An Argentine Love Affair

Title caught your eye right! That’s the objective, and for the moment I will let you read into it what you will. For the past 17 odd years I’ve had an Argentine love affair, that is I fell in love with the country, the people, the food and of course the wine. I thought that since yesterday was the date we celebrate, World Malbec Day, today I’d write a blog story about my love for all things Argentina — along with a little history of the grape Malbec. Let’s start with Malbec and its path to Argentina. Like the US, Argentina is a country of immigrants, and in honesty, it was the immigrants who created and perfected the Argentine wine industry. As they came to the country in the late 1800’s they brought with them not only their know-how for viticulture, but also their vines.

Malbec was introduced into the country by Miguel Pouget, a French agronomist in 1868. Pouget was tasked by President Domingo Fausto Sarmiento to improve Argentine winemaking. Malbec World Day was created on the day Sarmiento, a visionary, made it his mission to transform the Argentine wine industry. Malbec in France is more traditionally synonymous with the Cahor region, where it is known as Cot, or the black grape of Cahor; and it is also found in Bordeaux. But in this writer’s opinion it found its home in Argentina, where it loves the sun, altitude and dry climate.

It’s now been about a month since I got back from my first trip in the 2 years since Covid shut the world down. And of course my first trip, like my last 2 years ago, was to my “second home” Argentina. I couldn’t wait to go! I have to admit, as a seasoned traveler, this time I was anxious with all the Covid testing and travel regulations. But once I got there, after about 24 hours of travel, I was so relieved. 4 airports, and 2 flights later I landed in Mendoza. The loudspeaker come on and the pilot says we need to wait a few moments until the storm passes. Ok I think to myself, storm, great we are sitting in a tin can on a runway waiting for a storm to pass, what kind of sense is that as I look out the window at the black sky. Finally we deplane and all looks normal at first until I get in the car with my friend and we start driving. A freak hail storm pounded, and I mean pounded the surrounding area. Now hail at this time of the year is normal, but usually in the higher elevations, and rarely in the city. As we started to drive, we saw golf ball sized hail all over the road, along with trees down and water cascading down the streets. Now remember Mendoza is a desert, maybe they get 7 inches of rain a year so this anomaly caused so much rain the streets actually flooded. Now one could say I brought the storm, but I rather think that I brought the sun when I landed. I finally made it to my favorite hotel, the Hyatt with my room overlooking the Andes and a giant AHHHH came over me!

As I said I’ve been going to Argentina for about 17 plus years, and have probably been there close to 40 times now. Each time I go I fall in love with country all over again and this time was no exception. I’ve been lucky to have made a close group of friends so each time I go I never feel like a visitor, it feels like home. I couldn’t wait to see my friends, see their vineyards, eat asado, visit my favorite ice-cream place, drink wine and relax with them before my work trip began. After 2 days in a hotel, I went to my bff’s house and stayed with him and his family. He and I have been friends for the entire time I’ve been going to Argentina. He and his family have become my second family. My room was ready and so was I. Off we went to what would be the first of probably 10 asados – Argentine barbeques. Good friends gathered for this feast of barbeque and wine, agronomists, winemakers we’ve all been friends since the start. This is why I’ve fallen in love with Argentina. We drank new wines, some old vintages and reminisced about when we first met and talked about where we are today. It was awesome!

More friends to visit the next day, more wine to drink and more food to eat. This time my friend proudly served me a wine he made — his special project and we just talked and talked for hours. When I got back to — let’s just call him G, G’s house we were ready to go shopping for Sunday’s traditional family asado. We stopped at the local farm stand to pick up gorgeous veggies to grill and then he took me to the local butcher to pick up the various cuts of meat that would be grilled all day long. We get back to the house and I meet his wife’s mom and sister. Small world we all say that but really it is a small world. As his mother-in-law and I talk, we realize that she grew up partially in NY but not only that, she went to a school 1 town away from my hometown. And on top of that his sister-in-law’s husband, who is an artist, was doing a sculpture at one of the vineyards I was going to the next week as part of my work trip.

Creating the goddess of the vines out of a tree

Asado is an art, a pleasure and a time to gather with family. The person in charge of the fire, is really proud to be doing the grilling. The fire is wood, and the grill can be as simple as a grate set above; however it’s the art of stoking the fire and the embers that makes an Argentine asado so special. Low and slow the meats, or veggies are grilled, no flames, just white hot embers. There’s no rush in the cooking, the food is ready when it is ready, in stages and that’s how you eat. While the food is cooking, you eat a picada, which most would call antipasti on a charcuterie board. Remember this is a country with immigrant traditions and having a picada is like being in Italy or Spain with loads of dried meats, olives and cheeses set out as an appetizer. The meat’s on the grill, the picada on the table, the wine is flowing and the card game begins . I’ve learned how to play card quickly, maybe like my Spanish, the card game gets easier as the wine gets poured. It was great being part of this Sunday family tradition with my Argentine family.

Playing Cards – Argentine Pendorcho and Truco

Finally the meats are ready and it’s time to dig in. Like any good meal it takes hours to prepare and minutes to finish. We devoured all and then got ready to play cards again. And just when you think you may have digested the barbeque and picada, out comes the sweets. But that’s not all there are sandwich de miga – which are like tea sandwiches, thin slices of white bread spread with butter and ham. How can a sandwich that’s so simple be so good, but more importantly how did I have room to even eat it? But I did and fell into a blissful food coma at some point.

Darkness fell and everyone was set to leave, we said our goodbyes, hugged and I fell even more in love with Argentina. My next week would be filled with more food, friends and wine — promise I will continue next with that portion of the trip. I know how lucky I am. I’m lucky that I get to travel for work. I’m even more lucky that I met and became friends with an amazing group of people because of work. They helped me fall in love with Argentina, a country of strong passionate people, amazing food, and amazing wine — my Argentine love affair.

Follow Your Passion

It’s hard to believe it’s been 17 years since you crossed over the rainbow. I’ve come to love this expression, it’s easier and sweeter than just saying “since you’ve been gone” or “since you passed away.” I’ve also been grappling with how to write about my dad and convey who he was and what he meant to me. I guess what strikes me most about him is that he was someone who never did things half way and almost always followed his passion. And most often his passions became obsessions that then turned into businesses. My dad was a fascinating, complicated, brilliant man, who had so many interests it was hard to keep up with them or him! And whether we — mom and I, liked it or not, we became part of these passionate pursuits of his.

