Comfort Foods and Indulgences

With our 12th wedding anniversary right around the corner, I thought I’d look up 12th year wedding gifts. The traditional gifts are silks and linens. Who came up with those? Does that mean I should expect a linen table cloth? Should Jeff expect silk pajamas? I think not.

In fact, after 12 years together, I want to give Jeff something memorable, something unique. So, I was thinking a potato. Not any potato. (What kind of wife do you think I am?) A jacket potato, as they call it in England, or as we Yanks call it, a stuffed potato. Now, before you consider me the most un-romantic person you’ve ever met, read on.

 Our honeymoon had an inauspicious start. Our scheduled non-stop flight from Boston to London was cancelled due to thunderstorms, and consequently our luggage was “misplaced” (the Brits’ genteel word for “lost”). In part due to a choppy ride and part due to just-married-bliss, we did not sleep on the flight over and landed in London late and red-eyed.

When we arrived, we discovered that our inn was just as we anticipated: a Victorian brownstone on a tree lined, thoroughly British street. There was even a consummate Brit, heels clicking on the pavement, with his walking stick swinging in one hand and the Sunday Times in the other.

The woman at the inn greeted us warmly then asked for our name. After Jeff told her, she looked at him, then at me, then back at him and back to me. She said, “Uncanny how much you two look alike. Are you brother and sister?”

Tortellini has been a part of our family’s Christmas day repast since our kids were … well, since they were kids. We used to make tortellini in brodo, a Northern Italian Christmas tradition. I would make a chicken, beef-bone and vegetable broth on Christmas Eve and then on the day we’d all pitch in to make sheets of fresh pasta and a meaty, cheesy, herby filling out of which we’d fashion hundreds of little belly-button-shaped beauties to float in the rich steaming broth. At the table we’d grate Parmigiano over the top and count our holiday blessings.

One year instead of broth I served the tortellini in a bolognese sauce and it was such a hit we haven’t been back to broth since. I use Marcella Hazan’s classic recipe for the meat sauce and I follow it to the letter because it’s quite perfect. Well, in truth, I add a bit more onion than she calls for. I’m a whore for onions. I tripled the recipe this year because I knew once I tasted it I would want to have more in the fridge for later. This is where the trouble started.

There’s something supremely satisfying about Marcella’s bolognese. Bubbling a cup or two of milk through the meat before adding the tomatoes creams up the sauce and sweetens it. And the five-hour simmer patiently breaks down the components and gives them time to take advantage of each other. It’s a meat sauce to dream about and this year’s version was no exception. The kids and I scarfed down our beefily-sauced tortellini while Jill tucked into her lentils with vegan gusto. Ah, chacon à son goût.

With its classic Provençal flavors, this dish puts you in the heart of Provençe. Featuring herbes de Provençe, one of my favorite herb combinations, it's one of the easiest ways to bring the flavors of southern France into your kitchen. The Provençal herbs consist of a mixture of savory, fennel, basil, thyme, and lavender. Provençal dishes are known for their earthy, rich flavors beginning with quality olive oil and fresh ingredients. Extra-virgin olive oil is perfect for this recipe for its fruity flavor, reminiscent of the sweet air of the Mediterranean coast. And fennel, the classic Provencal vegetable, lends its sweet aroma and licorice taste to brighten the dish.

If there ever was an easy one-pot meal, this recipe is it. It's as simple as spatchcocking a Cornish hen, marinating it in lemon juice and herbs, and then roasting it on a bed of garlic, onion, fennel, and red bell pepper. The spatchcocking technique is basically removing the back bone, breaking and removing the breast bone, cutting off the wing tips, and laying the bird flat. This method makes for all around browned skin and faster cooking time. As the hen roasts, the vegetables underneath soften, mellow, and meld with its drippings while the meat reaches succulent tenderness. This recipe can also be made with additional Cornish hens or chicken.

Sometimes I think I should just throw caution to the wind and write a book called “The Blue Cheese Diet: Eating Your Way To Happiness Through Gorgonzola And Roquefort”. I’d take all the photos, test each recipe personally, get it published, then do the TV show talk circuit, answering questions like “How did you come to invent the Blue Cheese Diet?” and “Now correct me if I’m wrong, but you went from 186 lbs to well over 350 lbs over the last 15 months, right?” The audience would snicker and laugh and point, I’d wipe the sweat from my face, and then they’d wheel me out on some gurney and my cookbook would be on the clearance rack at some B. Dalton close out sale a few months later, or worse, a bogo.

On second thought, I think I’ll stick with the day job.

But seriously, if I knew I could live on blue cheese I’d probably do it. I always seem to crave the full flavors of blue and when the craving starts no amount of cheddar or aged anything will suffice. I realize eating so much blue cheese is the taste equivalent to listening to my iPod at full blast, but that’s not to say I don’t appreciate the subtle flavors of shyer cheeses – I most certainly do!