Say Cheese! Inspiration from Wisconsin's dairy country...

"It's gonna be a long, hot summer, we should be together with your feet up on the dashboard now..."  On the one hand it seems like just yesterday when Keith Urban crooned those very words, to me and me alone of course, as I sat in the balmy Wisconsin night, a frosty adult beverage in one hand and, naturally, cheese curds in the other (when in Rome, they say). But when I really think about it, we are officially into autumn and that perfect June night was a solid three months ago.  A long, hot three months ago - the man delivered on his promise. Never one to lament the end of summer, I'm not complaining about the impending change in seasons.  In fact, I'm quite pleased with the already cooler days and downright chilly evenings, but it does have me wondering where my summer went and what, at least culinarily, do I have to show for it?!

I may have neglected my blog this summer, and my kitchen in general for that matter.  May have neglected my grill. May have neglected feeding my boy homemade yumminess on the regular and maybe, just maybe, may have neglected eating as healthily as I would have liked. But I did make homemade cheese.  Call it inspiration from my trip to Wisconsin. Call it dairy addiction. Call it fan-freakin-tastic! Because, I will tell you, if I did one thing right this summer it was this cheese.   If you've been following along on my culinary journey, you already know that I have a bit of a cheese problem.  I mean, I'm the girl who waxed poetic about the virtues of baked ricotta with chocolate chips for a full paragraph.  I'm the girl who has never met a cheese she didn't like.  And just to prove it, I'm also the girl who has spent no less than an hour sampling an abundance of cheese at the Fairway cheese counter (yes, they'll let you taste the cheeses and seem happy to do so, even if you want to taste ALL of them!!!).  So for this love story to progress organically, the next logical step is for me to remove the middle man from me and my cheese.  Which is exactly what I did.

It began innocently enough when I returned from my Wisconsin trip with six pounds of cheese curds in tow (cheese problem).  Granted, a pound or two were to be gifted, but the remaining cheese was for us.  To say that it didn't last long would be a grave understatement.  I can say with relative conviction that our cheese was gone within the week (cheese problem).  Which led Doug and I to perform an Internet search to purchase cheese curds and have them shipped to us (cheese problem).  Exorbitant shipping costs, however, prevented us from completing our purchase but left us fiending for some cheese sooooooo....off to Fairway we went. In search of squeaky, delicious cheese curds.  Which they did not have.  What they did have was fresh mozzarella curd and inspiration struck.

Stuffed Cabbage and Rain Storms

I know I've said it before, but what is with the rain this year?! I can't help but think of the nursery rhyme I grew up singing.  Rain rain go away, come again another day? Maybe not. Rain rain go to Spain, never show your face again? That's more like it!  


I spent a good part of the summer looking for the silver lining to all the rain.  All I came up with was that it must have made home gardeners quite happy.  I can't be sure, though, because I have a green black thumb.  It's all I can do to keep my potted basil plant alive but my father fancies himself quite the gardener and I'm inclined to agree.  So maybe all the rain this year was good for dad's garden because he procured quite a bounty: a plethora of peppers, 2 types of eggplant, green, yellow and butternut squashes, never ending tomatoes, broccoli, herbs, cabbage and I think I saw the beginnings of a few small pumpkins! On a trip home in late August, I made sure to plunder the family farmer's market of some precious booty! In all honesty, it wasn't so much a plundering as a Hurricane Irene induced hand-out.  Fear of the impending hurricane had left dad scrambling to harvest as much of his garden as humanly possible and I (along with the rest of his neighborhood) reaped the benefits! 

A River Runs Through It

I have finally discovered the poached egg.  Don't ask me how I'd gone 35 years without eating one - I can barely fathom it myself, but up until recently nothing was more disgusting (and terrifying) than eating runny yolk.  Eggs were to be scrambled (dry), deviled (my now second favorite way to eat them), made into an omelet (the more cheese the better) or as an addition to a recipe but never ever ever were they to be wet and runny.  The mere thought gave me chills.

But, how can one profess to be a foodie (foodista?) and food blogger whilst being scared of a little egg? Preposterous! I admit, over the past year or so, I've been tempted.  I mean, the Crab Cake Eggs Benedict my girlfriend ordered for brunch in DC last summer almost swayed me and if we hadn't drank so much fun the night before, I may have caved. It was coming, it was...inevitable; and my world was changed forever on Sunday July 10, 2011 at roughly 11am at Shea's Cafe in Absecon, NJ.  Their Eggs Benedict shamelessly took my poached egg virginity with reckless abandon (or maybe that was just the way I devoured my brunch) and left me wanting more! Since then, I can't get enough of that drippy, velvety, buttery yolk. I want everything I eat to be slathered in nature's gravy. Poached eggs on buttered toast has become my new weekend go-to breakfast - and for those of you who've never poached an egg before; don't believe the hype it is NOT difficult! I've been poaching eggs like a fiend over the past month and putting them on everything from toast to salads to creamed spinach; which has to be, hands down, the most comforting dish there is! Maybe it's because it's so new to me but this dish is more comforting than mashed potatoes, more comforting than macaroni and cheese, more comforting than dessert - ok maybe not, I've got to draw the line somewhere! But you get my point - this is divine!