He grew up on the Lower East Side of NYC, the oldest of 3 boys, first generation of a Polish immigrant family. My grandparents both came from tiny “shtetls” in Poland and settled in New York in the early part of the 20th Century. Dad learned to love music, art, jewelry and numismatics from his dad, a self-taught lover of the arts. Though grandma preferred that he work for the Post Office or some sort of Civil Servant job, dad’s passion for music drove him to become a musician and later a teacher. At least he became a teacher I’m sure that’s what grandma thought, because it was a good solid job. But why should he do anything that was considered traditional? Even his choice of instrument, the bassoon was unconventional! The first to go to college, he went on to go to the Manhattan School of Music and graduate and later go on to teach. But again why do anything that was conventional? Be a teacher, that’s good, get married that’s good, so how the heck did he take a detour and start dealing in Russian Numismatics? I never really understood that detour, but in between teaching gigs, he took a left turn and turned a coin passion he had into a new business. He told me stories of how he would go off to Germany and go to the auctions for coins. He’d start speaking Yiddish because he thought they’d understand him, — it was close to German he thought, only to get yelled at by the auctioneers! “Mr. Kowalsky German, not Yiddish please!”

Ok back to the world of music and teaching. Our little family moves from Brooklyn to Westchester because dad decides to go back to teaching and becomes the music director for a small school district in the village of Tuckahoe. His first love really was music. I can still remember him making his reeds for his bassoon. My favorite memory was sitting on his lap as he’d play Peter and the Wolf. Together we’d play this iconic bassoon piece, he’d hold the bassoon and do the notes while I tried to blow into the reed. He loved being a music teacher and many of his former students stay in touch with me which I really love! His passion for music translated over to me and I picked up the flute and tried my tiny hands at the piano. My talent for the flute never made it to the piano and eventually he let me quit — hands too small could barely reach an octave!

We were always a food loving family, but in the early 70’s when wine was still a mystery, dad once again found a new passion. He became obsessed with wine and did everything he could to learn about it, master it and eventually this passion, turned obsession, turned into more than a hobby and became a business. He was a pioneer in the early days of wine exploration. He and his “cronies” as he’d call them, were some of the most celebrated people in wine at the time, many going on to become legends in the business. Icons like Bill Deutsch, Don “Zachy” Zacharia, David Milligan, Lou Iacucci, Filipo (Phillip) DiBelardino, were all part of dad’s circle of wine friends. My parents were always entertaining and throwing grand wine dinner parties with guests from the wine world like Barry Bassin, Harry Waugh, Michael Broadbent and so many more. Dad went on to run a wine tasting chapter of Les Amis Du Vin in Westchester and I can still remember being recruited to help. I promise that I will write about Les Amis — as it was affectionately called, at some point, it’s too much for this blog.

But again passion turned obsession, turned into business and dad left the teaching world to go into wine full time. He followed his passion and became yet again a pioneer with 800 Spirits, the first nationwide gift giving service for the industry. Before there was a computer — yes kids at one time we had no computers only typewriters, dad pioneered a catalogue company that became a model for what is today on-line sales of wine and spirits. Mom was gifted a typewriter and I was enlisted to help with the catalogue as well, because, well dad never did things alone, we all had to be part. Again this deserves a whole chapter to itself!

Not one to stay put, he then went on to found the First International Wine Expo, was was sort of a precursor to VinExpo USA, but the industry was not really ready for this and he moved on to the next chapter of his life, which was art and antiques. I believe that if you love music, it’s only natural that you love art as well. Wine is a form of art and it’s no wonder that so many people in the industry are art collectors or music lovers. It’s all woven together — art, music, food, wine. At some point along the way dad’s passion for art — he wrote his thesis on the Hudson River School Painters, morphed into a passion, then obsession for a type of china called Flow Blue. Passion once again led to obsession and led to business. He became a prolific, many would say obsessive, collector, dealer and author of Flow Blue.

Our house had so much china in it I felt like I had to walk around in bubble wrap so I didn’t break anything. The poor UPS guy basically lived here because we shipped out so many boxes and got in so many boxes of china that I think we were his only stop some days. As always, dad’s businesses were a family affair and mom and I were packing central. We were enlisted, like the army, to pack up all he was selling; and unpack all he was buying. Ugh, to this day I hate the site of packing tape or that sound!

Food, wine, art, music, dad was a true, Renaissance Man, as mom always liked to call him. Even on his last night, when he was surrounded by his friends and family, we ate one of his favorite meals of bagels and lox — which of course he had to tell us all how to eat properly. A teacher to the end, that was dad. He wanted everyone to share in his passions and obsessions. He taught me how to follow my passions and for that I am forever thankful, and mindful, it is why I cook and am in the Wine and Spirits business today. So I will toast you today with a great glass of wine, maybe I’ll make one of your favorite foods, and serve it on a Flow Blue plate while I listen to Brahms your favorite composer.

Happy Holidays & Latke Love

The holidays can be a challenging time for those who have lost loved ones, especially family members. The scents and the sounds of the season can evoke powerful memories, as they are doing for me. Last evening I was watching the Kennedy Center Honors, which was one of my mom’s favorite things to watch at this time of the year, maybe even of all year. Music was always an integral part of my upbringing — dad was as you might remember a classically trained musician and teacher. As I sat listening to the music being played, it made me simultaneously smile and tear up. Mom loved opera and as I listened to Justino Diaz’s tribute it reminded me of 2 stories. The first was how my parents would go to the opera with another couple, my god-parents. While the ladies loved going, the men, including my dad, the classically trained bassoonist, never told them they hated going. Mom and Aunt Eileen would get all dressed up, go to the Met and enjoy, while the other 2 fell asleep. Dad would always say he was concentrating on the music with his eyes closed. Dad never mentioned he disliked going, he like I, preferred symphonic over choral or vocal, but he went because he knew mom loved it. The second story was when dad was a music teacher. One day he was in the band room and heard a deep voice singing in the hallway. He went to see who it was a noticed a young, very tall student singing and knew immediately that this kid had something. He fought with the basketball coach over this kid and dad won — he wasn’t going to let him get away from the potential he saw in him as a singer. Dad nurtured him and eventually groomed him to get into his alma mater, so that he could pursue a career in music. And he did, this young kid, this amazing voice, went on to become a celebrated basso profundo opera singer, singing all over the world and today heading up his own opera company. When dad died, this student paid him the ultimate tribute and sang his audition song at dad’s funeral; I can still see and hear it in my mind today. Music is a powerful evacateur of emotion and remembrance. Sounds like smells or any of our senses, when touched the right way, can bring us back to a place in time, I love that.

As for the scents of the season, for me there is only one. And that is the smell of fried onions with potatoes and that can only mean latkes! As my mother wrote on her recipe index card, “Latkes are the closest thing to heaven.”

With my grandmother, latkes or a giant latke which she called a potato kugel, were always on the table, no matter what time of the year. Dad and I would take the long ride up the elevator to her apartment and immediately be hit with the smell of frying onions in oil. The hallway, as we got of the elevator, was filled with the cooking smells coming from her little kitchen. Walk into her apartment and you’d be surrounded by the smell and walk out and well, you’d still smell like a latke. Dad always said she had stock in Planter’s Peanut Oil, because all you’d need to do is “tap the pan and they’d fly out with all the oil in that pan!” With both grandma and mom gone I now carry on the tradition of the latke. In fact this year I was honored when I posted mom’s recipe on my favorite recipe site the BBCGoodFood.com and they chose it to be featured in their holiday issue! They even asked to feature a picture of mom, oh how she would have been excited!

