Pizza Pie

I have never made pizza before and, as you all know, the past few weeks have found me in the kitchen, experimenting with recipes/cookbook/forgotten kitchen equipment.  I decided that pizza was an important stop on my journey to learning how to cook.

The other day, on television, I saw a recipe for a pizza dough made with whole-wheat flour and sweet potatoes.  I tracked the recipe down on the Internet and made myself some pretty decent (and surprisingly healthy) pizza. 

The dough is easy, if a little time-consuming.  Peel, chop, and boil a large sweet potato until past fork tender.  This should take between 15 and 20 minutes.  Drain the potato and mash it immediately until smooth.  Put the mashed potato in the refrigerator (or, if you're in a rush, the freezer) to cool.  

While you're waiting, you can always make an easy tomato sauce.  It amazes me how readily most Americans fall back on canned tomato sauce when making one's own is so incredibly easy.  I like to use a combination of diced and crushed tomatoes (crushed tomatoes are close to a puree in consistency) for better texture.  Make a base with olive oil, garlic/white onion/shallot/a combination of all three and once the veggies have become translucent add your canned tomatoes.  Last night, I used only diced because that's what I had on hand.  Add spice.  I ripped up some fresh basil and added dried oregano, salt, course ground pepper, and red pepper flakes.  Add alcohol.  What I happened to have open was Amontillado, a dry and nutty sherry.  Add a dash of balsamic vinegar for depth.  And last but not least, add some kind of sweetening agent to balance the acidity of the tomatoes.  I threw in about a tablespoon of agave nectar, but any sugar or sugar substitute will do.  That's it.  Leave the pot uncovered to thicken for about 10 to 20 minutes and you have a better sauce than Ragu could ever produce. 

Moving on.  Once the sweet potato has cooled, put it in a large bowl and add to it two cups of whole-wheat flour and two teaspoons of baking powder (this will allow the crust to rise slightly).  Also add some kosher salt to taste, ground black pepper, and dried oregano.  Mix this together either by hand or with a wooden spoon.  Once it comes together, add nine tablespoons of cold water mixed separately with two tablespoons of olive oil.  The dough should be moist, but not sticky.  If it is sticky, add a bit more flour.  

You can use the dough right away or you can coat it with a thin layer of olive oil, cover it with plastic wrap, and refrigerate it.  For my pizza, I used only 1/3 of the dough.  Half the prepared dough would yield a large pizza.

Place the dough on a floured surface and roll out from the center.  I like a very thin crust, so I rolled out until it was quite large.  Place rolled dough on a baking sheet that has been oiled or sprayed with non-stick cooking spray.  In order to prevent soggy pizza, I recommend par-cooking the crust first, about five to ten closely-watched minutes in a 400-450 degree oven.  Once the pizza looks slightly brown at the edges, remove it from the oven and top with sauce, veggies (I used red onions and orange and yellow peppers), fresh basil, and thinly sliced fresh mozzarella.  Cook until the cheese melts and the vegetables wilt at 375 degrees.  

You can freeze leftover dough for another occasion, or you can pre-prep a second crust for the next night's meal.  I left my ball in the refrigerator for use later in the week.  The crust didn't taste like sweet potato at all, and although it wasn't quite as toothsome as the pizzeria variety, it went down just fine.  

Run To Eat

It's my abiding philosophy.  Well, most of the time, anyway.  Yesterday afternoon, after a sunny, warm, and altogether forgiving run in the Bronx, my friend and I took a drive to the east village for some serious rewards.  

Our destination?  Ippudo, the Japanese ramen import unlike any other ramen joint run in the city.  For one, the space is enormous.  Cavernous might be more accurate.  There's nothing delicate or subtle about the decor, a high-ceilinged, mirrored, red and black monstrosity that must seat over 150 noodle-slurpers, easy.  

Weird noodle sculptures and rhinestone hanging artwork abound, but, let's be honest, no one comes for the bad Asian decor.  We're here for the noodles, bowls and bowls of the hand-cut variety.  Ippudo's menu has grown since its inception last spring, but the focus remains: If you go, it's gotta be ramen.  

