Food & Drink – Page 11 – Retirement Confidential

The best salad dressing you’ve never tasted

I gained a bunch of weight in high school but lost the extra pounds in my early 20s. In between, I struggled with what to eat and demonized foods I now view as perfectly fine to enjoy in moderation. Salad dressing was verboten for several years. Instead, I’d add a squirt of lemon or rice wine vinegar. Serviceable but not outrageously delicious.

While I understand some people restrict fats for various reasons, I focus on eating wholesome homemade foods, fat be damned. But because I don’t load up on processed foods or junk (and exercise a lot), I don’t have a weight or cholesterol problem, and I bear no guilt for treating myself to a salad with yummy dressing.

Cooking from scratch is a retirement hobby that pays huge dividends.

My favorite indulgence as a teenager (when not dieting) was a chef’s salad with thousand island dressing. I still love it. There’s just something so satisfying about creamy but slightly tart thousand island on crisp greens, ham, turkey, cheese and hard-cooked eggs. As for the dressing, it seems not a lot of places serve it anymore. Or if they do, it’s not house made.

Another dressing that’s hard to find is Roquefort. Marie’s, the premium dressing sold in a jar in the refrigerated section of the grocery store, used to have Roquefort. When they discontinued it, I actually wrote them a letter. The response was something along the lines of it not being cost-effective. Their blue cheese is still good, and we use it sparingly.

We often go with olive oil and balsamic vinegar or just plain old red wine vinegar or even Italian mixed up from the Good Seasons packet, but our favorite is an oldie we found in a Los Angeles Times cookbook, circa 1981. They call it French dressing, although it bears no resemblance to any French dressing I’ve ever tasted. We call it The Pink Stuff.

The Pink Stuff is easy to make. The taste is peppery with a pungent mustard backdrop and a hint of sweetness from the red wine. It’s fantastic over any kind of greens, including spinach. Mostly I just drizzle it on because it’s convenient and doesn’t use an extra dish, but as is the case with most salad dressings, less is more.

My spinach salad in the picture was a wee bit overdressed but still fantastic. Ideally, you toss a small amount of dressing with your greens in a big bowl to lightly but evenly distribute the tasty goodness.

This recipe calls for simple ingredients we keep on hand anyway. We store peanut oil in the refrigerator because we don’t use it that much, and it can go rancid. The oil solidifies in the fridge, so you need to take it out ahead of time or run hot water over the bottle to re-liquify. The bottle we buy is too tall for the microwave.

Pro Tip. Go ahead. Save the big bowl and pour The Pink Stuff directly on your salad. Just not too much.

The Pink Stuff (French Dressing)

Punched with flavor and unlike anything resembling what you might think of as French dressing, this recipe was originally published by the Los Angeles Times California Cookbook (1981). It was said to be the house dressing at Le St. Germain, a fine French restaurant in Hollywood I believe no longer exists.

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Ingredients

1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp black pepper
1/4 tsp white pepper
1 tbsp Dijon-style mustard
1 tsp hot dry mustard
2 tbsp red wine vinegar
3 tbsp red wine
1/4 cup peanut oil

Instructions

Combine salt, black pepper, white pepper and mustards and mix well with a whisk. Add vinegar and wine, and beat until smooth. Slowly add oil and beat with a whisk until slightly thickened.

An uneventful week … perfect

It was an uneventful week of retirement, and that is exactly how I like it.

Dale seems to be recovered from a brutal case of Achilles bursitis. He has been sidelined for awhile, and now it looks like we can plan some outdoor activities together. The weather here in northern California is gorgeous. This is what we pay for.

I’ve recovered from a freak accident involving the upper back weight machine, whereupon you sit on a bicycle-like seat facing the weights and squeeze your shoulder blades as you pull the weights toward you. If you should so happen to be taking boatloads of Advil for another injury and exert too much energy, it might result it some pretty spectacular bruising in the area of the body getting all friendly with the bicycle seat.

