Sorry Ann Curry + Snap Pea Salmon Quinoa

Ok, I might have called her Rainbow Brite previously, but now I feel bad about Ann Curry.  Her wardrobe is unfortunate.  My god, those outfits.  And this is coming from a woman who has worn little more than yoga pants and fleece tops for the last six years.  And clogs.  Yes I do.

But now that she's about to be fired and she still has to come to work each morning at some ridiculously early hour and be all, "Hey, good morning, let's have a great show today."  What?  Who can do that?  I mean, Al Roker was probably a lot to deal with already but now she has to chuckle at his lame puns knowing her exit is imminent and be graceful about it.  That's superhuman.  I watched about 45 minutes this morning and it's not hard to read the underscoring sentiment.  Or maybe it's just me imagining pop-up video style text bubbles reading, "Shut the F up already with the weather puns, Al" or "Thanks for nothin', Lauer, you a-hole."  She's been a pillar of class and grace, thus far.  If I were her I would be so tempted to wear that crazy smock dress featuring the Today Show rainbow from waist-to-hip for the rest of my days.  That's right.  Rainbow Brite every single crazy day.  

Oh Ann. My condolences.

My defining moment of departure from the Today show had nothing to do with Ann Curry.  I'd always turned on NBC as a default.  I remember getting ready for school with Jane Pauley and Bryant Gumbel. I watched with horror Katie and Matt's live coverage of 9/11.  And then Matt Lauer interviewed the Colorado teenager who spilled her frozen yogurt on President Obama's shoe.  Yogurt on a goddamn shoe.  Over and out.

Plus said teenager had that speech inflection where every sentence rises in pitch at the end and comes out like a question.  What is that?  I hope it's only prevalent in girls so that we can avoid it entirely because it might kill me.  Literally.  Just kidding about the literally; I know how to use the word correctly.  

So I'm breaking up with the Today Show but I'm jumping into bed with a new love:  The Newsroom.  I watched the pilot twice yesterday.  So good.  The pilot is on You Tube and the show looks promising enough to allllmossssst make me order HBO.  Except it airs Sundays at 10:00 p.m. and it's a rare Sunday eve that sees me awake at 11:00 p.m.  And also I'm cheap.  So most likely I'll bide my time until it comes out on DVD and then I will ignore my children and watch the whole thing in one long and delicious sit-down, thus reprising my former nickname, Leah de la Sofa.  

God, Mom, no.  I'm not really going to ignore the boys.  Joking.  

Um...sooo... it was really hot here last week and I needed to throw together a rare weeknight dinner for all four of us.  Turning on the oven or grilling wasn't going to happen.  So we ate saltines with peanut butter.  The end.  Joking again!  I kill myself (no, not literally).  I had a ton of snap peas and spinach from my garden.  (Oh, how I'm loving my garden.  But that ramble--and it's going to be one heck of a ramble--is for another time.) I made an all-microwave meal.  And it was decent.  

Abundant snaps

Snap Pea and Salmon Quinoa (for 4)

1 cup uncooked Quinoa

2 or so cups snap peas, trimmed and cut into bite-size pieces

2 cups spinach, washed and finely chopped

1 (approx. 1 lb) salmon filet, cut into 4 pieces

Citrus Vinaigrette

2 tbsp. olive oil

Zest and juice of 1/2 - 1 lemon (I like a lot of lemon, the boys not so much)

1 tbsp. red wine vinegar (or preferred)

2 tbsp. orange juice

2 tbsp. chopped chives

Salt and pepper, to taste.  I have a salt problem and feel like it needs a little extra salt.  But that's me.  

1. Cook quinoa according to package directions (I microwaved, clearly).

2. Trim and chop about this many snap peas (it's a little over two cups.  I measured!), microwave with a little water for 1 minute.  Add to bowl with quinoa.

3. Microwave chopped spinach for 30 seconds.  It will look horrible but will add color and vitamins.  Add it to the bowl and stir well so the spinach doesn't stay clumpy and the quinoa fluffs up.

4. Mix vinaigrette together and add, stir again.  It looks like a lot but don't fret, the grain soaks it up. 

5. I salted and peppered and lemoned the salmon and cooked each piece of individually, in my handy microwave egg cooker, for 55 seconds.  Alternatively, I'm sure you could do it all on a plate covered with plastic wrap but I've got no idea how long it would take to cook.  Helpful.

