Shut up and eat

Something is bound to go wrong in a test kitchen. An oven may not be exactly the right temperature, the milk might have gone bad or the eggs were just a tad old. You mistook the salt for the sugar, forgot the baking powder, used to too much baking powder, whatever. Some recipes may turn out to be a success, while others may meet an untimely end in the garbage can.

My fine misfortune this morning involved one tupperware-like container of lemon yogurt, the lid stuck on like it was childproof. I can't figure out the darn thing. Not only do these plastic containers lock in the freshness, they practically lock out the consumer. You have to carefully hold onto the bottom while prying off the lid, a note I had forgotten since I managed to let go of the entire container just as the lid began to give, sending the whole thing flying up into the air, hurtling yogurt everywhere.

Now it seems a little funny, but at the time I wasn't one bit amused.
Here was a key ingredient to the test recipe I was concocting stuck mostly to the walls and floor. About a half of a cup managed to stay in the container, so the recipe was adjusted to this amount and I'll have to report later if the idea I am playing with worked.

In the meantime, I have some mopping to do.

The clown car kitchen has been temporarily closed for repairs.
OK, this is completely false, but I'm practicing my fabrication skills...

In truth, the kitchen during the last twelve days has seen the likes of beer batter, fried chicken, carne picada burritos, cheater spanish rice, loaded german chocolate muffins, one "who died?" cake, biscuits, gravy, fried egg sandwiches, pasta with bacon, broccoli and vine ripe tomatoes, chicken soup and a soba noodle salad. And that's what I can remember.

How is that cookbook coming you ask? Where are the recipes? Patience, my friend, patience. It seems, these things can't be written in a day.

Go work on your appetite.

Like old cold oatmeal glued to the side of a bowl, I've had the notion of Twinkies lodged in my brain for weeks. Kind of like the way a song lyric gets inexplicably stuck in your head, the idea of the creamed filled sponge cake has been haunting me. The darn thing just won't go away.

This all started a few weeks ago when I heard Joe Kernen on CNBC's Morning Call mention deep fried Twinkies. Now mind you, this is an early morning stock market show and why he mentioned the fried snack cake, well I can't even remember. But a few days later I picked up the April issue of Saveur magazine and there on page twenty was a note about the anniversary of Twinkies. Couple this with a sale of Hostess products at the local Target - two boxes for five bucks and I knew I was headed for some sort of Twinkie trouble.

Last night I decided to celebrate Twinkies' 74th birthday by making a lot of desserts featuring what else? Thereby performing a sort of Twinkie exorcism (you know eat too much of anything and it will disappear from your diet for a long time). And because you shouldn't do this sort of thing alone I called a few friends to come join me. The idea of cooking with Twinkies sounded ridiculously silly and just plain fun, so my friend Maria agreed to come over. Julie would have stopped by as well, but other obligations prevented her - which was fine - since we are a little short on space...

We started with a variation of the Kitsch'n on Roscoe's recipe for Twinkie Tiramisu, then moved onto my own invention of Boston Cream Twinkies.
A near disaster with a chocolate sauce almost stalled the dessert production, but we dumped the failed sauce in the trash and quickly corrected the recipe. Next we created our own chocolate dipped Twinkies. If you're not up for dipping your own, treat yourself to Ruby et Violette's chocolate covered Twinkies. Our last Twinkie confection was a show stealing dessert: deep fried Twinkies served with Fosselman's cappuccino ice cream.



Sampling them all, hands down, the fried Twinkies with ice cream was astounding. A true heart attack waiting to happen and worth every mouthful. The Boston Cream Twinkies weren't bad either. And although it's a little involved in assembling, the Twinkie Tiramisu is a great dessert to play "Guess the Ingredients."

If you are ever in need of laugh or want a sure cure for the blues, I recommend having a Twinkie dessert party. The evening was humorous - it's hard to be serious around the word twinkie. And in a small kitchen it's hard not to laugh when you're bumping into things while asking, "Please pass the Twinkies."

But the question is, "Was I cured"?
There are three Twinkies in a box on the counter up for grabs...

Deep Fried Twinkies
Ingredients
4 Twinkies
2 - 12" wooden skewers
2 - 3 cups vegetable oil
1/4 cup flour

for batter
1 cup buttermilk
1 tablespoon oil
1 cup flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt

To make:
Freeze Twinkies for at least 4 hours.
Heat 2- 3 cups vegetable oil in deep fryer or pan with high sides to about 375 degrees. (Oil is hot when a piece of bread dropped in in the oil browns in 1 minute)
Whisk buttermilk and oil in a bowl and then add flour, baking powder and salt to this mixture. Blend well.
Place flour in plastic bag and coat each Twinkie lightly with flour.
Insert skewers into bottom side of one Twinkie to make a handle and dip cake into batter. Spoon batter over all sides of Twinkie to cover entire cake and then using skewer handles place Twinkie carefully in the oil. (note the skewer handles allow you to submerge the Twinkie in the oil, as they like to float) Use care when doing this and cook only one Twinkie at a time.
The outer coating should turn a golden brown in about 3 - 4 minutes.
Drain on a paper towel. Serve with your favorite ice cream.

this recipe is an adaptation of one found on the web
credited to Janet K. Keeler, Times food editor

It's Friday, it's still Lent and every good Catholic knows what that means.
Today meat sandwiches are out. You could do fish, but what if you're tired of tuna in your lunchbox?