Now I know why Lance Armstrong didn’t know he had testicular cancer.

Our solar power system on our house is finally up and running. This is the last year of the 30 percent rebate on our federal taxes. We’ll use the rebate and savings on our utility bill to fund a new heating and cooling unit next year. Ours is 20 years old.

The solar contractor was excellent, but PG&E dragged their feet. They presumably had fires and electrical outages to worry about … one of the downsides of living in northern California.

PG&E emailed a welcome packet, which I suppose we’ll have to read. I’m not much for details when it comes to science. If I should ask Dale a simple question, I get a 20-minute response and references to books and documentaries. I would have been fine with something along the lines of, “Sun make magic with roof panels.”

When I think about our daily activities, I expect someone to scold us for being privileged. We’re not extravagant, mostly focusing on simple pleasures, but I do recognize not living from paycheck to paycheck is a luxury. Still, I imagine an announcer from an old scare-tactic documentary such as Reefer Madness.

“They don’t work! They eat cheese! They wear jammies until noon! They run out of mayonnaise! They’re living the retirement lifestyle!”

So, yes, we ran out of mayonnaise. Dale was making BLTs and scraping the bottom of the jar. He went to the pantry for more, and there wasn’t any. I followed up with another search. Surely, there’s a backup jar hiding somewhere between crushed tomatoes and peanut butter.

Running out of mayo is unheard of in our house. It would be like running out of cheddar cheese. Just doesn’t happen. Dale takes great pride in maintaining a robust pantry. Anything gets low, and you know there’s another one in backup.

I have a responsibility to add items to the list, so it’s not his fault. Surely, somewhere between tuna melts and tuna melts, I should have seen this coming.

Part of the problem is we don’t keep a master list. Dale hates lists. Especially if it says to-do and has his name on it. I was in search of a compromise and after a period of reflection that included counting my blessings for having such problems, an idea bubbled to the surface.

Here’s the deal. Dale hates having a personal list, but he’s not opposed to lists in general. What’s not to like about a house list, as in not his and not mine? We have a small collection of refrigerator magnets, and I used them to affix the list to the fridge, a neutral setting. Now there’s a consolidated location for documenting items that are getting low.

I slowly walked Dale over to the list, like introducing a cat to another cat for the first time. He might have sniffed and scratched a little, but he likes it! And he bought replacement mayo.

Today is a beer run. No list required.

Taco night revisited

Today is taco night, which usually makes me a bit nostalgic. I grew up eating tacos most Saturday nights.

When I first retired, I wrote a piece about taco night, and it was published by BoomSpeak, an online magazine. Jay Harrison is writer and publisher, and he does a great job curating a variety of short essays and fiction catering to our demographic. Check it out … I think you’ll like it!

The recipe is woven into the story. I honestly can’t understand why more people don’t make their tacos in this style, which I believe is called El Dorado. These days, we use ground bison and homemade salsa. Oh, and the picture is the actual tablecloth, which I still have.

Taco night

I’ve seen movies that show families eating dinner together, but it wasn’t like that at our house, a Southern California bungalow tucked into a working-class neighborhood out by the tomato cannery.

Mom went to bed as soon as she got home from work. My older sister and I cooked dinner and ate together at the Formica dinette dominating our tiny kitchen. We served a plate to Dad, who ate on a TV tray in the living room.

My father was barely domesticated, but somewhere he learned to make the best tacos on the planet. On taco night, everything was different. Out came a special tablecloth, the soft white cotton stained and torn with a fading vintage pattern of red and blue fruit.

Mom emerged from the bedroom and shopped the list:

1. Corn tortillas
2. Ground beef
3. Cheddar cheese
4. Iceberg lettuce, tomato, onion
5. Hot sauce

While Mom made salad and my sister grated cheese, I spread the shabby cloth as if decorating for a fiesta. I’d brown the meat, adding salt, pepper and generous sprinkles of my secret ingredient, celery salt.

