Comfort Foods and Indulgences

We had overnight guests last weekend. Two couples arrived on Saturday afternoon about an hour before it got dark. The guys immediately strapped on their snowshoes and hit the trail. The “girls” stayed back, with the intention of preparing toppings for the pizzas the group would be making together for our evening meal.

It’s nice to have friends who are totally comfortable with a laid-back, casual interactive couple of hours of meal preparation. Last spring I was introduced to the recipe for homemade pizza crust in the April 2011 edition of Food & Wine magazine. The dough is great for beginners who haven’t had a lot of experience with yeast dough and who whimper at the thought of kneading dough. A stand mixer with a dough hook does all the work for you. Then, the dough raises for about 1 1/2 hours. The recipe yields 8 balls of dough that can be easily patted and rolled into 8-inch rounds. The thin pizza crusts can be topped with any of your favorite ingredients. I asked everyone to bring toppings of their choice. We wound up with a couple of mean taco pizzas. And, several “green” pizzas.

Did you know transporting leafy greens to your mouth on thin, crisp and hot pizza crust is a blissful experience? If you’ve been digging in your heels and resisting fresh leafy greens — spinach, arugula, kale, Swiss chard, collards — even though you know very well they are loaded with vitamins, minerals, antioxidants and flavonoids that nourish bodies and help maintain good health, I’m here to tell you they are not as bad as you think. Especially when they are piled onto pizza just out of the oven.

This is the breakfast I’d eat every day if I could. Oh chilaquiles, how much do I love you?

Apparently quite a bit, as I’ve been on the Chilaquiles Train ever since getting back from Mexico earlier this month. While I’ve always enjoyed them, I’ve renewed my love by eating them a few times a week already and I suppose I’m making up for lost time.

While I won’t go into the variety of regional differences, chilaquiles are basically stale corn tortillas cooked in a sauce and topped with ingredients as a way to use up any leftovers or stale chips. It’s a concept I love even if I can’t quite understand the thought of having left over chips, let alone stale. Aren’t they always eaten until they’re gone? Maybe that’s just me.

Chilaquiles are miraculously adaptable; you can use almost anything you have on hand. I love recipes that are difficult to mess up and these fit the bill. They’ll forgive you if you add too much sauce, they’ll still taste great if you use too much cheese. I’m guilty on both accounts.

People are surprised when they discover I don’t care for mushrooms. I’ve had difficulty getting enthusiastic about the earthy-flavored fungus from the forest. I haven’t developed an appreciation for their texture that feels like rubber bands in my mouth.

My repugnance toward mushrooms took a surprising turn last Friday evening when I had my first taste of freshly foraged chanterelles.

I was in Duluth for a weekend of touring urban vegetable gardens and dining on remarkable food with friends, all of us members of the Minneapolis-St. Paul chapter of Les Dames d’Escoffier International (LDEI). Les Dames, as members affectionately refer to the organization, is a world wide philanthropic society of professional women leaders in the fields of food, fine beverage and hospitality.

I was staying at the home of Beatrice and Dick Ojakangas, tucked into a wooded acreage in the countryside several miles outside the city of Duluth.

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.