So ramen it was, though we started the meal with gently fried shisito peppers that came with fresh lemons and a lemon salt for dipping.  Shisito peppers are mild and you can often swallow them whole.  But the spicy ones, few and far between, are considered good luck in Japanese culture.  It was my good fortune, then, to encounter a piping hot little sucker, only one on a plate of ten.  It was as fiery as a jalapeno.  The waitress laughed and told me I'd have good luck.  I could probably use it. 

Then the ramen arrived, giant hot bowls filled with noodles and broth.  My friend ordered a shrimp ramen special, a shrimp stock with fresh noodles garnished with shrimp and bamboo.  I ordered the spicy tonkatsu ramen, filled with ground and sliced pork, a roasted pork bone broth, julienned wood's ear mushrooms, and chili paste.  Traditional ramen arrives with a sesame seed grinder designed to garnish any soup with fresh ground seeds.  It made the broth nutty.  Fresh noodles like this are springy and toothsome, making the average eater wonder why anyone would ever settle for dried ramen sold at dollar stores for 30 cents a package.  

We slurped our soups to the sorry bottoms.  In Japan, it's considered appropriate and respectful to slurp and drink your last drop.  Wide spoons and spoon rests are provided for such glorious slurping.  The saddest part of the day was when we reached the bottoms of our bowls.  

But we'll be back.  Salty divine ramen like that can't keep me at bay long. 

*

Ippudo 

65 4th Avenue

New York, NY 10003

212.388.0088

Cookie Monster

(Guilty as charged.)

If you're wondering why I spend so much time thinking about and trying to bake cookies, well, it's because I love love love cookies.  Love them.  So yesterday, after a long and labored conversation with a fellow cookie baker, I decided to try a different tack. 

Instead of whole-wheat flour, which, I learned last week, creates a cookie with the density of a steel ball, I used the finer ground whole-wheat pastry variety.  Pastry flour, like cake flour, works well in pastries but can't be substituted for things like bread and pizza dough.  It's too light and airy to be substantial. 

This time, my cookies came out much better.  I substituted all of the flour in the Toll House recipe for pastry flour.  I used half of the butter required and substituted the rest with unsweetened applesauce.  Dark agave nectar, twice as sweet as regular refined sugar, did the job of both white and brown sugars, cutting the sweetening agent down by half.  I did add, for consistency's sake, a teaspoon of evaporated cane sugar, an unprocessed natural sugar found at health food stores everywhere.  Note to bakers: when you cream together butter and agave nectar, it does not reach that buttery consistency you're accustomed to seeing in regular cookies.  Even when you add the eggs, the dough can look off.  But as soon as you add in the dry ingredients (flour, salt, baking powder), the dough comes together like any other dough.  

Chips go in last.  I eliminated walnuts this time around.  This dough was looser than the last two doughs I've made, a good thing.  When spooned onto the baking sheet (when you're using less butter, you'll want to spray your sheet first with a non-cooking spray), they begin to spread out a little, a harbinger of more normal cookiedom.  

This version cooked on the lower end of the 9-11 minute suggested Toll House time (375), browning at just about nine minutes.  They aren't exactly chewy, but they do have an airy quality that I like.  As for the sugar, flavor would never cue that it's missing.  Texturally, they're a little softer than normal cookies, but you'd never know that most of the bad stuff had been eliminated.  

My friend wrote about her peanut butter oatmeal cookies the other day and added a disclaimer to her post.  She wrote that although her cookies were a healthier version, "they do not fight the flu, they do not help you lose inches from your waistline, they will not improve your digestion... but they do taste damn good.  So eat 2 or 3 of them, not 12 or 13."  

I'm going to have to agree with that philosophy.  These cookies, though less evil than most, are still 130 calories a pop, so you don't want to eat all 32 in a sitting, unless you're looking to fit into those pants you relegated to the back of the closet five years ago (yes, your fat pants).  Refined sugars cause cravings, diabetes, high blood pressure, and high cholesterol.  The sugar in refined versions converts to fat because it's an immediate kick without long-lasting energy potential, not far off from the white bread/wheat bread equivalent.  In the 1900s, sugar cane farmers noted that island natives who chewed on sugar cane daily did not develop diabetes, whereas cane farmers who ate the processed result daily developed diabetes almost 80 percent of the time.  Diabetes is one of the great preventable diseases and it's also a disease that afflicts more--and not fewer--Americans every year, despite our knowledge of what causes it and how to keep from developing it.  

