Archive for August, 2008

Hope in a bottle

Ok, friends, bear with me. I know there’ve been a lot of salads around here lately. A perfect, basic vinaigrette here. Greens and eggs here. Nostalgia and avocado and citrus here.

But it’s hot. Ridiculously, multiple-showers-a-day hot. So, you see, salads are the thing. The ticket to maintaining sanity at this point in the season.

Here, we are so over summer. I know there are those of you in places where summer is fleeting, blink-and-it’s-gone brief, finished before it really got underway in the first place. But we’ve been experiencing summer weather for five full months, and the murmurs are starting. September is coming and, even though we know the heat won’t go the way of August, we still have hope. We know September is supposed to mean fall, even if the reality isn’t that.

I mentioned the other day to my friend, Dawn, that I wish I could experience chilly weather for just one day. Just one day with an umbrella and a long cardigan and zero reason to put on my sunglasses. Just one day so that I could justify those knee-high, gray-as-winter Frye boots that I’m positively mad for, but that, given current temperatures, what would be the point?

Just one day with a Honeycrisp apple. That’s all I want.

Barring the apple, I do have this French balsamic apple cider vinegar to help me wait for fall and its attendant apples. This vinegar has a sweetness, but there’s body to temper it. I could lick it off a spoon (ok, so I have). So far I’ve only used it to dress salad, but it’s so luscious I imagine I’ll try reducing it with sugar and drizzling it over caramel ice cream. Or berries.

Or maybe I’ll just reach for a spoon.

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Gratuitous sharing

[Recipe: Egg Cupcakes]

I have to say I deplore the whole mom sharing thing. You know what I’m talking about, that just because I popped a kid out and you did too, well, my don’t we have a lot in common? And then I become privy to your little Johnny’s sleep and poop schedule, and naturally I give you the low-down on what my little Janey got up to last night, and I guarantee I’ll one-up you.

We’re pretending to vent, but in reality, we’re just seeing who the better mom is. We know it’s our own selves, but just checking…

That said, there’s one area where I don’t mind the give-and-take of mommy tales. I love to talk about food, about what new organic, all-natural snack you’re making these days that your kids love to come home to. About where you like to shop for produce and what you’re doing differently with the salmon, so that maybe I can copy you if it sounds good.

It’s that spirit of mommy sharing –- the helpful kind, where we confidentially discuss things that really will make us better parents –- that brings me here today. School’s started, and I am now the proud maternal figure of one clarinet-wielding fifth grader and a tiny kindergartner whose backpack is so big that, from behind, all you see are little limbs and the tippy top of a brown head. These little people need to be fed –- and well –- before they hike up the sidewalk to school.

Now, do you really care what my girls eat for breakfast? On the off chance that you do, that you also like to benefit from knowing what other parents feed their children, take a gander at these breakfast egg cupcakes. A couple or three mouthfuls apiece, they’re a cinch, they can be made ahead and – I feel the halo coming on – they’re healthy.

Egg Cupcakes

I discovered a version of this recipe while watching one of those cooking segments on the local news a few years ago. Prepare these in muffin tins or silicone muffin cups. Sometimes we sprinkle the tops with grated cheese or chopped herbs before baking or toss in small pieces of sliced ham or smoked salmon. Makes 8 cupcakes.

4 slices of whole grain bread, torn into strips

6 large eggs, slightly beaten

Optional: small slices of ham, bacon or smoked salmon, about ½ inch in width; grated or crumbled cheese; chopped herbs

Kosher salt

Freshly ground pepper

Evenly divide bread strips among muffin cups. If adding ham or other ingredients, place on top of bread strips. Top with scant 1/3 C eggs, filling cups ¾ full. Add salt and pepper to taste. Sprinkle with cheese, if desired. Bake at 350 degrees for 15 to 20 minutes.

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Ici, on fait la cuisine (Here, we cook)

I decided a while ago that I’d like my house to be known among my kids and their friends as the cooking house. How positively, eye-rolling-ly uncool, right? Uncool like matching patterns. Uncool like not knowing how to rapid-fire text (hunt-peck-hunt-peck).

So I resigned myself to that knowing negativity, all the while hoping I’d someday land in an alternate universe where having the cooking house -– as opposed to the Wii house/swimming house/snack house with its magnetic pull of Costco tubs of Swedish fish and rec room refrigerators stocked with Coke –- would actually be cool.