Salmon in the microwave egg cooker

6. Let the salmon rest for a couple minutes, flake with a fork and add to the quinoa mixture.  Maybe add chopped, toasted walnuts if you've got them.  Add a little crunch, yes?

7. Serve it up and enjoy a fresh, healthful no oven meal that's not a sandwich.  Or Ben and Jerry's Phish Food frozen yogurt.  Not that that's happened.

View from my bedroom window.  So much nicer in the summer.  The end.

Grilled Caprese Chicken and Forty is anything but Sporty.

I just had a birthday.  A very big birthday.  The kind of birthday you don't really think is going to happen to you and then, blam-o, there it is.  There was much talking and planning for said birthday.  I made one thing clear: no parties.  Don't get me wrong; I love celebrating birthdays, just not my own.

So there was a party.  It was lovely.  The food was fantastic and the setting pretty.  I'm very thankful.  

The best gift I was given was from my in-laws: 3 days in Chicago by myself (Carter was working).  I had lunch with my dear friend J.  I went running by the lake on an incredibly shiny day.  I wandered aimlessly and shopped my way up and down Michigan Avenue. It was heaven.  

In fact, it was so idyllic that I began imagining life had we stayed in Chicago.  I pictured frequent trips to the Art Institute and the concerts in Millennium Park.  I imagined taking the boys to a ton of different restaurants and appreciating all the cultures that co-mingle in a big city.  Pretty, pretty picture. 

And then a (I'm guessing here) homeless and drunk man called me a whore.  I was all, "Ahhh, this blouse is Tory Burch.  So no.  No I'm not."  He didn't get the reference, but the women behind me sure did.  Sisterhood against the traveling men with no pants. 

Picture of downtown from Diversey.  Yes, I was taking pictures because I needed a break from running.  But still, incredible day.  

I had a string of days in Chicago that made me almost forget the times when it's not so nice.  For example, the time I exited the train at Chicago Ave. and a frosting-heavy Dunkin' Donuts bag hit me with such gale force winds that I had to take off my mittens to pry it away from my trouser leg.

Or the time that I cashed in a very nice gift certificate I was given to get massages for both Carter and myself at a very swank spa.  It was raining sideways.  Umbrellas were nothing but a cute accessory; they served no purpose.  Taxis were, of course, non-existent.  I arrived soaking wet with some kind of otherworldly alien hair.  It was cute.

But this trip was fantastic.  A great summer kick-off.  My little friends had fun.

And then they got their work-out.

When we returned home we were excited for summer.  And excited for this meal:

Grilled Chicken Caprese (for 4)

4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts, pounded to an even thickness
4 slices fresh mozzarella cheese

1 tbsp. olive oil
1 medium red onion, roughly chopped
1 tsp. sugar
3/4 - 1 lb tomatoes, roughly chopped (I used grape tomatoes and cut them in half)
1/3 C. white wine
1/2 tsp. salt
2 tbsp. balsamic vinegar

Start with the tomato sauce.  Heat olive oil in a saucepan over medium-high heat.  Add onion and sugar and stir consistently, about 5 minutes.

Add tomatoes and turn heat to medium-low.  Stir consistently and add a splash of wine when liquids dry up.  Be careful not to burn (note to self right there).  Stir, adding wine when necessary, for 10-15 minutes, until everything is nice and mushy.  Add salt and balsamic.  Cook a few minutes longer.  If you want a smoother sauce, blend with an immersion blender.  If you're cool with the chunks, don't.  Cooks choice.

Onion and tomatoes, beginning to cook down.

Cooked and added balsamic.

Blended.  It was a Saturday night.  I had time.  I blended.  

Grill the chicken breasts.  Let's not reinvent the wheel here, everyone knows how to grill chicken breasts.  After you flip them, wait a minute and add a slice of mozzarella.  Cook it like a cheeseburger.  As an aside H. used to adorably call cheeseburgers "cheese-ham-a-burgers."  It's my blog. I get to do that.   

