Life in Chicago

Spinach and Feta Strada

One of my favorite restaurants in Chicago is a place called Lula in Logan Square. They always have a slew of fabulous specials in addition to their regular menu, and from time to time those specials include a Spinach and Feta Strada and it's just heavenly.

It took me a while, but I finally concocted a version of it that I love. Instead of the brioche they use I make mine with croissants, and I think it's just as good, if not better.

Enjoy!

Food Diary: New Orleans

Have I ever mentioned that my mother kept a diary while on her honeymoon with my father? Well, she did. Except the only thing she recorded on its pages were descriptions of the food they ate.

My parents traveled Europe for a month following their wedding and my mother took copious notes, not on the art they saw or the castles they explored, but rather on bottles of Montepulciano and soft wedges of chevre. She wrote about the eggs that arrived on the room service cart one of the mornings they were too hungover to get out of bed and she described in detail a bouillabaisse consumed in Marseille.

If I had kept a food diary from our trip to New Orleans it would read as such:

Wednesday, February 17th

Just arrived in New Orleans. Ash Wednesday and the French Quarter is filled with trash. Dirty beads and murky gutters. Dropped our bags at the hotel and headed straight for Central Grocery for muffulettas. Threw in some Zapps cajun chips and a root beer. Took it all to Jackson Square for a picnic in the park. Bug had yogurt and some cheerios.

 

Hotel room still not ready at 4pm so we went to Galatoire's for a drink. They laughed at us when we said we'd just rolled into town...the day after Mardi Gras. I had my first French 75 and Greg sipped a sazerac. Bug slept through it all.

Finally got into our room, changed, relaxed and then head back out for the evening. First stop Arnaud's French 75 Bar. I wasn't sure they'd let us in with Veronica, but it was only 6pm and the place was empty. Helped that the bartender said she had a 9 month old at home. I don't remember what Greg had but I sipped another French 75 and munched an order of gruyere cheese puffs, which Veronica took to nibbling on herself. My idea of heaven.

Dinner at Arnaud's Remoulade which was only so-so. It was the more casual version of Arnaud's, which we surely would have gone to had we been sans bebe. Red beans and rice for me, something with shrimp for Greg. Bread bits and sweet peas for Bug.

Thursday, February 18th

Breakfast in the Sazerac Restaurant at The Roosevelt Hotel (where I would have loved to stay if we were on Brad Pitt's dime). But first coffee from Teddy's since they use real chicory. Bug had toast and yogurt. Hopped on a trolley after that for Audubon Park and the zoo. 

Made Greg walk 2 miles off the beaten path to St. James Cheese Co., which would have been worth it even if we'd walked 10 miles on glass. An oasis if there ever was one. Gruyere on multigrain with a glass of something white...perfectly white. Oh, and Greg had an Abita Golden, which we wouldn't find again on the trip but about which we would reminisce several times.

If we lived in New Orleans I would eat here 3 times a week and stop in every day, just to admire the cheese display.

Back to the Roosevelt for dinner that night at Domenica's. Totally Bug-friendly. She ate breadsticks and threw cheerios all over the floor. I ate gnocchi with a brown butter sauce and pasta with fennel, fava beans and sausage for Greg. All of this preceded with a cheese plate of brunet, ubracio al prosecco and blu di bufala. Delicious. Ooh, tack on a bellini for me.

Friday, February 19th

Breakfast disaster (not even worth describing) at The Coffee Pot. Balance was restored after a couple of cafe au laits and a plate of beignets at Cafe Du Monde. Bug had cheerios.

Followed this with a stroll through the French Quarter and a Bloody Mary to end em all. Nothing like a New Orleans Bloody Mary. Nothing. 

Tried to go to Coop's Place for jambalaya but they wouldn't let us in with Veronica.We ended up at some nameless place, or at least I don't remember the name. Catfish Poboy for me. Something with shrimp for Greg. After that saffron gelato from La Divina. Bug was a big fan.

Short-lived mint-julep disaster from Pat O'Brien's. Note to self: don't force drinks on Greg - he's no frat boy.

After a nap set out to find a bartender named Chris McMillan that Adam Seger from Nacional 27 back in Chicago told us about. McMillan turned out to be quite the character and proceeded to make us the best cocktails we'd have yet from behind the bar at the Renaissance Hotel. His wife regaled us with stories of their 6 kids and we sat next to a bartender from Cure, another place we would have loved to go had we been sans bebe.

Kept Bug up past her bedtime and were forced to forgo dinner out. (Sans bebe choice would have been Bayona.) Ended up picking up some pizzas from Domenica's and eating them in bed while watching back episodes of Entourage.

Saturday, February 20th

Last day in NOLA. Rode the trolley to the Garden District for the champagne jazz brunch at Commander's Palace in the Garden District. One of the top 5 best meals of my life.