My husband and I decided long ago, when our babies were babies, that we’d like our house be the hang-out house. But our house is none of the above, so how to encourage the presence of our girls and their friends? How to contrive an inviting environment that doesn’t include stacks of Pringles or Guitar Hero tournaments in the bargain?

Emmie is the girl world’s latest inductee into sleepover territory. She’s enthusiastic about the whole cooking thing at the moment, and wanted to make dinner with her friends. One night they smushed and rolled hamburger into meatballs. Another sleepover involved homemade mac and cheese, roux and all.

And her friends didn’t balk at the concept of a sleepover that didn’t include delivery pizza. They actually thought it was cool. They want to come back and do it again.

Could it be, then? Cool? I was a little surprised at their eagerness, their willingness to get their hands dirty when they admitted to never really cooking before. One told me she’s in charge of helping at home with the salad, and that once her mom showed her how to do something with chicken (she couldn’t remember what).

Of course, I think cooking is cool. Now. But when I was Emmie’s age I pretended the word wasn’t in my vocabulary. At the time knowing a saucepan from a sauté pan was pretty low on the list. Ok, so I didn’t even know there was such a thing as a sauté pan. Of course I didn’t. I was enmeshed in gaping at music videos at the house of my one friend who had MTV while we crushed barbecue potato chips into cottage cheese. Besides, Hardee’s was within walking distance.

And I had a mom who made me food. When that luck ran out, I knew there were plenty of purveyors of edible items out in the wide world. Since I planned on growing up and having the swimming house anyway, might as well go for the eating-out-every-night gusto, too.

Now, I know there’s more to edibility than the fact that the thing sitting on the wrapper in front of you won’t kill you if you ingest it (at least not immediately). So while I’d refuse to accommodate a Hannah Montana marathon (right – Hannah Montana isn’t so cool anymore), I’ll gladly host an afternoon of experimenting with crêpe fillings.

Come on down, kids.

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Indulge me

My latest favorite snippet of copywriting genius came yesterday in the J. Crew catalog. It refers to an Italian calfskin bag and, I quote: “Is it a splurge if it’s completely worth it?

Immediately my thoughts turned to tomatoes. Specifically heirloom, that rainbow resurrection that’s been going on for some years now. Not that I easily toss off thoughts of pretty leather handbags; no, I’ve lost days to handbag dreaming.

But I think it would be a productive exercise for us to consider that word ‘splurge’ for a sec. A splurge is the opposite of economical, hardly provident, never necessary. It’s something superfluous, frivolous, but that you spend money on anyway. An indulgence.

Like a tricked-out, tasseled and pebbled Italian leather bag. Like heirloom tomatoes.

If all you take into account is the cost of something (especially when you compare it to the availability of a similar item of baser quality and a much lower price), than heirloom tomatoes can qualify as splurge material. Then again, heirloom tomatoes can be necessary on so many levels. They are, I learned yesterday, a necessary accompaniment to a fine round of recently acquired bucheron. A called-for late afternoon snack, sliced and flecked with sea salt. An irresistible lure for a hungry, curious kindergartner who really should progress her palate beyond her prized grape tomatoes.

In short, completely worth it.

So does their worth make them a splurge, or an essential? Or something of far greater consequence, as the couple shopping next to me concluded while selecting this and that tomato. I quote: “Let’s just have these for dinner.”

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So nice

[Recipe: Maple-Balsamic Vinaigrette]

I count myself a fan of nice. Nice neighbors who help you load up the half eucalyptus tree that broke off in the monsoon storm. Nice shoppers who let you in front of them when you only have one item (I thought this kind of thing was an urban legend, but it really happened!). Nice big sisters who share their truckload of candy from the orthodontist’s office with their little sisters*.

So allow me to share a couple of particularly nice things with you today.

A nice salad always makes a fine beginning, so salad it is. This salad is nice on a couple of counts. First, because we became acquainted in a fantastic little restaurant in Vermont (it may have been in Middlebury, to be exact, but we were getting around, so I can’t say for sure), where people are unequivocally nice.

And it’s nice not just for its provenance, but for the all-important ingredients. The menu described the Wonder Salad as a combination of crunchy green leaf, avocado chunks, orange segments and walnuts (candied or not; take your pick). Compounding the niceness was the dressing: a maple-balsamic vinaigrette.

And now we’re to the unfortunate part of the story. When I tried to order the salad, I was told they were out, and was there something else I’d like instead? (Of course our server was nothing but gracious — you know, nice.)