Cheese sandwiches are always nice. Grilled cheese is nicer. But for standard lunchtime fare that travels I say peanut butter. Hold the jelly.

peanut butter sandwich
ingredients
2 slices of white bread
3 tablespoons of peanut butter [use more if you like]

Using a butter knife, a spoon or your fingers, spread the peanut butter on slice of bread, top with remaining slice of bread and cut sandwich into four pieces.
For variations on the theme, try sprinkling a little sugar on the peanut butter or spreading a thin layer of marshmallow cream on one of the slices of bread and then smash this into the peanut butter side.

Feel like you're five again? So what. It's good to stay young at heart.

Why no jelly?
I can't say for sure, but this goes way back to my childhood where I developed a hatred for mushy fruit, cooked fruit, canned fruit, syrupy fruit dessert and fruit in general.
In my world, serve the peanut butter pure.

Now that you've met my kitchen, welcome!
I thought an April Fool's Day celebration might be in order and I've been racking my brain all afternoon trying to come up with something to do.
Bake a cake? Do the dishes? Make airplanes out of sandwich paper?

Ah, a sandwich - sort of an edible ode to the fool who designed this kitchen.
He left space enough to make one...

Grilled Cheese with Roast Beef and Wasabi Mayonnaise
ingredients
2 tablespoons Wasabi mayonnaise
2 slices shepherd's bread
3 oz. thinly sliced roast beef
2 oz. Danish havarti cheese (sliced in 1/8" thickness)
3 - 4 slices tomato

to make wasabi mayo
ingredients
3/4 teaspoon wasabi paste [available premade in tubes or purchase the powder and follow the directions on package - I recommend you try, it's sort of like making play doh]
2 tablespoons mayonnaise

In a small dish, mix the paste and mayonnaise together until smooth and creamy.

making the sandwich
Heat a large skillet over medium heat, 1 minute.
Spread wasabi mayonnaise on one side of each slice bread, using aprox. 2/3 of mixture. Reserve remaining spread.
Place one slice bread, mayo side down in the skillet and cover bread with cheese, then tomato slices, and drizzle remaining mayo over these ingredients.
Add sliced roast beef and second slice of bread with the wasabi mayo side up. Cook for aprox 3-5 minutes, until side down is toasted and cheese has started to melt. Carefully turn sandwich over to toast other wasabi side and completely melt cheese - another 3-5 minutes. [Sometimes covering the pan for about a minute at this stage helps the cheese melt]
Place on plate, cut in half and serve.

serves one healthy appetite or two waist line watchers

Now wasn't that fun? And the wasabi gives the sandwich just a little kick.
Here's a secret - the powdered wasabi, and most of the tubed stuff you can buy at the store is really horseradish mixed with other ingredients. Apparently the real stuff is hard to come by. See for yourself. Do a search of wasabi and learn about the real deal.
In the meantime, think about how much fun it is to say "wasabi" - horseradish on the other hand sounds a little stuffy...

This kitchen was designed with a six foot five tall sandwich maker in mind.
The counter space, just enough to set condiments to the left of the sink, a small cutting board to the right. Equally stingy cabinets overhead open so that the edge of a door finds the front of this short person's forehead.

Neither spacious, nor logical - this room - that should be the heart of the house appears as an architectural afterthought. Did the occupants in 1939 not cook? Or have the years of modernization bastardized the space from a once efficient room into a place just to put a stove? It's hard to tell.

Yet I manage to feed myself and quite a few others out of this tiny space where preparing most meals requires the juggling skill of a circus
performer combined with the spatial reasoning of a closet organizer.
On occassion, I have packed more friends than a fire department would allow into the party of my kitchen. Food flying everywhere, plates piled precariously on the sandwich sized counter, glasses stacked on the stove, a make shift bar on top of the microwave. And no one is ever in a hurry to leave.

Accustomed now to the imaginery sign above the door that reads: "Capacity of 1" I can't fathom the possibility of cooking in a larger kitchen with miles of counter tops. I suspect I would be lost for awhile and might be tempted to grab a tv tray and set up shop in the walkin pantry. No, I'm used to this goofy little cooking space. It works for me and the sandwiches.