Comfort Foods and Indulgences

Whenever I'm in Hayes Valley around lunchtime, I'm always tempted to stop by Arlequin for a toasted cheddar, pear and bacon sandwich. The bread is crispy and crunchy, the cheese oozes and the sweetness of the pear is offset by the smoky saltiness of the bacon. Taking that sandwich as inspiration I decided to add mustard to my version. I was sure the warm spices including cinnamon, clove and cayenne in the mustard would really be delicious with the pear but I didn't want the intensity of bacon for this sandwich. After experimenting a bit, the combination I settled on was smoked turkey, white cheddar and pear. Smoked turkey is a good sandwich choice, it adds some heft and lean protein, and is healthier than ham or bacon.

One trick to getting this sandwich is right is to layer the ingredients just so. Start with a mustard slathered slice of bread and top it with cheese. The cheese and the mustard will kind of melt together. Put the smoked turkey in the middle and on the top put the pear. By grilling or toasting the sandwich on both sides in a pan you get a warmed through pear and gooey cheese that holds the turkey firmly in the middle. Make sure the cheese has melted before taking it off the heat. The last key is to let the sandwich sit for a few minutes before slicing, if you can!

Every time I step into a meat market, I think of my mom. I can’t count the times I impatiently waited as she stood in front of the clear glass that separated her from rows of raw meat. As the butcher stood on the other side of the meat case waiting for her order, she examined the ground beef and the red, marbled roasts.

She carefully inspected the pork chops and the loins. The beef she would eventually purchase must have just the right amount of marbling running through. The pork must have enough fat to give it flavor and keep it moist as it cooked.

Somehow, my antsy behavior in all of those meat markets I frequented with my mother has made a complete turn-around over the years. I’ve become my mother. Meat markets and chocolate shops (she couldn’t pass up a Fanny Farmer store) are high on my list of places I love to visit.

Last week I had the opportunity to stop into Steve’s Meat Market in Ellendale, Minn. Owner, Donnavon Eaker, was busy helping a customer as I stepped into the smokehouse-scented store.

“Having steaks on the grill tonight?” the petite Eaker asked her customer as she added up the cost of the meat purchase. The happy customer shared her plans for that day’s meat purchase and walked out with a hefty bag of meat.

When my friend, Ann, discovered I was making raspberry brownies, she quickly sent me a recipe for one of her favorite raspberry-spiked brownies. They have a layer of creamy raspberry-flavored butter frosting sandwiched between moist chocolate brownies and a rich, fudge-like topping.

These brownies have an interesting history.

According to Ann, this recipe originally came from R. Marie Jones, a sister to John Carlson, both originally from Fargo.  John is no longer living, but the ice coliseum in north Fargo is named after him.  Marie, who was very instrumental in Trollwood and the presence of Altrusa’s concession stand there, passed away in July of 2006.

Apparently, many years ago the sweet and lovely Marie brought the Chambord brownies as a treat to a needlepoint class Ann was teaching. Since that sinfully delicious introduction, Chambord brownies have become a favorite of Ann and her husband, Pat.

Ann describes these brownies as “a melt-in-your-mouth indulgence.” She’s absolutely right!

My mom says I have expensive taste. You wouldn’t know it by the stores I go to, such as Marshall’s and Loehmann's. Yet, when it comes to eating, I like high quality foods and am more than willing to splurge.

That’s why I didn’t hesitate to buy saffron. Well, that’s not really true. I did hesitate. Not because of the price; because I have an uneasy relationship with saffron. It’s sort of like kissing someone, and the "wow" factor just isn’t there. You know, he’s a nice guy, but there aren’t any fireworks. So, you give him another try, and it’s great. Then the next time it's only so-so. You know what I mean? That’s been my experience with saffron. (Not with guys; Jeff has always been a great kisser).

I’m unequivocal when it comes to food – when I don't like something, I don't usually try it again. Which is why I’m surprised about my willingness to give saffron another chance. When I first tasted it in a great Indian restaurant, I found its floral overtones unpalatable. I thought I would be put off saffron forever after that. However, another delicious Indian restaurant redeemed saffron for me by serving it in a lovely rice and pea dish. Since then, I've had it in Spanish and Middle Eastern dishes and have begun cooking with it (to mixed results). Yet, the recipe I share today is a keeper. And coming from me, that is high praise.