November is the last month that Conde Nast will publish Gourmet
Magazine. The ending, its Thanksgiving issue, is bittersweet
and complex – how can we be thankful when we’re losing such a beloved
American icon, and, yet, Gourmet gets to go out with a bang, issuing
arguably its greatest and most-anticipated issue of the year.

Like so many other home and professional cooks, I’m
mourning the loss of Gourmet. The loss of those frissons of excitement
I felt when it appeared in my mailbox, loss of the relaxing moments I
would spend, lazily browsing for intriguing and innovative recipes,
loss of the recipes themselves, which did more to inspire me in the
few months that I was a subscriber than the ocean of cooking content
available in print, on the web, and on TV.

I’ve regaled you, dear reader, a few times with some of my more clumsy
and amusing kitchen mishaps, but, thanks to a small dinner party I
threw recently, I have a whole cadre of new tales to tell, which, if
all goes according to plan, will put any fearful hostess-wannabe at
ease about their ability to host lovely, entertaining dinners.

I’m going to Tarantino this tale and start at the end – plates licked
clean, full bellies, and lots of laughter – otherwise, a successful
evening. Now, let’s start at the beginning, and you’ll get a real feel
for what a disaster in the kitchen I am….

I signed up for a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) share this year with my friend, BCG, and let me tell you, I am absolutely in love.

We are only into our second week, but already the abundance and variety of herbs, vegetables, and fruits has me seeking out and trying recipes that surely would have sadly and indefinitely remained on my ‘to-do’ list if it weren’t for the half bushel of raw ingredients sitting in my fridge.

For those unacquainted, a CSA share is a share in a farm’s seasonal bounty, delivered to a pre-determined location each week with a half-to-one bushel worth of that week’s harvest. Each week’s share evolves with the growing season, starting with herbs, greens, and berries in the Spring, moving on to peaches, tomatoes, corn throughout the Summer, and pumpkins, apples, potatoes, and root vegetables in the Fall.

I was fully intending on writing about my latest obsession with my homemade version of Shandy, an uplifting and bright combination of beer and homemade lemonade, but my newly planted herb garden has me dizzy with excitement, and I couldn’t bear not to share.

My apartment is a sun-starved nook, tucked away between towering buildings. Unlike many of my neighbors, I don’t have a roof-deck, patio, or even a Juliette balcony to house my tender herb garden. Instead, I have precariously hung a wide planter off of my fire escape with a contraption from Home Depot that was clearly intended to be used on sturdier, suburban decking.

A few years back, I had made the foolish habit of buying lunch every day at work; a group of us had become close friends, and I felt worthy, neigh, entitled, to splurge on eating out in order to spend the quality time with friends and break up the work day. I estimate that in one year I spent ~$2000 ’splurging’ on going out for lunch, rather than brown-bagging it, which is just a little nauseating, given our current recession.

There seems to be some sort of distastefulness associated with brown-bagging-it, and I can’t quite put my finger on what it is – it’s part hassle, part belief that the food won’t taste as good, and part perceived image and social opportunity in a work setting. I understand the reluctance, as I felt it myself, but those qualms disappeared when I started making my own lunches and realized the following: I make a better sandwich, with fresher, more interesting ingredients for a third of the cost of the local cafe.

What foodie among us doesn’t love watching the Food Network? Who among us doesn’t salivate over the gastronomic creations and, even more so, the gleaming, decked-out kitchens, the ease with which the stars whip up their homey, yet inventive meals, and the stress-free environment in which they serve them to their guests.

I love watching the Food Network’s porcelain-perfect cooking, and, in particular, Everyday Italian with Giada DeLaurentis. She is perfectly made up, coiffed, and dressed, and her football-field-sized kitchen is immaculate and stylish. Not only that, but the woman features mascarpone, whipped cream, and crème fraiche in nearly every show, which makes me feel like we are culinary kindred spirits. Word, Giada, word.

What is it about human nature that makes us willfully engage in activities that we are certain will have disastrous outcomes? That extra martini? Probably not going to make getting home (or remembering your bag) any easier. That cute guy reeking of Axe Body Spray? Probably not going to call you back. That inky black Prada bag with butter-soft leather that you simply couldn’t leave, because it felt like a baby being snatched from a mother’s arms? Probably going to feel like a bulldozer landed on your head when you see your credit card bill.

For whatever reason, the complicated and mysterious workings of our minds make it such that we do things we know are wrong with willful ardor. Such was my situation baking a long-forgotten favorite treat, Sticky Cinnamon Twists, over the weekend.

For those that didn’t read it in the previous post, PT and I recently went to Spain for a little get-away. We each prepared for the vacation by scouting activities that we wanted to do – The Prado and olive oil tours for me, bull-fighting and Real Madrid game for him – we are nothing if not predictable.

There is a little town in northern Andalucia (the southern-most region of Spain) called Baena, and it is best known for producing tremendous olive oil. Driving out of Madrid and into Andalucia, we were struck by the enormity of the olive oil tree fields – hundreds of thousands of trees for miles and miles blanketed the landscape. We arrived in the sleepy little town of Baena (and I mean that quite literally, the town was taking its siesta), and immediately found the charming, yet slightly out-of-the-way Museum of Olive Oil.

If you’re like me, this sight will bring tears to your eyes.

Have you ever had the feeling that you had a super-power and then lost it? Maybe you were a superb orator, effortless distance runner, or spectacularly limber, and suddenly – WHAM! – with no warning, what once came naturally has you grimacing in effort and frustration.

I am not naturally athletic or gifted in the arts, but, though obscure, my super-power was immensely useful given my passion for cooking. It was the ability to chop onions endlessly and never shed a tear. Odd? Yes. But unusually impressive as a live show. I would be in the kitchen chopping 5 cups of onions with glee while friends were seated in the living room, coughing and rubbing their eyes from the sting. Nobody could understand how I could chop them with such mirth and no aid to reduce the burn.

Doubleboilers (both real and makeshift) enable you to melt chocolate to a perfect, luscious consistency.

The state of the economy is more than a little frightening these days, and most people are feeling a compulsion to behave with a modicum of prudence and a careful eye for value.

Given this environment, it seems odd that the product development teams at Williams-Sonoma, All-Clad, and the like are working double time to produce ever-more specific, and by nature, less useful kitchen utensils. On the WS homepage, a glaring image beckons me to their “More than 250 New Items for Winter.” I am hardly a model of restraint and do love to moon about in WS with lofty fantasies of ever-grander, cleaner, and better-stocked kitchens, but even I have to question the utility of a Classic Soda Siphon or a Crepe Pan Kit in these uncertain times.