Mom poured 1/8 inch of vegetable oil into a cast iron pan and set the flame to medium. She’d run her hand over the pan until the oil felt hot. Then she’d holler for Dad.

“The grease is ready!”

Dad took a flat tortilla and held it in his palm, adding a spoonful of browned meat onto one half of the tortilla. He would carefully lay the meat side of the tortilla in the oil, allowing the tortilla to soften at the crease so he could fold it on top of itself. After the first side was golden, he’d flip it over and lightly brown the other side.

When the tacos were done, he held them with tongs over the pan to drain the extra oil before laying them side-by-side on a sheet pan lined with paper towels. Cooked properly, the body of the tortilla gets crisp and lacy, while the part near the fold stays moist and supple.

My father taught me to dress them so the cheese melts against the warm meat, then hot sauce, then salad. A shake of salt. Mom declared them, “A la supreme.” We’d all laugh, as we ate tacos together, just like in the movies.

I still make tacos the way Dad did. It’s like time travel. I drop the meat in the pan, and it begins to sizzle. I break it apart with a metal spatula. Flip and chop. And just like that, it’s taco night, and everything is different.

No regrets … sort of

Dale and I were having a philosophical discussion about life’s regrets, and he asked if I had any. He might have been holding his breath as he waited for my response.

I said, “I regret not getting the coconut cake at Barbara’s Fishtrap in Princeton-by-the-Sea.”

The cake looked so perfect, but I was all holier-than-thou about sugar, so I skipped it, and I’ve been thinking about that cake ever since … at least three years. There’s a clear snapshot in my head. I remember staring at the cake display from across the room. And then someone ordered it! Details emerged, and I ogled layers upon layers of pale creamy coco-nutty whipped fluffiness that only coconut lover can appreciate.

Then it was my turn to ask about regrets, as in, “How about you?” For a minute, I thought he’d go deep and reveal a profoundly sad truth from the bowels of his ~~barren~~ tender soul, but then I remembered he’s from Maine.

He said, “I regret not knowing about soft shell crabs when we lived in Pennsylvania.”

Oh, man, I share that regret. We didn’t discover soft shells until we lived in Alabama and started going to New Orleans for mini-vacations. Later, we lived on the Carolina coast, where they were also plentiful. In Texas, we had some good ones in Port Aransas.

The bounties of California are many, but they do not typically include soft shell crabs. Sometimes you’ll see them as an appetizer at an Asian restaurant. The seafood guy at Whole Foods told me they were currently getting fresh ones in every Friday, except we went two Fridays in a row, and they weren’t in.

Thinking about the coconut cake made me nostalgic for a hot fudge sundae. My mother used to treat us to hot fudge sundaes when we were out and about – sometimes at the lunch counter at J.J. Newberry’s, which was in one of the original outdoor malls in Orange County, where I grew up. Sometimes at Helen Grace Chocolates, which was in a strip mall.

I still love a good strip mall!

Anyway, I ate my lifetime supply of ice cream in 1973, when I oh-so-conveniently worked at an ice cream store. I love it when a plan comes together.

The store was a Carvel, with premium ice cream and excellent toppings, which could be scooped from a bin in the walk-in when no one was looking. It was during this unfortunate period when I ate hot fudge sundaes for breakfast, and I’ve been dreaming about them ever since. Seriously.

The closest I ever got was in 1999, when I had stage 3 ovarian cancer and was on chemo and burning calories like there was no tomorrow. Oh, I guess that’s a regrettable choice of words.

Hungry but maybe dying but still all holier-than-thou, I went to some new-fangled yogurt place. The ice cream was not really ice cream and the fudge wasn’t really hot. I threw most of it away. I survived! And so, here we are, and it occurs to me I have time to seek out the best hot fudge sundae this stinking desert has ever seen.

I’m not big on goals, but I’m adding the iconic ice cream creation to my list. List of what? I don’t know … things to do, things to eat, simple pleasures. I’m grateful coconut cake was the biggest regret I could muster, and notwithstanding the art of moderation, I don’t want to say at the end, “Damn, I wish I’d had that hot fudge sundae.”