Missing homemade latkes and people to enjoy them with, I decided to have a latke party, which morphed into more, but the center piece, focal food was the humble latke. Of course I couldn’t make just one type so I made 2, potato and the other zucchini (which dad loved). With about 10 people coming over, I decided to make more than I needed, which is of course a central Kowalsky theme. I became a frying machine and with the help of my friend Michelle, who came over early, and decided to video me as a human fryolator. I pumped out 10 potatoes worth of latkes and about half as many of the zucchini kind.

The house smelled great with the scent of fried onions wafting through the house like Jewish perfume.

In addition to mom’s/grandma’s latke recipe I decided to make mom’s eggplant dip recipe handed down to her from an Israeli friend and in her words, “never fails to please.” Lucky for me I have a friend who is a fish monger and she brought the most luscious smoked salmon so we feasted on that with the latkes. One more friend who came is a cheese monger and she brought some lovely local cheeses, and another brought some yummy caviar and creme fraiche. I made applesauce, a quiche, mushroom noodle kugel, and even made rugelach (4 different kinds, yes I’m nuts!). As for the drink, bubbles were the theme! Nothing goes better with fried food than bubbles. We had Prosecco by Savino and a lovely brut and rose from Bouvet Ladubay as well as a few others. I know I went overboard with food, but most of it was gone or taken home by my guests and a good time was had by all.

Food, wine, music are powerful reminders for me of life’s events. I love eating, smelling, seeing or hearing something and have it bring me back to a place in time. And I love making new memories in the same way. So to all, enjoy your time with family and friends. Eat, drink, hear and watch together and make new memories. It’s still a crazy time for us all, uncertainty abounds so whether you are in person or virtual celebrating the holidays, I wish you all a happy and healthy one!

Daddy Daughter Days

This time of the year always reminds me of the wonderful times I had spent with my dad in the City during the holiday season. I always looked forward to those Daddy-Daughter days when he was mine for a day and we could wander the city, go shopping and of course eat. It was a tradition that he and I would hop on the train to Grand Central and spend the day shopping up and down Madison and Fifth Avenues. We’d start out on Fifth, and stroll up the Avenue mostly window shopping until we’d get to his favorite place in Rockefeller Center — Teuscher Chocolates. This magical chocolate shop, was filled with all kinds of chocolates flown in weekly from Switzerland and wrapped in the most elaborate boxes, one more fantastical than the next. My favorite were the champagne truffles, which made me feel so grown up and sophisticated — oooh, Champagne was inside so it must be the best. Dad would get his dark chocolate covered orange peel and we’d eat them all as we strolled up the avenue. There was another location conveniently located close to one of his favorite wine shops, the original location for Sherry Lehmann, which was on Madison Avenue. So we had options and bribes. I’d bribe him to go up 5th with me and he’d get chocolate; and he’d bribe me to walk into Sherry Lehmann while he spent hours and hours talking about wine — then I’d get chocolates — and clothes.

Patience is not a Kowalsky virtue, I come from a long line of people without patience, from Grandma to Grandpa and Dad, who was basically impatience personified. I’d wait and wait until he was done with his wine shopping. Now that I think back on it, maybe taking me to go clothing shopping and chocolate eating, was his way of getting into the city to check wine shops, talk to his buddies and make me wait endless hours. I don’t really remember how I entertained myself, growing ever more impatient, but I knew that clothing was the light at the end of the tunnel. I’d tolerate the hours we spent looking at bottles and more bottles, and then he’d take me into Saks or Lord and Taylor. Now it was my turn, but again Kowalsky’s don’t have patience, so shopping with him was like speed dating with clothes. I’d say “Hi skirt, how do you do?” “Great we’re a match” so then dad would say something like, “Ok you like it, great, take 2, I don’t want to come back.” Once I figured this out, speed shopping was the best! Though once home, mom wasn’t so happy when she saw that I had the haul of the century!

But before returning home, we’d once again enter the glorious Grand Central Station, to make our pilgrimage to the cathedral of seafood, the one and only Grand Central Oyster Bar. But before I take you through my culinary journey with Dad, I have to brag a bit about an amazing experience I just had last week at the Oyster Bar, which jogged my memories of being there with dad so many years ago. One of my fellow Dames, from Les Dames d’Escoffier, invited me to the Canadian Oyster Festival, held there in celebration of the retirement of the Oyster Bar’s executive chef, famed Sandy Ingber who after 31 years decided to hang up his oyster knife. I helped my friend Michael Ann Rowe, the queen of all things crustacean, with a sparkling wine donation from Bouvet Ladubay. Bubbly and Oysters, a match made in heaven and I was in heaven! What an array of oysters to feast on, so many different ones from Canada all paired with the smooth, and creamy sparkling wines of Bouvet.

As I helped pour, my neighbor, one of the celebrated Canadian oyster shuckers from Raspberry Point, kept giving me oysters! It was a great night for sure, but it did make me think about all the great meals at the counter I had with my dad before we got on the train to go back home. Sitting at the counter was a right of passage, yes there were tables, but no true New Yorker sat at a table. There’s nothing like sitting at the counter, being served by the waiters and waitresses who had been there forever, under the vaulted ceilings designed by Guastavino. We’d start with a dozen clams on the half shell, dad loved them doused with cocktail sauce and lemon. Then we’d each get our favorite chowder — dad Manhattan Clam Chowder and me New England. The battle of the soup was on as we’d argue about which was better. Each soup was accompanied by Oyster Crackers and a bread basket with filled with savory crackers and rolls and hard as a rock butter on ice.

Bellies full, our final food stop was at Zaro’s for a black and white cookie for me, which I still think is the perfect cookie, a cake, a cookie, chocolate, vanilla all in one! We’d then hop on the train back home for the short ride up the Hudson. I loved these Daddy-Daughter days, true New Yorker days. And yes folks the City is New York, no arguments here, for me it’s the only one allowed to be called the City. Food, wine, shopping, NYC and dad that was a perfect day in my books.

September – It’s Just the Beginning

It’s been a while since I’ve had the mojo to write. When I first told a friend of mine that I wanted to write a blog, he told me the hardest part would be finding topics and the consistency to keep on writing. Well he was right. It’s not as easy as I thought and sometimes I just kept thinking what’s interesting to me might not be interesting to you all. So I took a break. Recently I was around a few of my friends who asked why I hadn’t posted in a long time, so I decided the break was over, and that I’d start writing again. This one will be about “beginnings”, the beginning of writing again, things that inspire me or that have changed me and or led me on a particular path.

