Comfort Foods and Indulgences

In the past I would make lots of mini quiches and freeze them for snack time or unexpected guests. These little baked egg cups have replaced those cute little quiches, no crust needed, thus no gluten. I prefer them purely vegetarian. Using up veggies from the previous nights meal (roasted asparagus, potatoes, broccoli, sauteed spinach, etc.) is right in line with my “no waste” philosophy. These are just another way to “re-purpose” staples and ingredients I already have on hand.

Generally, I like my eggs served with homemade salsa or onion marmalade on the side. Not only does it add so much more flavor, but it brings a bit of color to the plate. And think about the possibilities for your next brunch. Make these in advance, in a variety of flavor combos, leaving more room for Bloody Mary’s and conversation.

My favorite combo, so far, is this one or one made with blanced asparagus, goat cheese, and leeks. Make a double recipe. Keep them in the fridge for up to four days…that is, if they last that long.

A few days ago, it was a rare day in SoCal…it rained. Being the proud homebody that I am, I adore a rainy day. The heat is on at a comfortable temp, a warm cup of tea sits comfortably on my desk (all day), and my ugg slippers are the shoe of choice.

Eli woke up that morning with a “bit” of the sniffles (I knew he was faking, but we are all entitled a day off now and again). The one condition; he was to stay out of my hair. I had some work to catch up on for a few clients and I was really looking forward to a day to cross some stuff off of my to-do list.

At 10:30 a.m. Eli started asking what was for lunch. I ignored him as much as I could, but then I realized that it is rare that I have a lunch partner. Lunch was going to be a joint effort, something that we could do together. With some turkey sausage in the fridge, washed leeks, a brick of feta, and some left over challah, I knew exactly what I was going to make; the ultimate comfort food – a Savory Bread Pudding.

I love this cake. I think of it as a dessert for a minor event, like when a couple of girlfriends come over for dinner or I’m celebrating an insignificant birthday, say, turning forty-three. (Okay, fine, so that happened a while ago.)

This recipe is easy and vey forgiving. I am a crabby cook, which is to say that after preparing a couple of courses I am often in a high state of irritability when faced with creating a third, as in dessert.

Once, when making this cake in a fit of impatience, I threw all the wet ingredients in a food processor, even the milk, which actually requires a more gentle, gradual entry. After I hurled in the flour mixture, the batter looked like something you use to make sidewalks but it all turned out beautifully.

I made this one with plums (which I bought way too many of at the Farmer’s Market) but you can use other fruit—peaches, pears, whatever. And if you have any patience left (I didn’t), make some whipped cream to go with it.

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.