At the end of it all, I am reminded of my mother. I believe her last words were, “Is there any more See’s?”

Born to retire

Well, it isn’t Rambling Thursday, but I guess I’ll ramble a bit anyway. The photos should give you a hint. We’ve both been baking. More on that in a few.

NY Times Subscription

First, I finally subscribed to the The New York Times online. There’s a deep discount right now – $4 a month for a year. Then it goes up to $15 a month. I made a note in my calendar for next year, so I either cancel or re-subscribe, but the price doesn’t shock me.

I made kind of a mess of this whole thing. I used to subscribe and then canceled in a cost-cutting move. I started using the free access code I shared earlier. Then I got seduced by the puzzles and subscribed to the puzzles only. But then I got booted out of the free code offer, since they now considered me a subscriber.

In the end, it’s all good. As a journalism major and concerned clinically depressed citizen, I appreciate the work they do, and I know it doesn’t come free. I also like the The Washington Post, and both newspapers are doing a good job keeping tabs on Trump.

By the way, I’m not really clinically depressed. I have PTSD … Post Trump Stress Disorder.

Island of the Sea Women

I finished Island of the Sea Women by Lisa See. It’s about the friendship between two women who live on Jeju Island in Korea, where historically women were the breadwinners free diving for urchin, octopus and other treasures. The book starts just before World War II and finishes up in modern times. The story is compelling, and I learned a lot about Korean history, which is quite tragic. Of course, I cried at the end.

Two of my other favorites by Lisa See are The Tea Girl of Hummingbird Lane and Snow Flower and the Secret Fan.

Throwing money at the plumber

The toilets were installed today, and they look great! The cost was almost as much as the toilets themselves, but this was money spent in the interest of relationship preservation. Dale and Donna installing toilets together? Nothing good can come of that.

I did a pre-clean so the plumber wouldn’t be grossed out. The toilets are Dale’s job, and let’s just say he needs a performance improvement plan. He doesn’t scrub under the rim. Or if he does, it’s a minimal effort at best. Since we have brand-new toilets, I asked him to take more care when he cleans, and he did not appreciate my developmental feedback.

This seemed like a good opportunity to buy new toilet bowl brushes, and I learned something new on Wirecutter. You’re supposed to replace them every few months. I went with their recommendation, the Oxo Good Grips Compact Toilet Brush and Canister. One for each bathroom, so Dale doesn’t drip stuff all over as he is wont to do.

The brush heads are replaceable. I replace our toothbrush heads quarterly, so I guess I’ll replace the toilet bowl brushes at the same time. That should be plenty. I mean, previously it was every five or 10 years or maybe never, so anything is an improvement.

Baking

I made raspberry scones from the blueberry scone recipe at Retired Introvert. They look yummy, although I was probably a little over-zealous with the raspberries. Something about a single cup. So sad and tiny. Clearly, the raspberries needed more raspberries for company.

The blueberry scones I made earlier went into the freezer, and it was so nice to have those little goodies at hand. One minute in the microwave at 50 percent power and they were perfect! We gobbled those up, so I thought I’d try raspberry … Dale’s favorite. What is it they used to say at work? Three positives to a negative when giving feedback? Maybe the scones will get his scrubber moving.

Dale made rosemary olive bread, which was out of this world delicious. A big rise made it perfect for the sandwiches we made with leftover grilled lamb, goat cheese and arugula tossed lightly with olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

Oysters

Our oyster lunch last week was profoundly disappointing. The oysters hadn’t gone bad or anything, but they didn’t taste fresh from the sea. And the shucker basically destroyed them. The Bloodies were pretty good, so there was that. To recover, we decided to do an overnight trip to Tomales Bay, where the oysters are splendid. That’s next week, and we’re excited.