Many people see September as just the end of the Summer. Once Labor Day ends, so does summer. It’s funny how it’s almost like a switch flips and the fall mindset starts just at that moment. While I like summer, I have to say I love Fall and for me September is just the beginning. Being outdoors is great, and summer is made for it; however, in my opinion it’s only as long as you are by a pool, a beach or in the shade. I don’t know about you but, if I’m going to sweat there better be some where cool I can jump into, or go under to cool down.

September is also as I’ve said in a blog before, the month of change; and it is the beginning of so many things in my life. I left and started my new career path in the month of September. My birthday and my dad’s is in September so happy birthday to us! This year I was super fortunate to spend my birthday with some of my oldest (not in age haha) and dearest work friends. We spent a long weekend by the beach eating, drinking and laughing. We reminisced and ate more and drank more.

Birthday Weekend Bubbles, Wine & Food Sampler

The Jewish New Year is often, as was this year, in September so L’Shana Tovah to all who celebrated.

September is the month where the light gets a bit more golden. The hues are warmer even though the temperature is getting cooler. Mornings are darker and nights are getting shorter. There’s a crispness to the air that I love in September, the breezes are dry and everything just starts to feel more comfortable.

September is the month where we start shifting life a little more back indoors. Kids go back to school, we go back to work. We start using our ovens more and our grills less. Summer meant light, easy recipes, salads, farmer’s market garden vegetables and grilled meats and fish. Now with the onset of fall, foods take on a richer, slightly heavier, earthier tone. As we finish up summer’s bounty, the last of the tomatoes — like in my tomato pie below, and corn or zucchini, we shift towards foods that can be stored in the pantry like potatoes, squash and beans. If we grilled meat, now we are roasting or stewing. Cold soups made from farm fresh veggies or fruits now turn to heartier fare like root vegetables or potatoes and meats. September is also the month where we start to enjoy heartier wines.

Summer was all about light and crisp; wines that go with summer’s lighter, crisper foods. It’s when we enjoy rosé and lights whites the most, like Sauvignon Blanc, Pinot Grigio or Albariño or even lighter reds like Valpolicella, Beaujolais, Pinot Noir or an easy drinking Tempranillo. Fall is when we start turning our attention to the bolder, earthier reds, Burgundy, Chianti Classico, Barbaresco, Malbec and Cabernet. These are the wines that go with our bolder, earthier more complex and heartier foods.

September is when I embarked on writing my blog. It is the month that I began working as a freelance marketing and sales consultant for the wine industry. And September is now the month that I am starting another new project — working with an amazing Cooking Instructor named Kate Sonders Solomon as her Wine Educator Partner. Together with her cooking classes, I will teach the students how to pair the perfect wines to make the meal complete. She and I have so much ahead of us, the sky’s the limit and it’s super exciting. I did my first class last week where I paired Sherry and a Sherry based cocktail, with a menu of tapas that she had created for her students. It was so much fun and I can’t wait for our next class and any and all that’s to come as we expand, and create together. My professional roots will always be grounded in marketing and I hope to continue to expand that as well, however my passion is in speaking to people and imparting what I know and getting them as excited as I am about wine and food.

Here’s the recipe for my version of a Spanish Negroni:

Ingredients
1 1/2 oz Amontillado Sherry, like the Lustau pictured above
1 oz Campari
1 oz London Dry Gin of choice
1/2 oz sweet Vermouth
few dashes of orange bitters
Orange slices to garnish

Directions
Combine all in a container and if the ingredients aren’t already chilled, chill for about half an hour and then pour over a few ice cubes in a highball glass and garnish with a slice of orange.

Cheers to the changes ahead! Endings can turn into beginnings. Embrace the changes to come with a positive attitude and positive energy; you can do anything! So here’s to September and the beginning, whatever that may be for you and me!

Why is this night different?

This is beginning of the question that the youngest asks on Passover. Why is this night different from all other nights.? It is the start of the traditional “Four Questions” the part of the seder that was looked upon with anticipation and sometimes dread by the children at the table. As we enter into our second Pandemic Passover, this phrase, this question is particularly meaningful and relevant. It’s a year since we entered into the Pandemic Phase of our lives and with that has brought about a new way of living, a different way of living.

As many of you know if you have been following my blog, I lost both of my parents – first my dad 16 years ago, and then my mom just 3 years ago. Most of my family lives in Florida, so first off, this night is different because I will not be spending Passover with any family. Many of us who would normally travel or have a large family gathering, will once again be Zooming, HousePartying, GoogleHangingOut or whatever virtual means we chose to try to bring our loved ones into our lives. Things are getting better but still not safe enough for us all to be close. A dear friend of mine who I’ve known since high school came over for a small dinner, as she too has lost both of her parents and her siblings live far away.

I think this is the holiday that I miss my grandparents the most, especially my paternal grandmother — the one whom I write of often. Passover at her house was always something I looked forward to; it was kind of like a Jewish Thanksgiving Dinner (since she never had a Thanksgiving). The long table was laid out with her finest linens, Passover Plates and flatware, the door was left open so that Elijah could come in — or the cooking fumes could get out, and the table was filled with food. Grandpa would sit at the head and read, and read and read, while grandma would yell — Irving, “genug, enough” and of course he’d ignore her and keep going. We’d dip, we’d sing and we’d “essen fressen” — or eat until we were like a stuffed derma. Speaking of stuffed derma, that was one of the many amazing foods she’d have on the table. This is a Jewish style sausage, no pork of course and stuffed with savory matzo meal and paprika spiced stuffing. We’d congregate in her little kitchen because before the meal started, there would be plates of chopped liver with horseradish that she hand-grated with beets. Sweet and spicy, with the rich chicken livers cooked in schmaltz, (Jewish olive oil) I can still taste it. Organized chaos was really how the meal went, grandma with no patience, grandpa continuously reading, the kids getting stir crazy running in the halls, or getting yelled at to stay away from the windows — “You know could fall out…” We’d be shvitzing as if we were in a Turkish steam bath because of the building’s heat and the fact that grandma was too afraid to open the windows because as I said ” You could fall out.” We’d start off with bowls of steaming chicken soup with matzo balls, and her egg noodles — not the kind you find in the store, but more like ribbons of the thinnest egg crepe you could imagine. Next would be plates of her famous gefilte fish. She’d grind the fish by hand, a combination of “winter carp” pike and whitefish. I have a vague recollection of stories of her keeping the carp in the bathtub though I don’t ever remember seeing it there. I know that this is something that was done, there’s even a children’s story book called “The Carp in the Bathtub”. Can you imagine — you go to the bathroom to do your business and find a fish in a bathtub, Oy Vey! Anyway back to the gefilte fish, she boiled not baked hers and it was always served with a carrot round and loads of more horseradish. Then would come out the platters of meat, usually breast of veal stuffed with schmaltz laden matzo meal stuffing and beef ribs, carrot and prune tzimmes and maybe a boiled potato. Wine is a traditional part of the meal and grandma would only want the sweet stuff — Manischewitz. Once we brought a good bottle of wine and she took one sip, spit it out, said it was sour and asked where the Manischewitz was. This is a traditional Galitizianer, Eastern European style Passover meal.