Mental notes duly made, I prepared the salad when I got home. The dressing is such a hit around here I make it often, dripping it onto this or that salad or slathering it on salmon or dribbling it over scallops.

The other nice thing I wanted to share -– only in order, certainly not in rank –- is a nice gesture. Sarah at Life is Still Sweet passed on the Beautiful Site Award to me! Little me! That is the epitome of nice, of magnanimity, and now I get to pass the honor along. Thanks, Sarah!

I’d like to send it on to a site I only recently discovered: Nourish Me. Lucy’s over there working some marvelous shots – a recent photo of parsley soup had me wanting to dive in, head first. I’ve been in heaven sifting through her archives, poring over her vignettes.

Maple-Balsamic Vinaigrette

I typically like a 1:1 ratio of vinegar to oil. Use more olive oil if your tastes prefer. My favorite method of dressing salad right now is to mix the dressing in a big bowl, place the greens on top, then toss with tongs to coat the greens. After the greens are coated, I add the other ingredients and toss again.

2 tbsp balsamic vinegar

2 tsp pure maple syrup

2 tsp Dijon mustard

2 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil

Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste

Combine all ingredients in a bowl with a whisk.

* Back story: Emmie just got her braces off today! Evidently, the orthodontist supplies the happy patient with a sizeable sackof previously verboten goodies as a celebratory gesture. As in: “Congratulations on taking such good care of your braces! Now go shred your newly exposed enamel with caramel and corn syrup!” How nice is that?

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Before you go

[Recipe: Tapenade]

An open letter to my little sister, who’s moving halfway around the world:

I’m listening to The Perishers and Dumas while making tapenade, so of course I wish you were here. The size of the anchovy selection at Whole Foods this afternoon would have astonished you, too –- the two of us could have put together “salt preserved” in Spanish –- but we would have been astonished together.

That’s always a good time, you and me, marveling in some market somewhere, happening upon unfamiliar ingredients we suddenly can’t live without.

The tapenade was supposed to be for the French pique-nique, pour la rentrée. See, Quinn starts back at her little French school next week, and, as is tradition, each family brings something sucré or salé to the start-of-year get-together. Of course I pored over cookbooks this week, mulling over what to bring. It’s a significant decision, right? This opportunity to make something new, something perhaps just a little bit impressive but nothing that would hint that I’d tried too hard to impress. It’s a fine line, and that’s where you would have come in handy. You’re always a good sounding board when food decisions hang in the balance.

Do I make the cumin-gruyère puffs, or is that too obvious? Would the red bean cilantro spread with pita chips be too, well, American? And what if my oven isn’t fixed in time?

I went with the tapenade, because Quinn’s crazy for olives, and because I couldn’t be certain of the oven situation. Turns out the oven got fixed this morning, but Quinn’s come down with something (elle a attrapé un gros rhume), so we won’t be attending the picnic, after all. Quel dommage.

If you were here, you’d eat the tapenade with me. You’d appreciate its salty, lemony goodness, the way it completes an olive oil cracker or our portobella and chèvre burgers. And then for lunch tomorrow we could have tossed it with some warm penne and fresh basil, and you’d sit at the bar leafing through the cookbook that this particular recipe comes from, My French Kitchen, marking pages with Post-Its.

But now you’re off to a world wider than an anchovy selection, to a place saltier in some ways than tapenade. Enjoy. And collect a few recipes for me.

Tapenade

Adapted from My French Kitchen

10 oz pitted black or green Mediterranean olives

8 salted anchovy fillets (Kitchen declares salt-preserved are the best)

3 tablespoons rinsed or drained bottled capers

1 garlic clove

Juice of ½ lemon

Sea salt, to taste

Freshly ground black pepper, to taste

½ to ¾ C extra-virgin olive oil

Put all ingredients except oil into a blender and chop roughly. Add olive oil to your liking and blend again to form a paste. Store in refrigerator for up to four days.

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While they’re still here

[Recipe: Homemade Playdough]

So it hit me the other day, with the start of another school year, that my kids are growing up and all that. You know, getting bigger. Getting smarter. Learning stuff. Becoming more aware.

I guess that’s what kids do.

If they really are growth-spurting their way toward the ranks of mature humankind, then I suppose that means they won’t be running (squealing? bickering?) around my little house forever. Sometimes I think they will. Sometimes I imagine we’re congealed in a time warp that has me slicing up baby carrots so that they’re braces-friendly and folding tiny underpants and vacuuming up pink Polly Pocket wedges -– how impossibly tiny can a toy be, for crying out loud? –- for all perpetuity.