So no, eating my cookies will not make you skinny and if you're sick they aren't the equivalent to bed rest and Vitamin C.  But if you're the type of person who can't imagine a world without cookies (me, me, me!), these cookies could help you live a little healthier. 

And just one more note about refined sugar, before I hit the trails for the Bronx Half-Marathon.  Ever since I decided to eliminate most refined sugars from my diet, I've been having strange dreams.  Two in particular have found me in homes with stockpiles of candies and chocolates, unable to control myself.   I have always had vivid dreams, ever since I was a little girl, but usually they point to something going on in my life.  When I prepared to go to Belize in 2000, I took a six-week regimen of Malaria pills, which provoked psychedelic dreams.  Before a major race, I generally dream that I've slept through my alarm clock.  But this week, my dreams have centered on sugar binges, the kind one can only justify around Halloween.  Internet research provided a somewhat questionable answer to why my dreams had changed: according to some, sugar withdrawal can create effects similar to opiate withdrawal, causing headaches, muscle pains, debilitating cravings, and strange dreams.  

Basically, if the Internet holds any validity, I was addicted to heroin and didn't even know it.  Food for thought.  

Kraft Doesn't Do It Better

I've been craving macaroni and cheese.  Really, what I want is the old boxed variety made with whole milk and lots of butter but I have no control mechanisms when it comes to Kraft and I'm afraid I'd eat the box in one sitting.  

But I did come across a recipe the other day that involved the introduction of one very Kraft-orange vegetable to a basic macaroni and cheese recipe for astounding results.  I cut said recipe in half (no single person needs to make an entire pound of macaroni for dinner unless she plans on eating it for the next week) for a more manageable meal.  

Here goes: cook half a pound of pasta (the equivalent to half a small box; in this case, I used Barilla's enriched macaroni, which has more fiber and protein than normal white pasta.  They were out of whole-wheat) and drain but do not rinse.  The starch in pasta--let this be a lesson to all drainers--helps sauce and cheese stick to it.  While the pasta's a-draining, melt one cup of skim milk and one package (generally between 10 and 12 ounces) of frozen, pureed winter squash.  Bird's Eye makes it, and I'm sure every health food store on the east coast sells it.  You can use two percent milk for a little more creaminess, if that's what you desire.  I happened to have skim on hand.  The end product should be bright orange and fully integrated.  

In a separate bowl, grate a cup of extra-sharp full-fat cheddar cheese and a third of a cup of Monterey Jack.  Add to this a quarter cup of part-skim ricotta, a half a teaspoon of course salt, a half a teaspoon powdered mustard, and a quarter teaspoon of cayenne pepper.  Grind some fresh black pepper over the mixture and pour the warm squash/milk mixture over the cheeses.  Mix the cheese and squash until the cheese has melted completely.  Add the cooked macaroni. It will seem watery at first, but the oven will evaporate the extra moisture.  

Put the final product in a baking dish that has been sprayed with non-stick cooking spray.  Top with bread crumbs (I mixed mine with a teaspoon of olive oil and a tablespoon of parmesan cheese) and put in a 375 degree oven for 10 to 15 minutes, until the sides are bubbling.  Put under the broiler for a final few minutes to brown the top.  To feed more than two or three people, double this recipe, though it probably feed up to four comfortably.

And there you have it.  You can taste the squash, but only a little, and it gives a nice texture to the dish.  Plus, you're getting vegetables, which too many of us skip out on.  Ricotta cheese can be a bit problematic because it becomes a little curd-y when warmed.  I'm wondering if this dish would be better with non-fat Greek yogurt, the extremely thick and tangy variety that's everywhere you look here in Queens.  Something to consider for a follow-up attempt.  

Pork Chops And Applesauce

In exchange for some changed light bulbs (high ceilings/short human), I cooked dinner for a couple of friends last night.  I wanted something that would be hearty and that would make them grateful for having trekked out to the boroughs from the island.  I also wanted to make something that I could do a large slice of in advance.  