Flash forward to this year’s Passover and from wine to food, to company, it was different. Before Passover night, I along with Les Dames d’Escoffier, presented a fantastic tasting via Zoom, of the Judean Hills Quartet Wines of Israel. Led by my friend Tali Dalbaha, we tasted four of the most amazing wines along with the winemakers — sorry grandma, this is what Passover Wine should taste like! Different, done by Zoom, not in person, but informative and fantastic.

Next was the actual dinner. So different from what I would normally have eaten, this time I wanted to go Sephardic. Whereas the Ashkenazi are of Eastern European dissent, the Sephardim are mostly from the Mediterranean, Middle Eastern and North African regions. The foods couldn’t be more different! The Eastern European cuisine was based on Polish and German style cooking, heavy, heavy and well nothing light. Sephardic cooking combined the cuisines from the Spanish and the North Africans so it is much more aromatic and spice infused. We didn’t do much else very traditional, no reading from the Haggadah, no Seder plate, no dipping to commemorate the plagues, we just ate. But, to keep some tradition alive, I of course started with a traditional matzo ball soup, because it just wouldn’t be Passover without it! When I make mine, I always start with a whole chicken, carrots, a small amount of parsnip so the broth doesn’t get too sweet, a celery stalk and a few sprigs of parsley and a bay leaf, then I cover the whole thing in chicken stock and water — 2 parts stock to 1 water. To get a nice clear broth, bring to a boil then reduce to a just barely bubbling simmer and skim. The main was a delish recipe by Joan Nathan, and was layers of eggplant covered in caramelized onions and garlic, topped with pieces of browned, chicken coated in allspice, lime powder and tumeric and finally topped with chopped swiss chard. Instead of the traditional tzimmes (sweet carrots and prunes) I made roasted rainbow carrots coated in harissa paste and honey.

Lastly was dessert. Dessert at grandma’s would have been all kinds of sweets from boxes spread all over the table. Don’t get me wrong, I miss the jellied, sugar coated fruit slices that didn’t taste like fruit. There would be chocolate covered jelly rings, or chocolate covered cherries and chocolate covered matzo — don’t knock it until you try it! She’d have an array of Passover cakes which were usually jelly rolls — see a jelly theme here? Nothing home baked so I decided again to break tradition and bake. I found a fantastic recipe for an Orange, Chocolate Flourless cake by Nigella Lawson. What was so interesting about it and different was that you boil the oranges whole until soft and puree them whole with all the rest of the ingredients and bake. Amazingly fragrant, chocolate-orange goodness, you’d never know it doesn’t have flour. I’m sure she didn’t intend it for Passover but it was the perfect cake to end the meal. Oh yeah, wine, forgot wine. As I said no Manishewitz for me thank you, (sorry grandma)! We enjoyed the leftover wines from the Judean Hills Quartet — Sphera Sauvignon Blanc, Castel Rose, Tzora Shoresh Red and Flam Classico.

My Passover night was different from other nights, like my year was different from other years. But isn’t that how it should be? Every day is different, every year is different. We ask ourselves, “Why is this night different from all others?” and the answer is well, because it should be. We need to embrace the new, and not be afraid of the different. Try something new, out of your norm, out of the comfort zone. This past year has taught us that we need to find new ways to forge ahead, to embrace change and not be afraid of following a different path. So Chag Sameach, a Zissen Pesach, Happy Passover embrace your traditions but also don’t be afraid to try something new.

Time Travel

Who is not ready to get out and start traveling? I know I am itching to go somewhere. This is the longest I’ve not been on a plane in I don’t even know how many years. I think about travel, dream about travel almost every day. I miss the craziness of being in an airport, being on a plane, hearing the loudspeaker say, be prepared for take off. I find myself surfing through my favorite country travel sites on Instagram and Facebook or watching travel related cooking shows. I also find myself reminiscing a lot about where I’ve traveled to and with whom. I can’t believe I’m writing that it’s been 3 years since my mom’s passing. Time does travel, sometimes all too fast. I wanted to share a story about a trip she and I took to France many years ago. It was a gift of my dad’s to us, so that we could spend some quality time together in France; a place he and I had spent time in when I was a teenager — that’s for a whole other story! Dad was himself very sick at this time and mom and I were hesitant about going but he insisted and we knew that our going would make him happy. That’s how he was, he never wanted anything big for himself, he got the most pleasure in giving. He knew we needed a break, and for those of you who’ve been through it, being a caretaker is very hard. So mom and I went on our first long mother – daughter trip to Paris, the City of Light, Art, Beauty and Wine & Food!

I set the itinerary and we would hit all the great sites in Paris, go to Versailles and make a special visit to Champagne Pol Roger, since I worked with them for many years while at my previous company. I’m pretty organized with trip itineraries, ask anyone who’s been on one with me and this was no different! I do a lot of research so that a trip comes together seamlessly to make it easy for all. Not having stayed in Paris for eons, I asked a friend for a recommendation for a hotel. I have to admit, I’m pretty picky about my hotels and don’t usually take recommendations for small boutique hotels, but I did this time. Lovely place in the 7th, seriously quaint, but as we all know, quaint doesn’t just mean cute, it also can mean small. And this place sadly was small. A double room as I learned meant just a room for 2, not a room with double beds. This one had one queen size bed in a room where we could pretty much touch the walls. So I freaked out a bit, talked my way out of the reservation and moved us to the Radisson Blu just outside the main part of the city. Now before you scoff at the American hotel chains, remember they are so much more grand when you get out of the US, almost like you’re not in a chain hotel. We were now comfortable, a little remote but it fit the budget and made us happy. Now we were set to conquer the city. I had been to Paris many times so I was super happy to be showing this to mom who had never been. I loved seeing how she loved the city. She was in good form and was able to do a lot of walking thank goodness, since Paris is truly, like New York or London, a walking city, best seen on foot.

Of course we went to the Louvre, Montmatre, Montparnasse etc… and to Versailles. We ate and ate and ate more. Dad allowed me to splurge on some amazing meals and I took her to 2 of my favorite places, one’s I had been to with dad when he was here — Taillavent and La Tour d’Argent. Walking into Taillavent with her was an experience. You stand a litle straighter, immediately feel elegant, and special. The food was extraordinary, the service was beyond reproach, your every wish is anticipated, you never feel surrounded by service, you just enjoy the moment. I also took her to the famous Tour d’Argent for their famed Canard a Presse, their pressed duck. Overlooking the Seine, it’s like you’ve stepped into a museum of food and wine. Their wine collection is fabled, but it’s the duck we were there for! Here’s an image of the famed Presse a Canard, the duck press, I will spare you the details, but you get the idea. If you want to look up how it’s used go ahead, it looks like a medieval torture device, but at the end of the day the duck was incredible.

