok choy. I don't always have the time, or at least the mental energy, to grapple with the multi-step process of preparing Jerusalem artichokes at the end of a long day. If it comes to that, I'd rather just eat a Twinkie. The CSA box is not for me.

I have to remind myself (and so do we all) that there are plenty of ways to incorporate vegetables into a meal without all that peeling, chopping, blanching, and roasting. Just a few of them:

1. An omelet and a green salad - If you have an extra vegetable or two lying about, omelets are a fantastic way to use them up. Just chop up the vegetables and saute them with some onions and garlic and they're a perfect filling. If you buy a head of Boston lettuce at the beginning of the week and keep it in the crisper drawer, you can shred a few leaves at a time into a simple salad in a matter of minutes.

2. Frozen vegetables and (lean) hamburgers-- A shortage of time to cook usually means a shortage of time for planning, and a major issue with vegetables is that you really need to plan out in advance what you'll use and when so that they don't spoil and go to waste. This is why frozen vegetables are so clutch; not only are they already prepped, but they can stay in the freezer for months at a time if necessary. Frozen broccoli, green beans, and peas are some of my alternatives to fresh versions. Steam them with a little water on the stove and then saute them in a hot pan with olive oil, salt, pepper, garlic, and whatever spices catch your fancy. To go along with the vegetables, you can defrost individual hamburger patties as you need them.

3. If all else fails...V-8 and an energy bar -- It lacks the romance of my go-to 'no cook' dinner, a glass of red wine with cheese and crackers, but has the advantages of a) being something that you can probably buy at your local drugstore, b) not making you fall asleep within 25 minutes and c) generally leaving you feeling top notch the next morning.

This week, I'm aiming to get back in the swing of things. The Viking's dear friend The Vegetarian is visiting for the week with his family, which will give me the perfect excuse to spend some quality time in the kitchen with vegetables. Who knows, maybe I'll even keep the Swiss Chard around this time.