Pull that cheesy chicken off the grill, top with a scoop of the tomato-balsamic sauce and some fresh chopped basil.  Serve with some grilled vegetables.  Whatever you have.  Vegetables are always better grilled.  

 Plated with grilled zucchini, pepper and onions 

(the dregs of the vegetable drawer if I were to be honest).

Summer on a plate.

In other news I gave the boys their dinner tonight and H. looked at his plate, looked at me with a raised eyebrow and asked, "Mom, did you try your best on this dinner?"  Yep.  That happened.  I took a deep breath, looked at him and said, "Your sitter will be here at nine in the morning."  The end.  

Asparagus Pasta and She is Good at Rainbows

Last year I had the boys write a thank-you letter to their teacher at the end of the year.  H's was very nice. D's was not.

Now, this was an early 5's Kindergarten class.  He's no Doogie Howser, M.D.  I had to help him spell every damn word.

Speaking of Doogie Howser, M.D., because I speak of him often (?), there's a kid who did it right.  No Corey Feldman there.  What's his name?  Neil Patrick Harris?  He went from child star to Broadway to an ABC hit and back to Broadway as the host of the Tony Awards.  And he's a father of twins.  Listen, I give any parent of twins props.  It's no joke.

Anyway, this year I figured they had learned enough to do it on their own. Or not.  Here is H's:

So H's teacher has been amazing.  We love her.  She just 'gets' H and inspires him and reigns him in at once.  So his letter, which is translated as: "You are good at rainbows" cracked me up.   She has been a constant cheerleader and motivator in his life for the past nine months and that's his takeaway?  Oh no he dinnn't.  But, do you know what?  She does make killer rainbows.  And if that's what most impresses him at this point, we're okay.

We're also okay with asparagus pasta, which I've been making since I first read the recipe in Gourmet magazine in the years before email and cellphones.  I still miss Gourmet magazine, although I love that its last Editor-in-Chief, Ruth Reichl, is on Twitter and tweets fabulous missives every morning that make me wish I were her.  Example:  "Late spring.  Damp green grass beneath my feet.  A flock of tiny yellow birds.  Local strawberries, so sweet, drenched in thick Jersey cream."  Come on.  I'm going to practice doing mornings like Ruth Reichl. Right now my tweet would read:  "Leftover coffee.  F'ing Mourning Doves.  Cheerios."  Doesn't quite have the same ring.

But back to the pasta.  It's good.  Unique in that the stems of the asparagus are blended to make the sauce.  I've been making it for 10+ years and it's a go-to dish each spring.  Unfortunately I've been making it so long that there's no longer a recipe and I've long ago lost my torn page from Gourmet, so here's going back to the drawing board:

Asparagus Pasta

1 large bunch asparagus, tips and stems divided
1 lemon, zested and juiced
1 lb dried pasta, such as penne or farfalle.
2-4 tablespoons olive oil
1/3 cup grated Parmesan
Salt and pepper, to taste

1.  Heat a stockpot of water to boiling.  Add a drainer insert if you have one.

2. Rinse asparagus well and chop and discard the tough 1 inch off the bottoms of the stalks.  Then chop the tips and the next 3/4 inch off the stalks and add to the stockpot.  Boil the top bits for one minute and then drain and reserve in a bowl.

3. Chop the remainder of the asparagus into approx. 1" pieces.  Add to boiling water and let it go longer than you would think.  Like 7-8 minutes at a rapid boil.  Turn that business to mush.  Remove asparagus and drain.

4. Add pasta to pot for recommended cooking time.  Deliver the removed asparagus to a blender with about 1/4 cup of the pasta water, the zest and juice of a lemon, and 2-4 tablespoons olive oil. Blend it up.

5.  Drain the pasta.  Return it to the stockpot on low and add the contents of the blender along with a good 1/3 cup of grated Parmesan. Add reserved aspargus tips. Stir to combine and serve with extra grated parmesan.

 Lemony lemoness.

 Blended sauce, pre-pasta.  Gorgeous spring color. 

Finished dish.

I like this dish because it makes a lot out of a little.  It's very simple and I feel a very Italian dish.  And it is gooooood.  