We sipped coffee at Les Deux Magots, went to Fauchon where I think mom could have moved in, but one of our most memorable meals was at a Moroccan Restaurant called Al Mounia. We wanted to do something that wasn’t heavy french food, we wanted something that Paris was known for and Moroccan food was it. We went in and it felt like you were stepping into Morocco. I can still smell the spices today and remember vividly the Pastilla that we shared. A chicken pie that’s not just a chicken pie but a blend of warm spices enveloping chicken surrounded by a flaky pastry and topped with cinnamon and powdered sugar. Sweet, savory, warm and just oh so amazing. But it was the mint tea at the end, that I can still taste and smell just by remembering. I had never tasted anything like it, mint steeped in sweet water, it was truly delicious.

Other than Versailles, our only other excursion out of the city was to Epernay, for a visit with Christian and Danielle Pol Roger of Champagne Pol Roger. I hadn’t been back to that area of Champagne in many years. When I was in High School I spent a summer in Reims when I worked as a tour guide at Mumm, so I was eager to go back and bring mom. Christian Pol Roger was a gentleman in the truest sense. Elegant yet approachable, just like his Champagne, sums him up perfectly. Christian and his wife Danielle, could not have been more welcoming. Danielle took pride in showing mom her rose garden, where she had recently had a rose named for her. After our tour of the caves, we went back to their house and had a lovely lunch. I can still remember the fish pie she served us, it was the first time I had had one and it was delicious. I think it was accompanied by a Chablis from Moreau. At the end of the visit, Christian presented Mom with a bottle that he autographed and said that she and dad should share it for their upcoming anniversary. I recently heard that Christian passed away, and I can say that this is a loss for the world of wine, and Champagne in particular. At my old company, we had this wonderful winemaker tour called the Grand Tour, Christian was a cornerstone of this group of legends in wine. One day he and Olivier Leflaive turned around and started calling me “La Farine Francine”, which I took as a term of endearment. For those of you who don’t know, it’s also a brand of flour in France.

Anyway back to mom. Here’s a picture of her with Danielle and Christian in Danielle’s garden.

Time travel, time to travel, or time travels. Three years have gone by, so much has changed but the memories remain. We are lucky to be able to travel in time through our memories. Sometimes it’s a picture, a song, a place even a glass of wine, or a food that jogs our memory and allows us to travel back in time. For now I celebrate mom by traveling back in time to remember. I think I’ll open up a bottle of Pol Roger Champagne, toast her and travel a bit more in time.

A Toast to Dad

Today marks my dad’s passing, 16 years ago. I’ve been grappling with what to write so please excuse the rambling thoughts in this blog. Dad was a complicated man, yet also very simple and trying to encapsulate all into one page is hard. Crazy to think it’s been that long. As many of us who had those close to us pass, I can remember that day and the preceding day perfectly. I remember his arrival home by ambulette; him entering the house for the last time to be surrounded by me, mom, his 2 best friends and a dinner of bagels and lox. Dad was a teacher at heart and up to the end he was still telling us all how best to eat. He couldn’t help himself, in his mind he knew best, and would teach everyone he knew how to, when to and why with most things even a bagel and lox dinner.

Born on the Lower East Side to Polish Jewish parents, my dad went on to be one of the most educated, knowledgeable, curious and driven people I knew. When most people have maybe 1 or 2 careers in their life, dad had multiple; all of which he dove into full force. He always learned as much as he could about whatever he did, whether it was as a musician — his first profession; or later on in the wine industry. Dad’s parents were not very educated in the traditional sense. They were poor and had to do what they had to do to make sure their children had. Dad got his love of music, art and food from his parents. Grandma, his mom always cooked and Grandpa love music and the art of jewelry. Grandpa probably didn’t go past 6th grade as was usual back then, but he had a sophisticated love of music, especially Opera. He joined a chazan group (religious singers) that would sing at weddings, and special religious events and it was there that he heard what the voice could do and fell in love with music. In fact the great Richard Tucker was part of that “Chazan Society” of singers and thought of him as the greatest opera singer ever. He was also fascinated by jewelry, especially watches and coins. Dad went on to study the Bassoon and became a music teacher; and somewhere he also became a Coin Dealer, specializing in Russian Coins. Eventually he went back to teaching music and was a music teacher for many years. I can still remember sitting on his lap, I’d blow into the Bassoon and he’d do the keying and together we’d play Peter and the Wolf. I’d watch him make his reeds, and also make reeds for some of the kids he taught oboe or clarinet. The one instrument he couldn’t play was flute, which was what I played and eventually helped him “teach” in school. I was just a kid, and had a talent for the flute so I was really happy to help him. So this is Part one — Music Teacher, and Russian Coin Dealer.

Part two of Dad’s story is Wine Expert and Culinary Maven. Early on dad fell in love with wine, he already loved food, so wine was a natural. He became obsessed with wine and food and learned all he could. When he was really deep into wine, and ran tastings for Les Amis du Vin (I will expand on this at a later date) mom and he had legendary 10 course dinners at home for the wine luminaries who did his tastings. But what I found most interesting about him was that even though his tastes in food and wine were very sophisticated, what he longed for most were simple meals, comfort foods of a sort that were mainly reflective of his roots. Don’t get me wrong, his taste in food could be incredibly sophisticated but favorites gravitated toward the simple, mostly Jewish comfort foods. I had wanted to recreate what I thought would be his favorite meal for this blog, but when I thought about it, I realized that his favorites were either a good Corned Beef sandwich, or a Bagel and Belly Lox or even lox, eggs and onions. Now dad being dad, nothing was a simple as it seemed. Even a Corned Beef sandwich turned into an instructive event with him. At one point, pretty much the only restaurant we’d go to with my grandmother was the famed Second Avenue Deli. It was Kosher and in our opinion had the best deli meat. And if we didn’t eat there, it’s what we brought up to grandma for lunch. But dad, being dad, there was always a ritual for ordering and eating. He and I would go in if we were ordering for take out, and push our way to the counter and wait for our favorite deliman to be free. We’d only order from these 2 guys. First up we’d order a hot dog with mustard and coleslaw, which we’d munch on and Mohammad would slip us a schmear — a chopped liver on rye. Then we’d get started. We’d order the Corned Beef and Pastrami — fatty (not the PC “Juicy”) but proper, fatty. Taste of course, you couldn’t buy it without tasting it first. Too lean and you would get yelled at and feel like a deli failure. So now I’m full, and we order Corned Beef, Pastrami, coleslaw, knishes…and bring to grandma’s to eat more. Dad would make sure loads of mustard were in the bag along with pickles, which back then were just added, no charge. All of this had to be washed down with a good old Dr. Brown’s Celray Tonic and seltzer from the bottle. If we brought grandma and my uncle to eating at Second Avenue this too was a process. We’d have to have the same table, same surly waitress and we’d only order from the counter because of course dad wouldn’t trust they’d get the order right. He and his brother would yell at each other, I’d roll my eyes, mom just stayed quiet. In typical fashion grandma feigned embarrassment but in reality I’m sure she loved the show. Somehow with gold bag in tow, she always managed to walk off with the rye bread on the table, though she never admitted that she took it home. This was normal everyone took home the bread, if you didn’t well there was probably something wrong with you! There was something comforting about this ritual, and I miss it. Going to the new Second Avenue Deli, which is not on Second Avenue anymore isn’t the same without the guys at the counter, the old fashioned waitresses and my dysfunctional family.

