Category Archives: Cooking

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Divine Red Wine Poached Pears

Doesn’t the phrase ‘poached pears’ sound so elegant? To me, it sounds like a dessert that might be served at a fancy party . . . in England. Definitely in England. There would be a table with cut crystal on it, freshly polished sterling silver flatware, wallpaper covered in roses on the wall, and a gracefully aging hostess with a ramrod straight back, who would say “Would you care for a poached pear, my dear?”

“Why yes, I believe I do,” I would assure her, tucking a curl behind one of my ears. Yes, in this vision my hair is a shining waterfall of curls, pinned up in loose poofs, with clusters of perfect corkscrews around my ears and above my alabaster brow.

But back to reality (with my brown hair which won’t hold a curl to save its life and my non-alabaster, quite freckled brow). I do have good news for all of us: besides being delicious, these pears (recipe adapted from this blogger) are a cinch to make. You toss them into a pot with a couple ingredients and they just kind of hang out there for a little over half an hour. After that, slap ’em in the fridge and you can feast off of them all week long. At least that’s what I did.

This is my idea of a perfect summer dessert–flavorful while still light, cool and satisfying on a hot evening, sweet but not cloyingly so, and they’re great either by themselves or with ice cream.

Ingredients

(Serves 6)

6 pears
1 cup red wine
1 cup water
1/2 cup + 2 TBS sugar
1 cinnamon stick OR 1 tsp ground cinnamon
2 cloves
Zest and juice of 1 orange

Peel the pears, leaving the stems intact.

In a large pot, combine the red wine . . .

. . . water . . .

. . . sugar . . .

. . . orange zest (man-hand + microplane = I love my life) . . .

. . . orange juice . . .

. . . cloves and cinnamon.

In other words, all the ingredients except for the pears.

Behold our poaching liquid! Heat the pot over medium, stirring occasionally until the sugar dissolves. Don’t sweat it if some globs of orange flesh got in there, too. Whatever, say I. It’s bound to add nutritional value, right? Right. That’s what my Mom used to say about bugs. “Oh, you ate a bug? More protein for you.”

Place the pears upright into the pot, fitting them together snugly.

Bring the poaching liquid to a boil . . .

. . . then cover the pot, turn down the heat to low, and cook for 35-40 minutes.

From time to time, lift the lid and spoon the liquid over the pears.

When the lid finally comes off, you will see a thing of beauty–the red wine has soaked into the pears, making them a lovely shade of mauve.

Test the pears for doneness by turning one over and inserting a sharp knife into its–hrngh hrngh–rounded bottom.

If the knife slides in easily with just a little resistance, the pears are done.

Discard the cloves and cinnamon stick, and let the pears and syrup chill in the refrigerator overnight.

Serve the pears cut or whole, alone or with ice cream, with the syrup drizzled on top.

A little French Vanilla is a great accompaniment.

And I say ‘syrup,’ however the liquid is rather thin, as you can see here.

But perfectly flavored! If you’re looking for a thick syrup though, you can continue to reduce the liquid once the pears are cooked. I leave it in your capable hands.

Even though these pictures show the pears whole, I found them much easier and more pleasurable to eat when cut. I made slices along the core and fanned the pieces out on a plate. It was beautiful, and the arrangement looked like a flower–but my camera was far, far away . . . in the other room.

Anyway, toss some pears in a pot and serve these at your next dinner party! Or furtively hide them in the back of the fridge in a place that only you know about and eat them for your midnight snack. Either way, these will hit the spot!

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Spicy Chicken with Basil (Gai Pad Krapow)

I love Thai food. I love America’s Test Kitchen. I also love eating fabulous food with the people I love. So when my sister Erica came through town for a brief visit the other week, I chained her to the kitchen and cried “cook for your loved ones!” (Me being the loved one in this equation)

Yöst kiddink.

The real story goes like this: I went shopping on the Magnificent Mile with Erica during the day and bought two cute tops, a pair of shorts and a cardigan. Obviously, then I felt too guilty to spend even more money doing the Thai take-out we had planned for that evening, so instead I burst open the doors to my kitchen and shouted “We shall cook off our guilt!”

