Okay, so it really isn't called"slut's spaghetti," except in Nigella's book. It is actually called pasta alla puttanesca, which (according to Nigella) translates into "slut's spaghetti." Even if it is completely wrong, it's fun! The recipe is here.
Swede and Annika went to run errands so I started cooking. It was a surreptitious meal, I will admit. Here's why: the ingredients include anchovies, capers, and olives - all of which are objectionable to the other members of my family.
It was very easy to make. I even made the pasta myself. I used pasta dough I'd frozen from prior pasta making experiences. For what it's worth, homemade pasta dough freezes perfectly if wrapped tightly in saran wrap and then placed in a ziplock bag. I thawed it in the fridge and it rolled out like freshly-made dough. And as long as we're on the pasta topic, I highly recommend the KitchenAid pasta attachment for anybody who has a KitchenAid and has ever thought of making pasta. As evidenced by the fact that I have now made pasta several times, it is easy and idiot-proof. Astrid sampled the noodles after I cooked them. She squealed in delight. I take that to be a good sign. Though she also squeals when she manages to get a piece of random fuzz off the floor and into her mouth. I do heavily salt my noodle-cooking water, so the noodles were deliciously salty. Perhaps Astrid inherited my affinity for salt. I know Annika did (she will eat the soy sauce straight out of the bowl at sushi).
By the time Swede and Annika came home, the pasta was ready and I was just finishing up peas with mint (a bag of frozen peas with a few leaves of mint from the garden, salt, pepper, and a tablespoon of butter). Swede walks in and immediately says "it smells interesting in here." Note, "interesting" and not "good." Astrid and I knew that it was the anchovies, but I wasn't about to tell him that! He claims to hate anchovies and I wanted him to actually try the pasta. (For the record, I am also deeply disturbed by anchovies and hated every second of chopping them. But I reasoned that I love authentic Caesar dressing, which has them in it. So cleverly disguised in other yummy ingredients, anchovies are also yummy.) The capers and olives were far more obvious, but what are you going to do?
It is Memorial Day and the weather has been fantastic, so I told Annika to set the table outside. She complied. I poured her some apple juice and popped a bottle of sparkling rose for me and Swede. Annika came to the table with her own drink - coconut water that she had her dad buy her at the store. She explained that it is better to have two drinks. That way when you run out of one, you can just drink the other. Swede asked whether it would be better to have TEN drinks based on that logic. Annika was flummoxed. I raised my champagne flute to toast "Happy Memorial Day" with Swede. Annika wanted in on the toasting and insisted that each of us toast both of her drinks. That's my daughter - double-fisting it.
Both Swede and Annika loved the Slut's Spaghetti, despite the anchovies, capers, and olives. Once Swede started eating his second helping, I told him what was in it. "I KNEW I smelled something weird!" he said. He then reminded me he hates anchovies. But he admitted to loving the pasta and finished his second helping. It was good. Salty and vinegar-y. I will totally make it again because it was super-easy and quick. Annika even loved it despite her self-proclaimed hatred of olives as of last week. *sigh* Is there any consistency among five year olds?
Happy Memorial Day, everyone!
Monday, May 30, 2011
Monday, May 23, 2011
Roses and Thorns
It has been almost a month since I've posted. I've been slacking. Big time. But Astrid is nine months now and in a very grabby phase that makes it very hard to use a computer around her (without long strings of incomprehensible characters due to her helping me type, anyway). Most of my previous posts werewritten immediately after dinner while my memory was still fresh and Astrid quietly nursed. I have a system where I can put a pillow behind the boppy and type over her. (Sorry if that was too much information to share with you, but really, if you've read any of this blog or know me at all, you can't possibly be surprised that I am pro-breastfeeding?) That system no longer works because Astrid is now old enough to eat and grab things (or press computer keys) at the same time. Nor can I set her on the floor with her toys and type away. She is mobile and will get to me and my computer no matter where I put her! The kid just loves to press buttons, literally and figuratively. I could not, however, let May pass by with no blog entry. So here goes . . .
There really is nothing quite like coming home from work with your dinner already 75 percent done. Nope, I did not hire a personal chef. I'm talking about the crock pot! Really, it is a treat to walk in the door and smell dinner already cooking (insert snarky husband comment here). It is a bit of a pain to deal with a raw, whole chicken at 5:30 a.m., but the payoff is worth it. Today I made cilantro lime chicken before I went to the gym. You take a whole chicken (Whole Foods now sells pasture-raised hens!), rub the outside with salt and pepper, then squeeze the juice of one lime over the chicken. Then you put the lime rind into the chicken cavity with 3 cloves of garlic and a bunch of cilantro. Then you cook the chicken on low for 7 hours. Easy! Although anyone in my house can attest to the very loud "EEEEW!" that can be heard as I remove the gizzards from a raw chicken cavity before I've had my coffee.