Beef Stroganoff and Daddy Issues

Living an hour away from my family and friends can sometimes be harrowing.  Doug works long and erratic hours. I don't work at all.  So, I spend a lot of time alone, or with the dogs.  If I lived back in NY, I'd be surrounded by a bevy of family and friends.  Instead, simple girlfriend get-togethers require much more planning than ever before - partly due to evolving lives and growing families, still I can't help but believe the added distance is a factor.  Family dinners are reduced to mostly holidays and special occasions. For the most part, I'm not complaining.  Even with it's occasional pitfalls and difficulties, I love my life.  I have a wonderful supportive man who allows me just enough wallowing before lighting a motivational fire under my tush, the time we spend together is filled with love and laughter and when I do get to see my family and friends, it's usually somewhat of a grand event.  

There is just one thing that's been eating at me.  It's been eating at my father too, but not in the way he'd prefer.  It's something he mentions with every new blog post and the physical distance between us is, without a doubt, the culprit. A staunch supporter of my blog, as is the rest of my family, dad loves reading my prose but simply reading the recipes just isn't cutting it.  Culinarily challenged, he is a bit gun shy about attempting my recipes but exhibits no hesitation in reminding me (with great regularity) that "dear old dad" has yet to sample my dishes.  

However, last December, Doug and I had the pleasure of hosting my parents for a simple dinner.  It was a lovely evening and this dish was the star - at least for us carnivores (mom, being pescevegetarian, feasted on a huge salad and some noodles (next time they come for dinner, though, I'm making this)).  Dad raved about dinner then, and can now say that he's tasted (at least one of) my recipes.  So, dad, this one's for you!  

Toaster Oven Chicken Tenders & Cheesy Mashed Potatoes

Sometimes you just need comfort food.  Today was one of those days.  Actually, many days lately have been one of those days. I've been really needing to cloak myself in a big, enveloping comfort food hug.

You see, I lost my job last year.  A job I loved, working for a company I believed in, where I was successful and well respected. You know, a rarity!  I'd only been with the company for a few short months but had already been promoted, was an integral member of the CEO's management team and had forged some really great friendships.  I was, dare I say it, happy.  Wait...what?  She's happy? Cue disaster. Get misery and depression on the phone, we need them on stand-by. And so, on that balmy Monday afternoon in mid-July, when disaster apparently had nothing better to do, it all came tumbling down.  

I suppose, if you're the kind of person who believes in signs, you may have seen this coming.  What began as a sunny morning commute foretold what was to come when no sooner did I set foot out of the car in the office parking lot than the sky took on an ominous shade of gray.  Every trace of blue vanished and clouds rolled in as I walked into the building, down the hall and towards my office. Plunging the key into the lock on my office door, I turned the handle in synchronicity with the first thunderclap.  The skies opened up and rain pelted my office window, hard.  I gazed outside as my computer booted up, too distracted by the cacophony of the storm to notice the prescient text message that had arrived from my closest work friend.  "Whatever happens today, I love you Jour and am glad you are a part of my life.". Concerned, I frantically dialed Jessica's number. Voicemail, damn.  

Moments later she came sweeping into my office with breaking news, a look of despair on her face.  The CEO's daughter, she had information about events that had transpired over the weekend, and behind closed doors, with teary eyes, we talked about the impending death of our beloved corporation.  Long story short, we were forced into a chapter 7 bankruptcy by lenders and private equities firms who saw us as a write off.  The livelihood of close to 100 dedicated employees reduced to little more than black numbers on a white page.  The shades of gray lie in the bewildered glances exchanged.  In the line of former employees sitting on the curb, boxes holding months and years of their professionals lives next to them, wondering how to get home to loved ones who were hours, if not many states away, when our company cars were no longer company property.  In the farewell hugs and the abundance tears.  In the taxed looks on the faces of people who were, simply, a tax write off.

That evening was one of the hardest nights of my life.  I couldn't take phone calls from concerned friends and family because I couldn't stop crying long enough to talk.  I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep.   Hell, I could barely catch my breath. That was 9 months and countless emailed resumes ago.  In this time, I've gotten, if I'm being generous, maybe 10 responses.  Most emails get ignored leading me to believe that the digital age has done little more than give us yet another medium with which to be rude.  Phone calls go unanswered, messages unreturned and the couple of recruiters I've actually spoken with have been kind enough to make the decision for me that either a) the commute was too far or b) the pay was too low.  Head, wall,  I believe you 2 have met.  Bang, bang bang.

I had my first interview since being laid off last week.  If you ask me, if went really well; I'm perfectly qualified, they didn't blink at my salary requirements, the owner and I are both dog lovers (his Jack Russell even spends time in the office). Yet, here it is, a week later and...nothing.  Obviously, there are good days and bad and I know things will eventually change, but I'm just not feeling the love on the job front.  So, you know that feeling of love that comes from having a belly full of homemade comfort food?  The kind that takes you in, wraps you up and makes you feel like a happy, protected 5 year old?  That is what I needed (albeit with slightly fewer calories)!