What is also good is calling any offshoot of the University of Michigan Hospital.  You will get a recording that says, "You've reached such and such, if this is an emergency, hang up and dial 911."  I always laugh and think, really? if my kid were choking would my first call be to my pediatrician? Who would do that?   I think the recording would be so much funnier by adding one simple word: fool.  "You've reached the Ann Arbor West Clinic of the University of Michigan Hospital.  If this is an emergency, hang up and dial 911, FOOL."  

The end.  And I am also good at rainbows.  

Roasted Potato, Corn and Tomato Salad, a.k.a. Leah Fantasia Supreme

One summer in high school I worked at a little sandwich shop.  It was owned by a vaguely shady Portuguese man and, looking back, was probably some kind of shell operation or front for illegal goings-on.  Part of why I think that is because he gave me, as a 16 or 17 year old kid, an inordinate amount of responsibility. And also he didn't seem to care in the least whether or not the shop turned a profit, which now seems strange. I had keys to the place and often opened or closed by myself.  He let me name the sandwiches and even make new ones to put on the menu.  The shop was down the street from a restaurant called the Canadian Honker so I made a sandwich and called it the American Bonker.  Oh the joy it gave me to share a knowing nod when someone got the joke. And what a joke it was! Hilarious knee-slapper, I know.

You know how sometimes you're so familiar with something that you don't realize it's weird?  For example, growing up my family always had tacos with french fries. Not until adulthood when I was telling someone how my mom made the best homemade fries and we had them every taco night did I realize it was strange.  It helped that my friend let me know in no uncertain terms that serving french fries with tacos was bat-shit crazy. It wasn't until I wrote about the American Bonker that I realized what a thoroughly horrid name Canadian Honker is for a restaurant.  Awful.  Even if there were a lot of Canadian geese in town, come on.

There was a hair salon in Chicago called Blood, Sweat and Shears which might surpass Canadian Honker in the Hall of Bad Business Names, but not by much.  Note to those naming a business: don't include the words blood, sweat or honker.  Now, I'm no M.B.A. but I'm guessing there's a course covering that little kernel of truth.  However, the Hairport, if located anywhere near an airport, is a totally acceptable name for a salon.

Anyway, I was drinking an Arnie Palmer (the finest of summertime drinks) one day when the owner came in and asked what I was drinking.  I told him it was iced tea and lemonade and offered a taste.  He was a fan and asked what it was called.  Because I was 16 or 17 I told him it was called the Leah Fantasia Supreme.  He had me put it on the menu.  Customers would say, "Isn't that just an Arnold Palmer?" and I would reply "not here."

So last week I was making beef kabobs with yogurt herb sauce and needed a side dish.  I roasted some potatoes and tomatoes, cut some corn off the cob and tossed it with a bunch of basil and a super light and lemony vinaigrette.  It turned out pretty good.  A keepah as they would say in Rhode Island. Carter's dad was over and asked what the dish was called.  Roasted potato, corn, tomato and basil salad was a bit mundane so I reincarnated the Leah Fantasia Supreme.  My stories are rich in meaning.

Potatoes (that remained after I snacked) and corn.

Done.

Roasted Potato, Corn and Tomato Salad (for six)

3 ears of corn, cooked and cut off the cob
1 lb. chopped (about 3/4") red potatoes
1 pint cherry tomatoes
1/2 cup basil leaves, chopped

3 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons cider vinegar
2 tablespoons lemon juice
salt and pepper

Coat a sheet pan with a little olive oil and roast the tomatoes in a 250-degree oven for 2-3 hours.  Yes it's a long time, but they are so much better when cooked slowly.  And lowly.

Put roasted tomatoes in a bowl and use the same sheet pan, coated anew with oil if needed, and add the potatoes.  Increase oven temperature to 350 and roast tomatoes until crisp and browned, about 30-40 minutes.

Combine oil, vinegar, lemon juice and salt and pepper.  Place roasted potatoes and corn in a serving bowl, add basil and vinaigrette, stir to combine.  Add tomatoes last because they're fragile little creatures (just like me) and gently incorporate.

I'll be making this salad all summer.  Which officially begins for us at noon on Friday.  GACK.  No, it will be fun...it will be fun...it will be fun...

 

I have yet to kill my gardenia topiaries.  Calling CNN right now.  The end.