I brined a pork loin, my first foray into porcine preservation.  I chose a loin, not to be confused with the leaner tenderloin so often in attendance at parties.  My hefty hog weighed in around 24 ounces (one and a half pounds) with a half-inch layer of fat at the top.  To make the brine, I combined equal parts table salt and sugar over a low heat to dissolve, along with some standard aromatics (fresh rosemary and thyme, a quartered lemon, a few allspice berries, a few whole cloves, ten or so black peppercorns, a handful of whole mustard seeds, a half cup unsweetened applesauce).  When the brine had reached room temperature, I submerged the pork in the pot, weighing it down with a plate.  I left it in the refrigerator, turning it every six to eight hours, for two days.

Pork turns gray when it is brining.  This is not something to be concerned about; basically, it means that the salt has permeated the meat.  When I was ready to cook the pork, I removed it from the brine, patted it dry (no, I did not rinse it off first) and seared it in a frying pan.  I started fat side down to render some of the fat into cooking oil.  Having browned all sides, I put the loin in a roasting rack and large roasting pan, surrounded by fresh thyme, rosemary, and sage.  I glazed the pork with a mixture of molasses, whole grain mustard, and dijon mustard, every 10 to 15 minutes of cooking.  I went for a high heat, though there's tons of debate on this subject.  Four-hundred degrees for what turned out to be about forty minutes (I programed my digital meat thermometer to 150 degrees).  

With the rendered fat still in the frying pan, I tossed in two chopped shallots and cooked them until they were soft.  Next, I added one cup of whiskey and deglazed the now-browned pan.  I let the whiskey reduce for about seven or eight minutes and then added two and a half cups of chicken stock, one quarter cup of agave nectar, salt, and pepper.  I let this reduce for about ten minutes before adding a tablespoon of butter at the end.  

Sides included sweet and sour braised cabbage, fennel and Granny Smith apples, a slow-cooked dish that involved little more than a simmer of balsamic vinegar, agave nectar, whole grain mustard, red cabbage, fennel, julienned apples, garlic, onion, chicken stock, fresh sage, and caraway seeds.  I made mashed potatoes with skim milk and butter, topping them with nutmeg, a personal favorite.  They were admittedly watery.  I would use two percent or higher in the future.  To accompany the pork, I made an apple, onion, and celery butter that tasted delicious but never did quite come together in pats (for some reason, the materials separated; I'm still not sure why).  

The pork was very salty, but that was fine.  The caramelized glaze tempered any salt leftover from the brine.  It was also fairly moist, though not at all pink.  I'm wondering if I should have taken it out of the oven at 145 degrees and let it carry over to 150.  I'm not sure about that.  The meat changes consistency because of the brine, so it isn't that luscious pink and tender meat you think of when you think butcher counter.  But what you get in flavor and moisture is the trade off.  All in all, things turned out pretty good, including the whiskey sauce that brightened  up otherwise boring potatoes. 

For dessert, my friend brought a gluten-free batter for cookie baking.  Oatmeal peanut butter and chocolate chip cookies did not taste at all gluten-free.  She also skipped the refined white sugar.  And, unlike my whole-wheat monstrosities, they did not suck.

Best of all, I now have light again in my bedroom and living room.  You gotta have friends. 

Where Have All The Diners Gone?

For those skeptics who believed that New York would become a culinary wasteland in the wake of the economic tsunami, well, you're not all wrong.  The recent closings/announced closings of restaurants like Fiamma and Fleur de Sel speaks to a market oversaturated with haute cuisine and undersaturated with cheap eats.  Every day a new closing hits the press, and even the most hailed and established spots are not immune.  Yesterday's New York Times reported that Chanterelle and Gotham Bar and Grill, two New York landmarks, have experienced marked sales drops this January.  And by marked, I mean a drop in sales between 10 and 15 percent.  These restaurants have survived decades of muddy city water.  But survival, even for the fittest, looks bleaker and bleaker these days. 