A proper fatty corned beef sandwich with a side of matzoh ball soup and coleslaw

Another family favorite was Sammy’s Roumanian Steakhouse. The place was below ground in a building on the Lower East Side, with walls adorned by pictures and pictures of all who ate there. Simple good Jewish food, accompanied by Jewish schtick. As famous as they were for their garlic laden, schmaltz coated food, they were famous for the music played by a guy with an electric keyboard who would sing old Jewish songs. Tables always had bottles of seltzer and the most garlicky pickles and pickled tomatoes, Vodka frozen in ice and syrup bottles filled with schmaltz (chicken fat). Chicken fat was to us what olive oil is to the Mediterranean diet or butter is to the French — no judgement please! Chicken fat went into everything and I mean everything even the mashed potatoes. While most folks drank Vodka or Seltzer, we often had wine. Dad would love bringing his wine friends from overseas here. He said they could have a fancy meal anytime but an experience like this was priceless. Once he brought the General Manager for Bailey’s Irish Cream from Ireland. At the end of the meal dad made him an egg cream and together they laughed as he said it was the precursor to Bailey’s. He even did wine dinners at Sammy’s. Dad loved doing the non traditional, and unexpected with wine. He was a rebel and a pioneer in the wine business and loved doing things that made people think and see wine in a different way.

So as I think about who you were, and what I am today, I thank you for giving me my love of food, wine, music and art. You taught me to love the beauty in life so today I toast you with what else, a bagel and lox with a side of Prosecco. Even now I can hear you saying, something bubbly would go best, the bubbles and the acid will cut through the fattiness of the lox. So here’s to you dad!

A Holiday Season Unlike Any Other!

2020 is about to end and I know that I can’t wait! I hear that collective sigh of relief from you all, as you wait with anticipation for the ball to drop — figuratively and literally, on what has been a pretty crazy, stressful and sometimes downright awful year. Through it all I drew my strength from my friends and family, but mostly from my friends who are my family. When I began to feel safe enough to start seeing my friends in person instead of virtually, it was such a great relief. I’ll never forget getting a call from my friend who said she was coming over. Now on a normal day that would seem well, normal; but in these crazy times I actually thought she was joking. Off to the store I went, probably in search of toilet paper, when I got a call from her saying “Where are you? Sammy’s in the window, now where’s the wine? I’m in the parking circle and you’re not home.” So I told her where the key was and where the wine was and that I’d be home in 5. What a joyous day! My first visitor in 3 months or so! We maintained our distance, sat at the table outside and just enjoyed being together after so many stressful months. My house became a bit like Noah’s Arc, they all came in 2’s, with an occasional 3rd, but no more than that! Food, cooking, eating and wine have always been an important bond with me and my friends, but never more so than during Covid. During Covid they escaped the city and came up to my suburban paradise (never thought I’d say that!) and for a moment all felt right. Of course we wore masks, sat apart and kept outside but we were together and it was amazing.

That takes me to today. We are now 9 months into this craziness and the holidays are here. Just when you thought it was getting better, we even had no more trouble getting toilet paper, it started getting worse. Warnings went up about social gatherings for the holidays and we were told to limit our personal interactions. 2020 just kept getting worse and well I just kept cooking, that was my therapy. The holidays was the time we could all depend on to get together. This year however, as we all know, is different. I decided that I would at least try to keep some of the traditions, even on a small scale, that I had enjoyed about the holidays. And for me that of course meant food. My family was not a very sentimental bunch but there were certain foods that were traditional for the holidays. I wanted to share some of them with you all, as well as some of the traditional foods that meant so much to some of my closest friends.

I decided after a lot of trepidation to go to my best friend’s house for Thanksgiving. It was only her immediate family and me. It was also her birthday and I really wanted to be there to celebrate. I decided that I’d bake a cake, but I wanted it to be meaningful so I searched through my mom’s recipes. Mom in my opinion made the best cheesecake ever. She used to say it was so rich and dense it would sink to the bottom of your toes! With it being Thanksgiving, I wanted something that spoke of the holiday and I found in her box of index cards, a recipe for a pumpkin cheese cake, woo hoo! Perfect I thought, and I took the recipe and made a few minor changes like adding bourbon, and made my own version — like a variation on a theme; the picture is below. BUT here is the recipe card for her ORIGINAL cheesecake; I can still see dad in the kitchen, mixing the cream cheese by hand. Check out her introduction to the recipe where she says “who can resist a cheesecake”. I love those little intros she wrote on her favorite recipes. I wanted to share her original one because that’s the one I remember her always making.

Next up is Chanukah, which of course as a kid meant presents, but it also meant latkes! FYI we ate latkes all year, large sized or small, but during Chanukah they tasted even better. Who amongst us can resist potatoes perfectly shredded with onions and fried in oil? In fact check out below on mom’s index card where she says they are “the closest thing to heaven”…Dad used to say grandma had stock in Planters Peanut Oil, the only thing she’d use to fry her latkes and all she’d have to do was tap the pan and they’d slide out on their own. We were traditional, no sweet potato, no beet, no way. Topped with sour cream only and it had to be potato, the starchier the better. Too wet, or too little starch and it will fall apart and no one wants that! We’d sit in the boiling hot kitchen as grandma would hand grate the onions and potatoes, and meticulously drain the liquid reserving the potato starch. Then she’d fry them to golden perfection. Later mom would do the same, in fact below is her original recipe card. On the first night of Chanukah this year, I had to have them so I made a little batch for myself. Really I think one of the best smells in the world, is the smell of onions frying and the house was filled with that scent. The next night the fry fest continued and I decided to make a batch of jelly doughnuts — my favorite food in the world! Yes I could have bought them but I really wanted to try my hand at making them as I had seen them on the Great British Bake Off. Paul Hollywood to the rescue, his recipe is perfect! 2 of my friends got wind of my making both latkes and jelly doughnuts and decided to come for a visit a few days later so I had to make them all again. Here we were in the kitchen at the table, where we belonged — socially distant and with the kitchen door wide open.