But I know it’s not true. Those Polly shoes will one day vaporize along with all the other outgrown toys, and with them, my opportunities to mold my young breed (Mary Poppins, anyone?).

Guess I’d better get on with it then, this molding thing. They are still impressionable after all, my girls, just like this homemade playdough. Not only do they pretty much believe everything I tell them, they still think it would be cool to grow up and be me. And why ever should I argue with them?

Before they’re outta here, then, there are a few kitchen/food specific things I’d like us to do together. Some of the things on my list are replays of my own childhood memories, like this playdough we always made at Grandma’s. And some are things I’ve never done, which is good, because learning new things keeps one young, right? At least that’s how it works for us grownups. Here, for now, is my top (baker’s) dozen:

  1. Make fruit leather
  2. Grow herbs (successfully, for once; it must be possible)
  3. Teach them to make a vinaigrette, with variations galore (does unconditional love meet its limits at bottled dressing? Oh, stop. I’m kidding)
  4. Work our way through a collection of bread recipes (including, but not limited to, tortillas and fougasse and pretzels and…)
  5. Plant a citrus tree (I’m thinking Meyer lemon)
  6. Teach them the fundamentals of tomato sauce
  7. Make tofu
  8. Learn to grow tomatoes (and if that goes well, there will be no holding back. I’ll go full vegetable garden if I have to)
  9. Make crackers
  10. Make jam (preferably raspberry)
  11. Learn how to make a fresh catch edible
  12. Teach them about quality chocolate and using chocolate in recipes
  13. Learn to make pickles

 

Super Playdough

Adapted from my Grandma

1 C flour

1 C water

1 tbsp oil

1 tbsp alum

½ C salt

2 tsp vanilla extract

Food coloring

Mix all dry ingredients in a medium saucepan. Add the oil and water (if you want the entire batch to be the same color, you can add food coloring with the water). Stir constantly over medium heat until it reaches the consistency of mashed potatoes. Remove from heat. Add vanilla. Divide into balls (as many as you want colors) and make an indentation on each with your thumb. Drop color into the indentation, then knead color into the dough ball, adding more color as necessary. Store in a plastic bag or closed container in the fridge.

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Fat tooth

[Recipe: Darkest Chocolate Sorbet]

There was a time when chocolate didn’t so much as turn my head. Crazy, I know. Unacceptable, even.

That was a time when bliss came in a box of Red Vines or a handful of assorted Jolly Ranchers (not cinnamon or grape, though. Never those). Or sugar cookies whose architectural appeal relied more on a towering smear of frosting than a cakey underneath.

(Incidentally, my mom calls this the sweet tooth vs. the fat tooth [she claims the latter]. Sweet tooth people crave sugary, sweet; fat tooth people crave creamy, rich, buttery, etc. And apparently, the younger the person, the more likely they are to have a sweet tooth; our “tooth” matures and craves more on the fat-tooth side as we age. Chocolate – especially the good kind – falls into the fat-tooth category.)

Then one year my sister-in-law came to stay, and she was (is, actually) ardently, reverently pro-chocolate. She made us brownies from a box, but took the liberty of stirring so many chocolate chips into the batter that my sweet tooth hedged. My palate changed that very day.

And so we come to this Darkest Chocolate Sorbet. This one’s been in the queue for a while, and my latest oven breakdown –- not to mention a waiting box of Valrhona’s Grand Cru Guanaja 70 percent fèves –- presented me with just the opportunity. The recipe comes from Clotilde, by way of David Lebovitz. A charming and reliable pedigree, to be sure.

Darkest Chocolate Sorbet

Adapted from Chocolate & Zucchini

This is like eating cold chocolate, not chocolate ice anything. A biteful or three and you’re good. I must add that upon my making, the chocolate didn’t completely melt when I added it to the hot water and cocoa mix, and the resulting micro bits of chocolate made it even better. Next time I’ll experiment with adding cinnamon or ancho chile powder. Makes 1 quart.

550 mL (2 ¼ C) water
2/3 C packed unsweetened Dutch-process cocoa powder [I used this Double-Dutch Dark cocoa]
1 C sugar
6 oz bittersweet chocolate (70% cocoa solids), finely chopped
½ tsp pure vanilla extract
A pinch of kosher salt

Make sure the bowl of your ice cream maker is frozen, per the manufacturer’s instructions.