I'm going to throw a little blame in the direction of the New York Times.  I believe that this moment in time is different from any other moment in the past 20 years.  I believe that this is no mere changed current of economic insecurity; it's a veritable tidal wave.  I believe that New York has to do what it can to stay in the black, even if that means switching out truffles for tacos.  

But I also believe that a complete shift away from fine dining will mean a final and inevitable change in the way we dine.  The luxuries of sitting in a quiet room with nice things will no longer be a luxury afforded the average American.  Do we really want the Chanterelles and Gotham Bar and Grills of the world to close?  Do we really want to sever all ties with the uncommon opulence of classic restaurants? 

These places are sanctuaries and, like any other sanctuaries, they deserve our attention and attempts at preservation.  We put plaques in the silliest of places, honoring the land that our forefathers tread upon hundreds of years ago.  But we dismiss the importance of dining rooms that have played host to our most important Americans, our presidents, our writers, our personal heroes.  No one would ever dream of suggesting we fell the Metropolitan Museum of Art, no matter how bad things get.  Why, then, do we ignore our restaurants when they, too, preserve memories and artifacts of life in this city?

It's Frank Bruni I really want to take to task here.  Week after week, Mr. Bruni reviews tirelessly, offering a do-or-die opinion of New York's scene.  Lately, his reviews have become downright predictable.  If you happen to run a restaurant in the east village, and if your aim is more causal and less haute, you, too can receive two stars from the New York Times.  For the past few years, Bruni has tried his hardest to reestablish the criteria for good eating in the city.  And while such brute ambition is admirable, ambition for ambition's sake alone is not enough.  I understand wanting to make food and restaurants more approachable.  I understand plebian-izing fine dining.  Ok.  I get it.  I do not, however, understand why making the lower end cool must come at the cost of making the higher end suffer. 

I consider yesterday's review the perfect example.  Every review I have stumbled across touted the virtues of the recently renovated and reopened Oak Room in the Plaza Hotel.  It's a restaurant that speaks volumes of New York's history; what little girl didn't own Eloise growing up?

The Oak Room also happens to be the quintessential old New York dining experience, replete with ornate dining room touches, tablecloths, silver, china.  It is the kind of restaurant that is supposed to remind us of the kind of place that this city used to be: dazzling, majestic, opulent, fancy.  It is the kind of restaurant that no doubt stirs in people the same nostalgia I feel when I think back on all the lovely and fancy Chinese restaurants I dined at as a child back before Chinese meant greasy takeout, where the bowls were porcelain and the chopsticks like ivory, where Shirley Temples came in fluted glasses, where lychees and stemmed maraschino cherries arrived with the check.  There is a certain other-worldliness to places like these, reminding us of a past that has all but disappeared in this fast and furious digital age. 

Mr. Bruni gave the Oak Room--who was no doubt reaching for three fine stars--a pathetic one.  Despite all of those other reviews I read, the ones that discussed the technical brilliance of the Oak Room's food, Bruni's single star may be the review that resonates.  

And so people will stop going because, in an economy like this, why would they waste their time and money on a place that Mr. Bruni believes is far from achieving greatness?  And as our critic continues to review the cheaper haunts on the New York beat, people will stop caring about the finer restaurants because they will believe that in an era like this you aren't supposed to care about things like fine dining. The thing is, the cheaper places, well, they would have survived anyway, just like the local pubs will do just fine.  Now, more than ever, it's the pricier places that need a plug.  

I hold critics to high standards.  I've seen how a critics 500 words can affect the welfare of a restaurant.  The juggernaut of economic loss cannot be controlled or remedied by any one person, but if we value the style of dining that has defined us as a city and if we believe that the future holds a place for these restaurants just as it holds a place for the funkier and fussier molecular gastronomy hangouts, we have to protect what is ours.  In that respect, I think Mr. Bruni has failed miserably in communicating what it will mean if the most important places here cease to exist.  

I love ramen just as much as the next blogger, but I'm not prepared to face a Tokoyan future, where tablecloths are replaced with quick-fix noodle bowls and pork buns.  There is room in this fragile world for remembrance of decadence past.  It is a small window, but it still exists.  For now. 