Once I got home from work, all I had to do was make the Brussels sprouts. I think I've posted this before, but it is so good and so easy I must post again. Melt 1.5 tablespoons of butter with 1.5 tablespoons of olive oil. Partially thaw a bag of frozen Brussels sprouts in the microwave (about 2 minutes). Brown the sprouts in the butter/oil and sprinkle liberally with salt and pepper. Once they are slightly browned, add a half cup of water, put a lid on the pan, and simmer for 5-10 minutes. Then take the lid off and cook the liquid down if necessary. While the sprouts were cooking, I took the chicken off the bones (the meat just falls off the bone after sitting in a crock pot all day), put the juices in a measuring cup and skimmed the fat off the top. I added a splash of vermouth to the juices and then poured a little over the chicken. Yum! The sprouts recipe is from the book Hungry Monkey. It is written by a foodie. I am proud to say that the chicken recipe is from a crock pot book recommended by said foodie that I prior to ever reading Hungry Monkey. I cannot tell you how cool I felt when I discovered that I already owned a book recommended by the author of Hungry Monkey! (The book is called Not Your Mother's Slow Cooker Recipes.) Crock-baked chicken is tender and juicy. And the sprouts - as always - are buttery and heavenly. Is that redundant?
While I was cooking, Swede set the table. It was very sweet of him. But lately I've given that job to Annika, who (according to her teacher) needs to take more responsibility around the house. Her reward for setting the table each day is that she gets to choose who sits at what colored place mat. In Annika world, the special place mats are the Swedish colors, blue and yellow. The consequence of not setting the table is that she has to sit where we tell her. This is evidently a very big deal. Because when she told me she didn't set the table today, I told her she was stuck at the pink place mat and she had a meltdown of Fukushima proportions (too soon?). I am not exaggerating or embellishing when I tell you the child almost spent the rest of the night in her room because she could not have the blue or yellow place mat. She won't neglect to set the table ever again.
While Annika pouted in her chair, Astrid devoured Brussels sprouts. I chopped up three decent-sized sprouts for her and she finished them before Annika was done with her tantrum. I think the butter must ahve gone to Astrid's head because she was in rare form. Swede mentioned that he wanted to watch the rest of the Vancouver/San Jose game. At the mere mention of hockey, Astrid started clapping her hands. Seriously, we successfully recreated the clapping by saying "Astrid, Vancouver! Vancouver!" Ordinarily we have her trained well enough that she'll clap after you say "let's go Redwings/Rangers/Canucks/Lightning" in that singsongy voice that people use to cheer at games. But this was something new. Clearly she is brilliant. Astrid was so cute and so hungry, I gave her some mashed up black beans, which she also devoured.
By this time, Annika
Annika was intrigued, so I made her start to keep her enthusiasm up. And what was her rose? Eating lunch. That was apparently the best thing that happened to her today. I'm pretty sure that's pitiful. Her thorn was that she didn't have a very good day. When I insisted she be more specific, she referred me to the first half of dinner. We went around the table and each gave our roses and thorns. Swede vetoed my new bottle of rosé as my rose, although that is technically an accurate statement! We decided that Astrid's rose was Brussels sprouts. Her thorn was the gigantic bruise she had mysteriously acquired across and behind her left ear. (I realize that babies have hard heads and that I need to let her learn to walk on her own and fight my helicopter parent urges, but big red marks on her porcelain skin make me want to wrap her in bubble wrap! Wait, that's probably a suffocation hazard. Change of plans, we're padding every hard surface in the house!)
Annika was so inspired that she created her own game in which we go around the table and say our favorite animal and our favorite thing in the house. Annika's favorite animal was "sea creatures, all of them." Okay. I went before Swede, so I got to steal "my family" as my favorite thing in the house. Swede, who couldn't copy me, was stumped for a minute and then came up with TV. Annika made him choose something else. He then chose his hockey equipment, at which point Annika warned him that if he didn't pick something good she'd choose for him. And she'd choose flowers. Amy, let this be a warning to you for tomorrow's dinner. If Annika asks you to name your favorite thing in the house, it should be her. Or flowers. Or Swedish colors.