In a medium saucepan, whisk together the water, cocoa powder, and sugar. Set the pan over medium heat and bring to a boil, whisking continually. Remove from heat. Add chocolate. Let rest for 30 seconds as the chocolate begins to melt, add the vanilla and salt, then stir until the chocolate is completely melted. Let sit until cool, then refrigerate until chilled.

Just before freezing, whisk the mixture. Freeze in ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s instructions.

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All this for a salad

[Recipe: Soft-Boiled Egg Salad with Golden Croutons]

I need help.

There. I said it. And it wasn’t so bad. Now [deep inhale], on to the why.

I have a compulsion I must confess: I hoard magazines. I subscribe to more than I actually have time to read –- the logic being that, as a magazine writer, I ought to be well acquainted with the material.

I think I secretly believe that magazine content must hold keys to well-being and efficiency. I’m one of those people who do that thing where I mark pages I want to refer to again for some unqualified reason or other. I do so discreetly, just a small, tightly creased triangle at the top corner. Maybe there’s some useful household tip, or a book I don’t want to miss, or a place I want to visit. Maybe I just liked the way something was written.

But more often than not, I’m folding down pages with recipes. Recipes, recipes, recipes. How can I resist?

I’ve tried not to let my “collection” arrive at clutter, and so I’ve tried to devise systems for dealing with the piles –- or at the very least to keep them in neat stacks, hidden away in my office. There’s the small stack of completely untouched-as-yet issues of the New Yorker and Gourmet, Domino and Brain, Child. There are the stacks of issues I’ve read, but that have quite a few earmarked pages. Those I can’t bear to sort into the recycling just yet, not until I’ve ripped those pages out and filed them or otherwise dealt with them.

And there are also issues that are so chock full of good stuff –- travel destinations, organizational tips (oh, ha!), and yes, recipes, that they have been placed in the “forever” stack. Those are issues I’ve committed to, eternal heart and soul.

Except that their bound and glossy pages are consigned to rest behind closed cabinet doors, to be effectively ignored by me. Because who has time to look through these bygone periodicals and be reminded as to why they were the saved ones? Really.

The other night, in what can only be described as an organizing frenzy, I attempted to sort through the magazines, to tear out those pages that might truly make a difference in my life, as compared to those that are just taking up space.

And that’s when I found it. The recipe for this salad.

It’s from an old issue of Real Simple magazine. Over the years I’ve made many a recipe from the pages of Real Simple, and to be honest, they’re not altogether foolproof (there was some cooked nectarine thing that sounded amazing, but ended up a mushy, incoherently spiced mess).

This salad, though, turned out deliciously. This salad is graduating from insignificant tear sheet status to having a permanent home in my salad recipe file.

Soft-Boiled Egg Salad with Golden Croutons
Adapted from Real Simple

I can’t say enough about runny yolks. Everything they touch turns to gold. Here they coat the greens, which are already lightly dressed, adding a rich dimension to the salad.

8 large eggs
1 tbsp good white or red wine vinegar
½ tsp Dijon mustard
½ tsp kosher salt, divided
½ tsp freshly ground black pepper, divided
4 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
2 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
4 ½-inch-thick slices French bread or country loaf, crusts removed and cut into ½-inch-wide sticks
5 oz mixed greens

Fill a saucepan with 4 inches of water and bring to a boil. Place eggs, one by one, on a spoon and lower them gently into the water. Return to a low boil. Cook until desired doneness, about 6 minutes for runny yolks (note: I used eggs from our chickens, which are much smaller than store bought. Next time I’ll try cooking for 4 minutes).Using a slotted spoon, transfer the eggs to a bowl.

In a large bowl, whisk together the vinegar, mustard, ¼ tsp of the salt, ¼ tsp of the pepper, and 1 to 2 tbsp of the oil, adjusting for taste. Place the greens in the bowl, on top of the dressing, and toss to coat.

Heat 1 to 2 tablespoons of remaining oil (note: I used one) in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the garlic and cook until golden, about 1 minute. Transfer garlic to a plate. Add the breadsticks to the oiled skillet and toast, turning until golden. Divide the greens among four plates and top with the garlic and croutons. Crack the eggs, break them in half, and use a spoon to scoop the eggs from the shells onto the individual salads. Top with salt and pepper.

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The Omnivore’s Hundred

Lists have well-documented powers. They prod and nudge and encourage. They take the whirl of shoulds and coulds and want-very-much-to-get-dones and organize them into a tangible, foldable format, just right for tucking into the interior pocket of my Kooba.