All for the love of pizzelle, is my next yummy holiday tradition. Ok well not my tradition because I never made them, but we were always gifted them during Christmas. My first introduction to this delicious Italian waffle cookie, was as a kid from the mom of a student of my dad’s. She would make us a huge plate of them and traditional Italian cookies. Delicate, beautiful and imprinted with her initials from the iron she had brought from Italy, these cookies lasted maybe a day before they were all gone. Now my friend’s dad makes them and always has a batch for me! His are laced with limoncello and are sweet and fresh and perfect with a cup of coffee. I invited them over for dinner the other night but only if he brought me pizzelle! As he sat at the table and watched me cook, I was forewarned that if he didn’t like the food I’d know it, he was not shy! I felt like I was cooking for my dad and started to get nervous, but after I put the plate of fish bathed in a lovely orange and olive sauce in front of him, I got the ultimate compliment when he had a second serving! I baked a holiday cake too, but true to his word, he didn’t like some of the cake and let me know it. He liked the cake but not the frosting, wanted another piece but told me to scrape off the frosting. He worked in many of the finest Italian restaurants in NYC and I loved sitting around the table and sharing food stories with him. Here’s a picture of his pizzelle with a coffee, and the fish dish and cake I made for him.

Walnut Cake with Pommegrante Molasses Frosting

Next up is Christmas and my best friend (for whom I had to make the latkes and doughnuts, so you know I must love her) wanted us to carry on a tradition she used to do with her dad — Chrusciki. More frying for me! I started to think I might have a new career working as a fry cook, and I felt like I was working one of those fried dough stands at the state fair, but no I was hard at work in a kitchen in suburbia. All kidding aside, we had a great time. Once the dough was made and shaped, it was my turn to fry them to perfection and add the powdered sugar. We got into a rhythm and turned out what seemed to be hundreds, if not thousands of these little fried sweets. Ok I exaggerate because we ate as many as we fried, so who knows how many were actually made! More sugar her mom would say and we’d make it snow all over them with powdered sugar. We were in the kitchen together cooking and laughing it was a perfect day. Her cousin who is an essential worker, a doctor who is now overwhelmed by the pandemic, was supposed to be there to help us but obviously couldn’t. I don’t live far so I made a special delivery for her, left it by her door, and after her shift she ate the entire batch in one sitting!

This holiday season is downright weird. Don’t tell me it’s the new normal, it may be new but it’s not normal, as I’ve said before. We might not be able to have large friends and family gatherings. Many of us will have to connect via Zoom. Food may not be as plentiful as before. And some won’t be able to gather at all for various reasons. This is a tough year, and I know that I am lucky, I have my health, friends and family and am so grateful for all of that. It’s not about how much you have, it’s about how you are able to enjoy what you have. For me cooking, being in my kitchen and sharing whatever I have with my friends brings me joy. It’s not about fancy ingredients, it’s about the love you put into it and the memories you make in the process. However you are celebrating this holiday season I wish you all health and happiness. And here’s to 2021!

What’s in Your Pantry?

I’ve been grappling with many topics in my head and trying to decide what to write about next. What came to me this morning was spurred by a column I read in the NY Times Food Section. The creator of From the Pantry, has decided to end the series which was created to help home cooks use what is in their pantries and turn those ingredients into fabulous, tasty meals. The column was created during the height of the Covid-19 Pandemic, when ingredients seemed to be scarce due to panic. I applaud her having created this column with its easy, readily accessible ingredients. I don’t want to seem overly critical, but we are still in the middle of a Pandemic and people are still at home and not dining out as much as they could or would pre-pandemic. She says that people are now dining out more — I am paraphrasing, and not in as much of a panic to stock their pantries. Here’s where I differ. And by the way, I will address dining out in another post but, right now I’d like to focus on cooking at home.

Cooking from our Pantries, Freezers, Fridges, what I call #PantryCooking #Freezercooking and #RefrigeratorCooking, is more important now than ever. Parents are stuck at home with their children, who are “going to school” virtually from their homes. Workers are stuck at home because they cannot go back to their offices, which have not yet opened up. From the Pantry’s creator says “cooking 3 meals a day is not as daunting as it once was” well tell that to the parent who has to make breakfast, lunch and dinner for the whole family every day, do their own professional job and supervise their child’s schooling. That parent doesn’t have time to shop every day for food. As I’ve mentioned in previous blog posts, my parents always kept a stocked pantry. Maybe they feared armageddon was coming, or it was a cultural thing or just a smart thing, but I too have a stocked pantry and not just out of Pandemic Fear. I don’t want to keep shopping! So I shop in my pantry. I live in the burbs and am lucky to have plenty of space — don’t judge!

As always I like to incorporate some of my recipes and food pictures. One night I looked in the freezer and saw that I had lamb chops so they became the inspiration for a dinner. I looked in the pantry and had some tandoori spices (you can use some cumin and coriander and paprika too) so I rubbed that over the lamb and then pan fried them — simple. I looked in the fridge and saw some carrots so I coated them in cumin and olive oil and roasted them — easy. Next I had some tahini and pine nuts in the pantry, mixed with a bit of lemon juice and put that over the carrots — yum. Finally there was some cauliflower that needed to be cooked so I mixed it with some cheddar and heavy cream and boom an easy gratin. All items were in the fridge and or pantry. Leftovers the next day were reimagined into tacos. I had some tortillas in the fridge, and made taziki sauce with cucumbers and yogurt, and topped all with feta crumbles and olives from the fridge — dinner reimagined.

I mention cooking with beans above and one of my favorite meals is actually made with a can of white beans — a pantry staple. Simple, chop an onion; onions are a pantry staple, cook in some olive oil, add some garlic and tomatoes and a can of white beans. Season with hot red pepper, salt and pepper and basil if you have it, cook for about half an hour until the beans are soft, keep adding olive oil to taste and keep it moist. To accompany the beans, I cooked shrimp that I had in the freezer in a simple lemon and butter sauce with a touch of leftover rose wine and boom you have shrimp scampi. An easy meal made with pantry items. And the next day, I used the leftover beans, added some chicken stock and a handful of spinach from the fridge and had a fantastic soup for lunch.

Soon most will not be able to dine outside; it will be too cold. Our kids will still be home and most of us will still be working remotely so we will have to keep planning 3 meals a day for home consumption. With our lives having shifted home I think it’s more important than ever to find ways to make ourselves comfortable and easy. So many people today are either unemployed or underemployed therefor, helping them find ways to use what they have already is still very relevant. We’ve pivoted inside and have had to adapt. In fact I think that for many, being home is more stressful than before, with more demands, and we must find ways to make our lives easier. So here’s to all the home cooks, I toast you! And remember to look in your pantry, fridge and freezer, there are meals waiting to happen. The meals don’t have to be fancy or made with many ingredients; it just takes time and planning!

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