Labor Day

I guess this weekend is Labor Day. It’s hard to keep track when every day is a vacation! I am so happy I don’t have to mess with a job anymore. And I’m still in shock we pulled it off financially. Although I was quite dedicated and had a good career, I don’t think I was born to work.

Reading, writing, golf, hiking, cooking, taking care of our nest … I spend most of my time these days focusing on simple pleasures.

Maybe born to retire?

Savoring your food

A fellow I met on the golf course yesterday asked me what I do besides play golf. Of course, I have a big list, but I didn’t feel like getting into it. I said, well, I cook, read, swim. He said, “You obviously don’t eat much.”

The day before, my neighbor asked what I did for a living prior to retirement, and she was surprised I wasn’t an engineer. She said, “You’re tall and skinny.” Like that’s a prerequisite for any kind of job, let alone engineer. I’m pretty sure engineers have to do math, so that ruins my chances.

A communications major is God’s way of saying geometry isn’t for everyone.

I guess people assume skinny is a compliment, and anyone anywhere saying anything nice … I’ll take it, but I find it odd near-strangers think it’s OK to comment on my body. I don’t believe anyone would say, “You’re short and fat, so I thought you were an engineer.” Or, “You like to cook? No wonder you’re so fat.”

Anyway, I’m not complaining. It just surprises me. This happens to be what my body looks like at this point in my life. I don’t diet or do anything special, which is also surprising, since I was a thin child who packed a bunch of pounds in high school. Weight gain led to depression and probably an eating disorder.

Although I tried every fad diet on the planet, I finally lost the weight for good in my early 20s, when I started cooking, eating quality food and exercising. I’ve maintained a healthy weight since. Still, body issues are not easily dismissed. If someone asked all the fat girls to take a giant step forward, I’d probably jump in line.

I love food, and I love my body. I’m a scarred-up mess from two bouts of cancer, but I view them as survival badges. And I especially love that food is not my enemy. I know there are people with serious food allergies and sensitivities, but I personally am tired of all the gluten-free hoopla. I do not believe any real food should be demonized.

As for me? I’d like extra gluten, please.

I’ll eat just about anything, but I try to make smart choices. I don’t waste calories on stupid food. If it’s decadent, it had better be good. For example, I would never buy a packaged scone, but making them from scratch? I’m in!

Linda at Retired Introvert is a fellow retiree who likes to cook. She shares lots of great recipes, including these lemon blueberry scones. I made the scones yesterday, and we had them for breakfast this morning. Presentation is part of the dining experience, so I dragged out this Franciscan Desert Rose plate from the cupboard. There’s just one – I like to buy remnants at discount stores. We call them the designer plates.

The scones were delicious! I ate two, which I normally don’t do, but they were scrumptious. I tried to savor the experience and eat the scones slowly to appreciate the textures and flavors – making sure to alternate with little sips of coffee that added to the complexity. The lemon glaze is like nectar – sweet but tart from freshly squeezed juice.

Food is one of life’s greatest pleasures. When I struggled with my weight in high school, I ate for emotional reasons. I really didn’t care what I put in my mouth, as long as I was poking something down. Thankfully, that time is gone. Savoring the best of what our planet offers is a true delight, and it’s my contention the more you focus on the food itself, the better off you’ll be.

Thank you, Linda, for the inspiration!

Five essential cheeses

My second summer of retirement, and it has been fantastic so far. I’m playing a lot of golf, swimming and eating exceptionally well. Spending a lot of time thinking about cheese. Dale said I was wasting too many brain cells on it, but it’s better than thinking about work or Trump chumming it up with Putin, laughing about election interference.

To be fair, I asked Dale today to confirm the next election is in 2020. Is it really that far away? I mean, we have to listen to all these Democrats until then?

Cheese is way more fun.

So, here’s how I’ve been squandering my time. What if you had to make a list? Only 10 kinds of cheese for the rest of your life. Oh, but that’s too easy. What about only three? That’s also easy, because you have to pick the best of the best. Your go-to cheese. You might not pick one of the most delicious but less versatile cheeses.