That’s why I’m posting the following list, a list of foods I’ve yet to try, have tried, along with foods I’ll never sample -– not in a quadrillion years. The list isn’t mine –- it’s part of a game created by Andrew Wheeler at Very Good Taste, and it’s a list of the hundred things every omnivore should try at least once. The game works like this: copy the list to your blog, marking in bold font the items you’ve eaten, and crossing out those you refuse (at least in your present food state-of-mind) to try.

The number of foods off this list that I have eaten comes in at just under half. I obviously haven’t shuttered myself up with one specific cuisine, but I’ll say it’s a good thing I’ve got a lot of life experience to go. And like I said about lists, now that I have a list of foods I’ve missed out on thus far, I can get on with experiencing the things I haven’t yet experienced.

I think aloo gobi and criollo chocolate have been calling me for a while. Thanks to the list, now I can hear them beckon.

1. Venison (My no-meat diet precludes this one; can’t say I’m disappointed)
2. Nettle tea
3. Huevos rancheros
4. Steak tartare (Does tuna tartare count?)
5. Crocodile
6. Black pudding
7. Cheese fondue (Calling all fond childhood memories of mom’s fondue pot!)
8. Carp
9. Borscht
10. Baba ghanoush
11. Calamari
12. Pho
13. PB&J sandwich (A genius combination, if there ever was one)
14. Aloo gobi (This one has turmeric, making it a must-try, and soon!)
15. Hot dog from a street cart
16. Epoisses
17. Black truffle (Alas, just truffle oil so far)
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes
19. Steamed pork buns
20. Pistachio ice cream (and especially pistachio gelato)
21. Heirloom tomatoes
22. Fresh wild berries
23. Foie gras (I’m in the “This is cruel!” camp on this one, meat aversion aside.)
24. Rice and beans (We eat this a lot, but I’ll always remember when a Haitian friend made me her version.)
25. Brawn, or head cheese
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper
27. Dulce de leche
28. Oysters (with sauce mignotte, bien sur. Some winter I’ll gulp them nature in Paris.)
29. Baklava (Once upon a Russian Christmas)
30. Bagna cauda
31. Wasabi peas
32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl (in a tourist moment at Faneuil Hall, where else?)
33. Salted lassi
34. Sauerkraut
35. Root beer float
36. Cognac with a fat cigar (I wouldn’t get it.)
37. Clotted cream tea (with my friend Denise for our joint-birthday get-together one year)
38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O
39. Gumbo
40. Oxtail
41. Curried goat
42. Whole insects (I’m counting the times I’ve involuntarily sucked one in while trail running.)
43. Phaal (It might make me cry, but bring it anyway.)
44. Goat’s milk
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more
46. Fugu
47. Chicken tikka masala
48. Eel (I crave eel sushi & maki with regularity.)
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut
50. Sea urchin
51. Prickly pear (To think I hike among them, and have yet to dine on them!)
52. Umeboshi
53. Abalone
54. Paneer
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal (Call me a snob. Call me smart. Call it like you see it.)
56. Spaetzle
57. Dirty gin martini
58. Beer above 8% ABV
59. Poutine (At least I’m acquainted with the origins of this one, having lived in the city of its creation.)
60. Carob chips
61. S’mores
62. Sweetbreads
63. Kaolin
64. Currywurst
65. Durian
66. Frogs’ legs
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake (Yes, yes, yes and yes — with honey, please!)
68. Haggis
69. Fried plantain (in Puerto Rico, and locally at Havana Cafe)
70. Chitterlings, or andouillette
71. Gazpacho
72. Caviar and blini
73. Louche absinthe (Recently enjoyed: an absinthe truffle)
74. Gjetost, or brunost
75. Roadkill
76. Baijiu
77. Hostess Fruit Pie
78. Snail
79. Lapsang souchong
80. Bellini (“Oh, to go to Venice…” she trailed off, wistful.)
81. Tom yum
82. Eggs Benedict
83. Pocky
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant. (I managed to eat the omikase at Nobu when it was starred.)
85. Kobe beef
86. Hare
87. Goulash (not sure that it was authentic, but in bold it goes…)
88. Flowers
89. Horse
90. Criollo chocolate
91. Spam
92. Soft shell crab
93. Rose harissa (oooh, intrigue)
94. Catfish
95. Mole poblano
96. Bagel and lox
97. Lobster Thermidor
98. Polenta
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee
100. Snake

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