The Minimalist

For dinner last night, I stole a recipe that appeared on Mark Bittman's blog, Bitten, last week. I say "stole" because I adapted it so completely that it's almost a different recipe. Almost.

I had actually stumbled upon Bittman's recipe for savory oatmeal on SeriousEats.com, a website dedicated to both restaurant and home-prepared cuisine. The recipe was simple: cook one cup of dried oats (just regular old oatmeal; steel cut oats take nearly four times as long to cook) in two cups water along with a dash of sea or kosher salt for seasoning. When the water reaches a boil, stir the oatmeal and lower the heat, stirring frequently for five minutes until the water is mostly absorbed. Add two tablespoons of soy sauce and one tablespoon of fresh chopped scallion, stirring both into the mixture. Take the oatmeal off the heat and pour into a bowl, garnishing with a final tablespoon of chopped scallions.

The recipe sounded good (and easy) enough, but why not go farther, I thought. I substituted the soy sauce for tamari and added an additional teaspoon of toasted sesame oil and teaspoon of Frank's red hot. Sriracha would have been more appropriate here, but I didn't have any on hand. I topped this dish with a soft-boiled egg (easier to prepare than poached, but similar in concept). The final result was something approximating congee, a thick porridge that was salty, spicy, and not over-the-top gooey. The egg made the oatmeal more of a meal, adding much-needed protein. And the runny yolk was perfect in the middle of all that spice and tamari.

Savory oatmeal, an idea I had never really considered too deeply, seems like the perfect quick fix for lunch or dinner. I'm thinking of experimenting with other presentations. Bittman also mentioned an oatmeal he enjoyed in Italy, topped with tapenade and olive oil. Delicious.

All You Can Eat. No, Really.

Hill Country inaugurated "all you can eat Mondays" last night, a deal that will extend until the end of February. And what a deal it is. For the paltry admission price of $25, you get as much BBQ chicken, lean brisket, and pork ribs as you can eat. And then there are the sides. Choose from German potatoes, sweet bourbon mashed potatoes, cucumber salad, cole slaw, pinto beans, black eyed peas, green bean casserole, skillet cornbread with ancho honey butter, and, for two additional dollars, macaroni and cheese, Texas red chili, and bacon baked beans.

Not to mention all the white bread and fountain soda you want.

It was an excellent deal, I discovered last night. The pork ribs were dry rubbed and you could supplement the smoky, peppery flavor with Hill Country's barbecue and hot sauces. Chicken was fall-off-the-bone tender and the brisket was... well, we had to ask for more brisket. And even then, it wasn't enough for my carnivore companions.

I would have loved some beef ribs, pulled pork, and Kreuz sausage to round out the meatfest, but that probably would have been overkill.

I was surprised that our all you can eat menu offered so many unlimited sides. German potatoes resembled a cream-less smashed, with the welcome addition of some kind of crumbled meat. Sweet potatoes were more of a dessert like a side, and the cucumber salad was essentially a welcome cup of pickled cucumbers buttressed by thin slices of pickled white onion.

Baked beans with bacon were smoky and sweet. One member of our party, a Houston native, happily pronounced the experience authentic and praised the restaurant's brisket. That's a big deal, coming from a Texan.

Hill Country serves Texan delicacies all around. Peruse the beer list and you'll find Lone Star, the Texas canned shlock, and Dos Equis, a Mexican beer favored in the south and southwest. On the sweeter side, they serve Blue Bell ice cream, a company that has been churning out high-fat favorites in Brenham, Texas since 1907.

And there's always sweet tea, served in a mason jar, which, the Texan informed me, is not what Texans actually drink out of down south. But hey, it's all part of the rolicking theme-park atmosphere that is Hill Country, a slice of the Texas pits all the way up here on our little island.

*
Hill Country
30 West 26th Street
New York, NY 10010
212.255.4544

Game Night

My all-girls Superbowl party, held at the house of a friend, included some activities that probably would have faced ridicule had there been men around. In the afternoon, we played Hearts and drank Malbec. My friend cooked up fresh sausages, nabbed from her downtown restaurant. We wrapped them in biscuits and topped them with mustard, relish, sauerkraut, and ketchup.