Sat in a beautiful room overlooking the garden. The service was outstanding, even treating Bug like royalty. Brought her the cutest amuse bouche of strawberries and bananas. In no particular order enjoyed the following: milk punch, mimosas, an amazing gnocchi, steak and eggs, bloody marys, strong chicory coffee, bread pudding souffle, tableside jazz, and a gorgeous couple seated next to us -- woman wearing a hat to die for. All reminded me of the kind of places I used to go with my parents. Would return to New Orleans JUST to eat at Commander's again.

Strolled the old mansions in the Garden District after that, feeling fully sated...at least for now.

New Adventures in Cooking: No-Knead Bread

Do you have a thing that you never, ever cook? Like you're great at making desserts and grilling vegetables but you never mess around with pasta?

Well, my thing is bread. I've never made bread.

Well, not until last Saturday. I mean, it's bread. It sounds super hard to make and why would I mess around with it when there's TONS of great bakeries out there and I can just buy some?

Well, all that has changed. Greg and I were due at his sister's house for a dinner party last Saturday and I'd been assigned to bring some sort of hors d'oeurves. I definitely wanted to make something, but a. I didn't want to take on anything too complex, b. I wanted to find something that would be a good starter to pretty much any main dish since I didn't know what they were making, and c. I didn't want to make anything that would require being heated since the oven was likely going to be in use already.

I paged through some magazines, websites and books, discarding every recipe I came across. Finally I decided: bread, olives and a few nice cheeses.

But what part of that was I going to make?

Sigh.

I realized that it was time for me to make bread.

My friend Hanna sent me a link to this recipe in the New York Times and assured me that it was very easy. I also discussed it with Sarah who is one of those people that fearlessly makes not only her own bread, but her own yogurt. She agreed with Hanna -- this is a no-fail recipe. My friend Will in Los Angeles even weighed in. The Mark Bittman recipe? Yup, he said, you can't fail.

I was intrigued.

And nervous.

I began a day ahead of time, as instructed. I mixed the four, yes only FOUR, ingredients together and left them to their bowl overnight. 

The next day the dough looked as it should (puffy with bubbles) and I set about following the rest of the instructions. Everything that sounded complicated was not. The dough turned easily out of its bowl. I formed it into a ball lightly covered with flour. I covered it and let it rise for another couple of hours. I covered it with corn meal and dumped it into my dutch oven and put that into the oven.

Before I knew it there was a delicious aroma of HOMEMADE BREAD in the house. And when I removed it from the oven I was shocked by how good it looked:

Baked Gnocchi with Spinach and Fresh Mozzarella

 

For the last 6 weeks Greg and I have been about 90% vegetarian. We've made this change for a lot of reasons. Most of them having to do with books we've read and documentaries we've watched, and I have to say that it's felt really good. I feel better about what I'm putting in my body, I've lost a bit of weight, and I feel better about my participation (or lack thereof) in a corrupt meat industry.

Now, I'm not writing about this in order to pressure anyone into following suit. We all have to make our own food choices. However, I did come across an interesting movement recently. It's called Meat Free Mondays and it's spearheaded by Paul McCartney. The basic premise is that every Monday you go meat-free and by doing so you help reduce greenhouse gas emissions. Did you know that livestock production is responsible for 18% of the greenhouse gas emissions in the world? Check out the site to learn more: Meat Free Monday

Anyway, I would have to say that the most challenging part of our transition to a mostly vegetarian diet has been what to cook! For the most part I've been making a lot of boring things like lentil and bean soups, copious amounts of salad and maybe some polenta here and there to spruce things up. But last night I finally made something worth sharing with you, dear readers.

Fire in the Hole! Bacon-Wrapped Jalapeno Poppers

Today's recipe comes to us courtesy of my friend Andrea Newberry who writes the excellent blog Forkable.

I thought it would be fun to partner with friends and fellow foodies now and then just to spice things up a bit. And man, does this recipe ever spice things up. Bacon-wrapped jalapeno poppers that actually look relatively easy to accomplish.

Fire in the Hole! Bacon-Wrapped Jalapeno Poppers

I first met Andrea when I attended one of her fabulous Forkable dinner parties. Greg and I wrote about it here for She Wrote, He Wrote. In addition to throwing these underground dinner parties Andrea also writes the food blog Forkable which is always stocked with gorgeous recipes. Oh, and she's pregnant with her first baby -- something I now find very exciting to hear about a person, but would have once made me yawn.

Sharing this post got her thinking about the credibility of food bloggers, something we all should think about as we troll hungrily through the Internet for tasty recipes. Andrea writes:

One particular post I wrote got me into a bit of hot water with my sister. I was doing a post on a recipe she and her husband came up with. They knew I was doing it and we took pictures of the process but when I went to write it, I didn't give enough background information on the recipe, instead I just sort of talked about what it tasted like and posted the directions. 

My sister was mad about it, because I made it seem like it was my recipe. She wanted me to give credit where credit was due. Which of course is what I should have done in the first place. It was the mistake of a beginning blogger. I went back and rewrote it, giving her and my brother-in-law credit. I didn't do it intentionally, but my blog was still very young at the time, and I remember being extremely conscious of creating my credibility. I think I was hesitant in those days to mention where I got recipes, as if it would make the blog less mine.