Of course, the guilt was all mine since Erica didn’t buy anything, and my kitchen doesn’t have doors–but that was the emotional reality of what happened.

I was expecting this dish to burn a hole in my tongue since it calls for no less than 10 chilies, but since we removed the seeds from all of them, the final dish had very little spice–a mere tickle on the palate. Next time I would definitely leave the seeds from one or two chilies in the mix. The flavors are classic Thai, and it’s really very simple to make, so give it a go! Just plug your nose when the fish sauce first hits the pan, and you’ll be fine.

Ingredients

(Serves 5)

10 jalapeño peppers
10 cloves garlic
6 shallots
1/3 cup fish sauce
1/3 cup chicken broth
3 TBS sugar
1 tsp cornstarch
2 lbs ground chicken
3 TBS vegetable oil
3 cups packed Thai or regular fresh basil leaves
3 TBS lime juice

First we’re going to remove the seeds from some or all of the jalapeño peppers.

For this to happen, you need to identify the location of a younger sibling. Hey! Get off the phone and de-seed those chilies!

I love it when bossing my sister actually works.

She used to follow my direction with unquestioning trust when she was a wee thing. Then she hit grade school and . . . well, that was the end of that.

As I mentioned above, removing the seeds from all of them will produce a pretty non-spicy dish, so if you want some spice, leave some seeds in. Toss the chilies in a food processor or blender as you go. Also, either wear gloves during this part or wash your hands very carefully, because my sister had multiple chilied-up-finger-in-eye ‘situations’ that caused her much pain throughout the evening.

De-skin the garlic . . .

. . . and add it to the blender with the chilies.

Take the skins off the shallots and toss those in, too.

Process the chilies, garlic, and shallots until they form a coarse paste.

And now for the quick sauce: whisk together the fish sauce and chicken broth . . .

. . . sugar . . .

. . . and cornstarch.

Set aside.

Watch out, because things are about to get a little freako. Okay, maybe a lot freako for some of you. Put the ground chicken in a small bowl . . .

. . . grab a fork and schmush it about until all the ‘strands’ are gone and it has become a uniform paste.

Grossiola now–but deliciousiola later. Don’t become a vegetarian yet! It will all look better soon.

Almost done with the prep! Get your sister to squeeze a lime or two into a small bowl.

Yes, it’s very important that a younger sibling do this part. If not, the recipe won’t come out quite right, you see.

And finally–get the basil leaves ready.

Unfortunately, my basil had gotten quite ugly. And dark. And slimy.

It was only 2 days old, people! Me and Mr. Dominicks will have to have a “chat.”

Thankfully my sister brought a basil plant with her, and graciously share its abundance with  me.

Thanks, babes. I repent of all my bossing.

Now it’s time to cook! Heat the oil in a 12 inch skillet over medium high heat. When shimmering, add the chili/garlic/shallot mixture . . .

. . . and cook for about 5 minutes or until the moisture evaporates, stirring so that it doesn’t burn (especially near the end).

Turn the heat down to medium and add the chicken:

Cook for about 7 minutes, breaking it up with a spatula and mixing it with the paste, until it’s no longer pink. Still a little pink in there . . .

Once the chicken ain’t s’dang pink, we’re almost done. Sprinkle the basil leaves over the chicken.

Briefly whisk the fish sauce mixture to recombine the ingredients and pour it into the pan, over the basil leaves and chicken.

Cook for 3 minutes, stirring constantly, until the sauce has thickened.

Pour the fresh lime juice over the chicken . . .

. . . give it a quick taste for seasoning (adding salt and pepper if needed), and serve it over rice.

Deliciousiola, just as I hoped! And just as satisfying (or more) than take-out would have been.

Come back, Erica! You make cooking an all-around funner* experience.

*Dear Grammarian Conscience of Mine: I know that ‘funner’ isn’t a word. Aunt Paula taught me that the summer that I was 11 years old. But sometimes, I must follow my heart and rebel.

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