Phase two involved a Mexican dip, courtesy of another friend. It seems my red meat-free diet was torn to shreds in the face of one whopping pound of ground beef, topped with melted cheese, sour cream, taco seasoning, black olives, tomatoes, and scallions.

Luckily, we had the whole afternoon. Next up was a mean game of Taboo accompanied by shrimp lettuce wraps, host's courtesy. She poached a pound of fresh shrimp in hot water and chopped them into bite-sized pieces. She then added a can of drained, crushed pineapple, one chopped scallion, red bell pepper, a few tablespoons of light sour cream, sriracha, cilantro, lime juice and tossed the mixture together with a few ripe and sliced avocado. We put the spicy shrimp mixture on wide leaves of iceberg lettuce and rolled them into miniature burritos.

My chili was a hit, as was the end product of project healthy cookie. When those chocolate chip monstrosities failed to meet my admittedly high standards, I decided to convert them into a bread pudding. I whisked together one egg, a cup of skim milk, some ground nutmeg, and ground cloves. I crumbled the cookies and put them in a glass baking dish and poured the egg mixture over them. At 350, I let the cookies re-bake for about 20 minutes, until I was sure the egg had cooked through. I then added sugar-free vanilla pudding to the dish, mixing the whole thing together in the pan once it cooled. It came together nicely and the whole-wheat flour actually offered nice textural integrity to the dish. My one complaint was that the chocolate chips melted on the second bake, which meant that the desired crunch of chocolate was absent from the final product.

We were all rooting for Arizona, but they lost. Of course, the entire day was nothing more than an excuse to hang around in sweatpants and eat our faces off, which, in my estimation, was a resounding success.

The Big Bowl

In preparation for today's game, I did some research regarding the much-contested perfect turkey chili recipe. I'm not going to get into all of the debate between north, south, east, and west regarding what should or should not go into a good chili. Suffice to say I sifted through my own cookbooks and supplemented what I learned from books with information from the Internet.

My first book of attack was, of course, the Gourmet tome, Ruth Reichl's staggering collection of international recipes that will teach you how to make just about anything. Her chili recipe had some interesting components. For one, she used tomatillos, rather than tomatoes, as her base, making her chili green, like a salsa verde. Also, she cooked up four pounds (yes, you read that right) of turkey for her soup, which, in my estimation, couldn't have been much of a soup--or even stew--at all. I liked her use of real chiles, in this case reconstituted anchos, which are poblanos when they're fresh. But I wanted a more traditional version.

So here's what I did: I cooked up one and a half pounds of ground turkey, because that seemed like more than enough. I seasoned it with salt and pepper and put it to the side for later use. In olive oil, I sweated down one Spanish onion, one green bell pepper, one fresh poblano pepper, and one fresh jalapeno (seeds and ribs removed) with a little salt until they were translucent. I then added my seasoning, four cloves chopped garlic, one tablespoon cayenne, two tablespoons chili powder, one tablespoon crushed red pepper flakes, and one tablespoon cumin. I cooked the seasoning in for a few minutes. Then, I added two large cans of crushed tomatoes, one can of tomato paste, 3/4 cup of chicken stock, one tablespoon of kosher salt, a healthy helping of fresh ground pepper, one teaspoon of dried oregano, a can of cooked and drained kidney beans, a squeeze of fresh lime juice, one cup of frozen corn, and two chopped tomatillos.

I brought the chili to a simmer and let it cook for about an hour, by which time my kitchen was utterly destroyed from splattering tomato goo. At the end, I added a few tablespoons of light sour cream for a creamier texture. Before I serve it this afternoon, I will top it with shredded cheddar and fresh parsley.

It is a fairly hot chili and also, notably, a very healthy chili, weighing in at approximately 2,000 calories for the whole pot (it will likely serve 8, or at least 6), making it the ultimate guilt-free Superbowl snack. It seemed appropriate to use the vegetables of the southwestern United States--tomatoes, tomatillos, hot and mild peppers, corn, onions--for this particular bowl, in which Arizona, the quintessential southwestern state, will be playing.

As for the rest of the cooking, well, I'll leave that to my friends.