It was a very stupid mistake because the exact opposite is true. We are all inspired and influenced by the people around us and we need to give credit to the people who help us out. 

So, here is that recipe for bacon-wrapped jalapeno poppers. 

Fire in the Hole! Jalapeno Poppers

It was this very recipe that first got Andrea in trouble, but it's since been amended and has now become one of the most popular recipes on her site. Enjoy, and definitely take some time to browse through the Forkable site -- it's well worth it. 

--

New to Life in Chicago? Find out more here.

Windy City Crescent Rolls

Disclaimer: This recipe totally contains some store-bought dough. Gasp! I know, I know...

I started making these rolls a couple of years ago at  Thanksgiving and Christmastime and they've been a big hit with Greg's family, in particular with my father-in-law (hi Bill!). Served warm and gooey and stuffed with feta and spinach, it's hard to eat just one.

Let's Eat Out!

Although my mom was a serious cook, always making everything from scratch and refusing to allow me such coveted treats as Kraft singles and fruit roll-ups, she couldn't cook ALL the time. Case in point: on our refrigerator hung a big sign that read LET'S EAT OUT! and once a week or so my mother would throw up her hands in exasperation, point to the sign and declare that my father take us out to dinner.

My point is that while I'm committed to making most of my baby food, I just can't do it all the time. Even the most determined of us moms need a break now and then, right?

Read the rest of this post here.

Bittersweet Memories: On Grief and Cooking

I wrote recently about how my relationship with food is inextricably linked to my mother. She's the one who taught me to cook and she's the one who taught me to love food. Pretty much every fond memory I have of her takes place in the kitchen. After she died, cooking became a way for me to connect to her, to keep her in my life. And just as I could never have imagined my life without a mother, I can no longer imagine my life without a kitchen.

Last month I met an amazing woman who also lost her mother, and in turn, her favorite chef and person to cook with. I've actually met a lot of motherless daughters in the last 13 years since my mother died, women like myself who lost their mothers too young and have struggled to find their identity without the person to whom they were most connected to in this world.

One of the things that has linked us all so profoundly together is not just that our mothers have died, but that we have all cultivated a burning desire to make our lives worthy of these losses. I've heard it said many times that you never truly become a woman until you lose your mother. And this so often rings true for me. There is a ferocity with which motherless daughters move forward in life and my new friend Emily Hoffman is no different.

 

(Emily & Her Mom)

Adventures in Baby Food

Lately I've been giving a lot of thought to the kind of mom I am. I've quickly realized that, with each choice I make about how to parent, another set of choices blooms. Being a modern, urban mom, the kind of mom with a faded Obama bumper sticker and tattoos (also faded), who leans towards baby-wearing and insisted on a natural birth, pretty much means that I HAVE to make my own baby food, right?

Seeing as friends began sending me baby food cookbooks before Veronica was even born probably answers that question. But the thing is that even if I weren't the kind of mom I described above I'd still probably attempt to cook most of my baby's meals, if only because I love cooking and baby food presents a whole new culinary adventure.

Follow this link to read more and enter to win a Beaba Babycook!

Not My Mother's Hoppin' John (Southern Black Eyed Peas & Rice)

Although I've lived all over the place at this point, I was actually born and raised in Georgia. In the South it's a tradition to eat a dish Hoppin' John on New Year's Day. Made of black eyed peas and rice, this dish is meant to bring on prosperity and good fortune in the year ahead. The peas symbolize coins and sometimes a penny is even added to the pot as they cook.

I have no idea if my mother made Hoppin' John before she moved to Atlanta, but I do know that she made it every year when I was growing up. We usually ended up eating it in Grand Cayman where we spent the winter holidays, my mother having brought a bag of dried black eye peas with her on our trip. She'd made a big pot of of Hoppin' John and, as the clock struck 12 turning over into the new year, she'd hold out a spoonful for me. Inevitably, I'd shake my head, finicky girl that I was, and she'd beg and plead and cajole me into "just one tiny spoonful for good luck."

Seriously, I tried my damnedest refused this stuff every year. But come New Year's eve on the year she died I panicked, realizing that I was going to have make Hoppin' John or suffer the unfortunate consequences that my mother always threatened would occur if I didn't.

Henceforth I have made an annual batch of Hoppin' John. And, as were most things I made in the beginning, it was terrible. I over-spiced it, under-spiced it, over-cooked it and yes, under-cooked it. It's taken me a good decade, but I've finally got a recipe down that I feel really good about it.

It's so good that I no longer make it just once a year. I've made it just because it's good and I've also made it when I've been down on my luck and needed a boost. I've also made it a day too late, like today. It's one of those great dishes that stands alone or can be served as a side dish in a larger context.

But I have to tell you that this is not my mother's Hoppin' John. She was true to its Southern heritage, always adding a ham hock, celery and bay leaves. My recipe is a lot more simple, the taste lighter, and hopefully it's one that brings you luck and prosperity whenever you need it.