I settled on five … you only get to eat five different kinds of cheese. You’re on a desert island, and this is all you get. Of course, you would have full cooking privileges on this island.

You have to think about how you use cheese and how you eat cheese and what’s most important as you whittle down the list. Five gives you a place for the standards yet room for indulgences. Still, as a cheese lover, it’s very difficult. Not difficult as in working for living but a challenge nonetheless.

After much deliberation, here’s my list … in order:

Sharp Cheddar
Whole Milk Mozzarella
Parmigiano Reggiano
Feta
Muenster

The Sophie’s Choice of cheese. The runners up for me included Manchego, Queso Fresco, Pecorino Romano, Havarti, Gorgonzola, Gruyere, Camembert, Chevre and Jalapeno Jack. I’m sorry, cheese, if I left you off. You know I love you all. Even Cheez Whiz has a special place in my heart … but only from a jar, never a can. And only at dusk.

I know there are people who are not into cheese. We, on the other hand, have a drawer in the refrigerator dedicated to cheese. But we also have a tortilla drawer, so that says a lot about us.

What’s your list of five cheeses? That’s all you get. For the rest of your life. In order, please. Additional cheese talk is always welcome.

Summertime and the preserved radish is jumping

Maybe this post should be titled, “How I spent my summer vacation.” But preserved radish is on my mind.

I’ve been watching the Deadwood series free on Amazon Prime. I loved it, but the series ended abruptly, leaving me between books and stuck with a lackluster watchlist. I settled on the old Rodgers and Hammerstein musical, Flower Drum Song. I was astonished to discover I knew most of the songs.

old Movies

The movie is dated, and I suspect the Asian community would find it a stereotypical caricature at best. I originally thought it was an all-Asian cast, but I recognized Madame Liang as the same person who played Bloody Mary in South Pacific. Turns out she was African-American. The music and dancing was a great escape that kept me from brooding about the state of the nation as I drifted off to sleep thanking God I am not Trump’s type.

art

My art endeavors have taken a back seat since we transitioned to summer. I’ve been spending more time golfing and swimming. Maybe art will be a seasonal thing for me? Dale always said I needed a winter sport to get through the dark, cold and wet months. As if making pot pie is not a sport.

reading

In theory, I’m reading a history of the California Gold Rush, but I’ve had to accept a harsh truth. I prefer historical fiction. I’m not proud, but there you have it. I like rollicking stories loosely based on fact, which should put me in good stead with the current administration.

golf

Golf is my little crack cocaine of hobbies. Although I am in a women’s golf group, it’s quite regimented, and I’ve discovered I often prefer going out by myself. It feels more like an adventure. Like, ooh, look at me, I’m exploring this lush landscaped universe with strangers and a ball – who knows what will happen? As opposed to, “Ladies, there is an 8 a.m. shotgun start, and all players will be in place at that time.” Way to spoil a party.

cooking

Meanwhile, I’m thinking about food. We both love to eat, but more importantly, we both love to cook, which is a great retirement hobby. You have time to explore recipes and shop for ingredients. You can squander an afternoon making an obscure dish from your travels. You will likely eat well, save money and improve your health.

After enjoying a particular food in the U.S. or overseas, Dale and I often figure out a way to make the recipe at home. Among successes that regularly appear on our table are schnitzel from Germany, stacked enchiladas from New Mexico and Greek salad from Crete.

The Greek salad we enjoyed in Crete is different than what you might typically get in a restaurant. You need summer tomatoes, which we have yet to see this year. Do you have any yet? Soon, I believe. When they come on, we will be ready. Tomato sandwiches! Tomato pie!

As for the salad, coarsely chop tomatoes, cucumber and onion and arrange on a plate. Top it with a hunk of feta cheese, sprinkle with oregano and garnish with Kalamata olives. Serve olive oil and red wine vinegar on the side so everyone pours their own over the salad. Don’t forget crusty homemade bread for dipping.

