The Homemade Pantry (Alana Chernila)

I can't really review a friend's book, I know. And Alana Chernila is a friend from college--she taught me contact improv when we were witches together in Macbeth, and her husband, Joey, lived upstairs from me my freshman year. So in lieu of a formal review (like my reviews are ever formal, amirite?) of her debut cookbook, The Homemade Pantry: 101 Foods You Can Stop Buying and Start Making--although it is FANTASTIC and you should buy it!--I'll share my experience making a recipe from the book, and in doing so endeavor to live up to the thoughtful, helpful, and lovely prose that lines its pages, and those of the blog she's kept since 2008, Eating From the Ground Up.

I chose the cover recipe--from-scratch toaster pastries--as a test of my own mettle, and a gift for Chris, who grew up with all the sugary treats I didn't (I find one can't develop a taste for Lucky Charms with a mature palate). I had never made pie crust. I know! How did I ever land a man?!

But really, it's terrifying stuff! All you ever hear is how difficult it is to get right--Alana admits that her daughter Sadie lost a tooth on an early attempt. Even my maternal grandmother, Ila, a formidable cook if there ever was one, starting buying ready-made as soon as they were available and never looked back. Still, if I could become the kind of person who saves her vegetable scraps and denuded chicken carcasses in the freezer to make stock, I was confident I could become the kind of person who makes her own pie crust. Especially with Alana as my guide--after all, the woman taught me to dance!

The problem, it turned out, was mechanical. The most important step in making pie crust is cutting the butter into the flour; you mustn't let the butter get melty or too incorporated with the flour, and gluten is not your friend, so you can't handle the dough too much. Alana's recipe uses the bladed paddle attachment for a stand mixer. While I do own such a mixer (inherited from the aforementioned Ila), it's only equipped with beaters and dough hooks. And I don't have a pastry blender, because when was I ever going to need one of those? So Alana suggested (via Facebook) I use two knives, held like scissors with points crossing and blades facing apart. This can be done. But it is tedious and frustrating, and you curse your lack of technology: Chris, taking a turn (yeah, that's how long it took), summed up the process as "Amish bullshit."

Then I added the liquid, and the stupid dough refused to coalesce. I came whisker-close to just throwing away the whole glob and bursting into tears, but this is why I have Chris, because he won't let me do silly things like that. I added a touch more water. I smushed it together as best I could, and stuck it in the fridge overnight.

And in the morning? LOOK!!

Not cover-worthy, no. But lovely flaky yumminess, filled with raspberry jam. And just like that, a new skill! Though I am definitely investing in a pastry blender.

The Mom 100 Cookbook (Katie Workman)

Here's how I knew I'd made the right decision in picking up Katie Workman's The Mom 100 Cookbook despite my non-maternality: in a sidebar for black beans and rice (a half recipe of which, btw, made cheap, hearty, delish Lenten dinner for four, with lunch for two left over), she writes:

Are you wondering, "Hey, Ms.-Full-of-Advice, what should I do with the rest of the tomato paste, other than leaving it partially covered in the back of my fridge, waiting for it to get moldy so I can toss it out and feel resentful that I wasted it?"

And indeed, that has so many times been my predicament! Her solution? Freeze the rest in a plastic bag, flattened out so's you can just break off an appropriately-sized chunk the next time you need less than another whole can. Also? Apparently ketchup will sub in a pinch.

That's the kind of cookbook this is: no exotic ingredients, no arduous techniques, little margin for error. More and more I disdain the fancypants chef-y tomes, rife with knife skills I don't possess (though thanks to a class at The Brooklyn Kitchen, I no longer fear chopping) and spices and vegetables I'm too lazy to source (yeah, I know there's a Penzeys Spices right in Grand Central Terminal. I am VERY lazy). I'm a competent home cook, and that's all I aspire to be. I make dinner from scratch for me and Chris probably five days out of seven, bring leftovers for work lunches, sometimes whip up a baked good for a special occasion, and love hosting friends for meals. So, yeah, I don't have kids--but I do cook like a traditional mom (in most families--my dad's the cook in mine), and The Mom 100 is going to be a great resource.

Besides the beans and rice, I've now made chickpea poppers (roasted with a little cumin and chili powder, easy-peasy and gone in like five minutes) and a pan of perfect chicken enchiladas--lunch today was the last of 'em, and oh how I'll miss the delicious. Until I make them again. Other recipes I'm eager to try include a lasagna-ish Mexican Tortilla Casserole, Lazy Oven French Toast, and a Cheddar-Cauliflower Soup (oh, cauliflower, so cheap, so evocative of childhood distate).

Oh! And in a fun turn of events, Ms. Workman held her book launch last night at Posman's Chelsea location--recently named best bookstore in the city by New York magazine. No, I haven't visited yet. Remember? Lazy.

Summer-of-Jane. And tomatoes.

I'm happily ensconced in Austenland for a few weeks, preparing my little lecture on Northanger Abbey and Mysteries of Udolpho, and Ann Radcliffe, gothic romance, and the female novelistic tradition in general for the final meeting of Watermark's Jane Austen Challenge on August 12. As per usual, I expect to require diversions. I shall also most likely subject you to the whole text of whatever I come up with. You'll read it and like it.

And I bought another cookbook: The Too Many Tomatoes Cookbook, by Brian Yarvin. O the delights contained therein: sauces from Greece and Romania, Basque country and Serbia, Albanian marinated green tomatoes, an African chicken dish with a tomato-and-peanut-butter sauce, a Turkish eggplant-stuffed-with-tomatoes called Imam Bayildi ("The Imam fainted"). I'm going to have as much fun as I've been having with our bumper zucchini crop (is it ever not a bumper crop, with zucchini): I've made pasta and pancakes, brownies (vegan!) and pie. All as local as can be.

Nom nom nom.

Sips & Apps: Classic and Contemporary Recipes for Coctktails and Appetizers by Kathy Casey

My review

rating: 4 of 5 stars
Appetizers may well be my favorite food group. Dips, spreads, baskets of bread, crudités, amuse-bouches, miniature what-have-you, any variety of fried cheese, from saganaki to jalapeño poppers. My new cookbook boyfriend Sips & Apps combines an array of pre-or outside-meal noshes with a section of horizon-expanding libations, the latter of which has served to lift me well above my college-honed here’s-some-booze-here’s-some-mixer drink-makin’ skills. I’ve become a lime-squeezing, simple-syrup-dolloping, cocktail-shaking fool: fresh margaritas with a touch of chili, sunset-pink hibiscus rum punch, a concoction of cucumber, lime, and soju (Korean sweet potato vodka) as subtle and refreshing as a good night’s sleep with a kitten curled on your pillow. I find myself longing for winter, to try the Harvest Pumpkin Toddy (like pie laced with brandy!) or the Holiday Hot-Buttered Rum. As for the nibbles, I haven’t had a less-than-perfect one yet, though the bacon, blue cheese, and pecan “cocktail cookies” are early standouts. The dishes are well and unusually spiced (a roasted red pepper and almond spread, e.g., is perked up with orange juice), and yield just enough for one to have leftovers after a party or film festival or art opening—or whatever excuse you generate to keep cooking.