I’m gearing up for a couple of dishes that are on the waiting list to try. One would be Shrimp & Grits and the other is Pad Thai. I bought stone-ground grits and made jalapeno cheese grits as a trial run – figuring why waste shrimp until I know what I am doing? Good thing, because my grits were too thin. Grits, damn you, life was easier when I thought you were cream of wheat.

The Pad Thai is a new recipe from the Washington Post. I ventured off to the exotic food store for ingredients we didn’t already have. For us, that store would be 99 Ranch Market, which is truly amazing. It’s like a Viewer’s Choice Chopped basket gone wild.

I visited 99 Ranch on Sunday. I’m still in the hunting and gathering stage for Pad Thai, so I didn’t buy any fresh ingredients for the dish. My list included:

Rice noodles
Palm sugar
Dried shrimp
Sweet preserved radish
Tamarind concentrate

The only thing I couldn’t find is sweet preserved radish. I could make the recipe without it, but what fun is that? I spent forever in the store looking for the radish. Dale, proud Luddite, even charged up his phone to see if I would call home … that’s how long I was gone. I came up empty-handed.

Easy solution. When I got home, I ordered it from Amazon. It should get here today.

How’s your summer going?

Happy Mother’s Day

Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms out there! I hope you have a lovely day.

I’m a kitty mommy to Riley, and I’m pretty sure he wanted us to celebrate with our “Triple B” breakfast … biscuits, bacon and bloodies. I whip up the drinks, while Dale cooks the bacon and makes the biscuits from scratch.

Pro tip: Dip the rim of your glass in lemon or lime juice, and then coat it with a mixture of kosher salt and Old Bay Seasoning.

I use the salty coating as a rub for my celery. Dale just licks the glass. Riley wanders around looking for butter.

Artichokes & easy homemade mayo

Preparing and enjoying delicious food is probably our number one priority in life. We’re both retired, we’re both avid cooks and we both have hearty appetites. Damn, we eat well. The biggest disappointments usually involve restaurants!

The artichokes were in abundance at the farmers market this morning. We brought home these big boys for dinner tonight. I trimmed them up, doused with lemon juice and steamed the artichokes upside down for about 35 minutes. When they are cool, I’ll pry apart that middle section and scoop out the choke (the inedible part).

UPDATE: For such large artichokes, 35 minutes wasn’t enough time. They were delicious but slightly under. Next time I’ll cook them for 45 minutes or try the Instant Pot.

If you are unfamiliar with artichokes, you pull off a leaf and scrape the “meat” off with your teeth. When all the leaves are gone, you’re left with the heart, which is a disc-shaped bit of artichoke flesh that might be the best part.

Most of us like to dip the leaves and the heart in some sort of sauce. We like homemade mayonnaise. I’ve been making mayonnaise for years with many failures. It seems like the whisk of the food processor isn’t wide enough to fully emulsify the ingredients. I annotated the recipe below after one miserable experience.

Enter one of our favorite food guys, Kenji. I’ve adapted his recipe just a smidgen, and it’s amazing. So easy. But as always, you need the right tool, which in this case is an immersion blender that comes with its own blending cup. I suppose there are other ways to do it, but the blender head needs to fit snugly in the cup.

A big artichoke is filling enough to spoil dinner, but light enough I still want more. This is kind of decadent, but Dale is making shrimp cocktails to go with! Maybe some wine? I usually pick out the wine. With apologies to Tolkien, Dale started calling me the Silmarillion because we can never pronounce Sommelier.

A white or dry rosé? I’m just a Silmarillion with no real wine expertise. I make it up as I go.

Easy Mayonnaise

Homemade mayonnaise is an unparalleled treat. This is the easiest way to make it that I know of. It’s hard to mess it up. You will need an immersion blender with the blending cup that comes with it. I’ve adapted this recipe from Two-Minute Mayonnaise by J. Kenji Lopez-Alt at Serious Eats.

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