There really is nothing quite like coming home from work with your dinner already 75 percent done. Nope, I did not hire a personal chef. I'm talking about the crock pot! Really, it is a treat to walk in the door and smell dinner already cooking (insert snarky husband comment here). It is a bit of a pain to deal with a raw, whole chicken at 5:30 a.m., but the payoff is worth it. Today I made cilantro lime chicken before I went to the gym. You take a whole chicken (Whole Foods now sells pasture-raised hens!), rub the outside with salt and pepper, then squeeze the juice of one lime over the chicken. Then you put the lime rind into the chicken cavity with 3 cloves of garlic and a bunch of cilantro. Then you cook the chicken on low for 7 hours. Easy! Although anyone in my house can attest to the very loud "EEEEW!" that can be heard as I remove the gizzards from a raw chicken cavity before I've had my coffee.
Once I got home from work, all I had to do was make the Brussels sprouts. I think I've posted this before, but it is so good and so easy I must post again. Melt 1.5 tablespoons of butter with 1.5 tablespoons of olive oil. Partially thaw a bag of frozen Brussels sprouts in the microwave (about 2 minutes). Brown the sprouts in the butter/oil and sprinkle liberally with salt and pepper. Once they are slightly browned, add a half cup of water, put a lid on the pan, and simmer for 5-10 minutes. Then take the lid off and cook the liquid down if necessary. While the sprouts were cooking, I took the chicken off the bones (the meat just falls off the bone after sitting in a crock pot all day), put the juices in a measuring cup and skimmed the fat off the top. I added a splash of vermouth to the juices and then poured a little over the chicken. Yum! The sprouts recipe is from the book Hungry Monkey. It is written by a foodie. I am proud to say that the chicken recipe is from a crock pot book recommended by said foodie that I prior to ever reading Hungry Monkey. I cannot tell you how cool I felt when I discovered that I already owned a book recommended by the author of Hungry Monkey! (The book is called Not Your Mother's Slow Cooker Recipes.) Crock-baked chicken is tender and juicy. And the sprouts - as always - are buttery and heavenly. Is that redundant?
While I was cooking, Swede set the table. It was very sweet of him. But lately I've given that job to Annika, who (according to her teacher) needs to take more responsibility around the house. Her reward for setting the table each day is that she gets to choose who sits at what colored place mat. In Annika world, the special place mats are the Swedish colors, blue and yellow. The consequence of not setting the table is that she has to sit where we tell her. This is evidently a very big deal. Because when she told me she didn't set the table today, I told her she was stuck at the pink place mat and she had a meltdown of Fukushima proportions (too soon?). I am not exaggerating or embellishing when I tell you the child almost spent the rest of the night in her room because she could not have the blue or yellow place mat. She won't neglect to set the table ever again.
While Annika pouted in her chair, Astrid devoured Brussels sprouts. I chopped up three decent-sized sprouts for her and she finished them before Annika was done with her tantrum. I think the butter must ahve gone to Astrid's head because she was in rare form. Swede mentioned that he wanted to watch the rest of the Vancouver/San Jose game. At the mere mention of hockey, Astrid started clapping her hands. Seriously, we successfully recreated the clapping by saying "Astrid, Vancouver! Vancouver!" Ordinarily we have her trained well enough that she'll clap after you say "let's go Redwings/Rangers/Canucks/Lightning" in that singsongy voice that people use to cheer at games. But this was something new. Clearly she is brilliant. Astrid was so cute and so hungry, I gave her some mashed up black beans, which she also devoured.
By this time, Annika
Annika was intrigued, so I made her start to keep her enthusiasm up. And what was her rose? Eating lunch. That was apparently the best thing that happened to her today. I'm pretty sure that's pitiful. Her thorn was that she didn't have a very good day. When I insisted she be more specific, she referred me to the first half of dinner. We went around the table and each gave our roses and thorns. Swede vetoed my new bottle of rosé as my rose, although that is technically an accurate statement! We decided that Astrid's rose was Brussels sprouts. Her thorn was the gigantic bruise she had mysteriously acquired across and behind her left ear. (I realize that babies have hard heads and that I need to let her learn to walk on her own and fight my helicopter parent urges, but big red marks on her porcelain skin make me want to wrap her in bubble wrap! Wait, that's probably a suffocation hazard. Change of plans, we're padding every hard surface in the house!)
Annika was so inspired that she created her own game in which we go around the table and say our favorite animal and our favorite thing in the house. Annika's favorite animal was "sea creatures, all of them." Okay. I went before Swede, so I got to steal "my family" as my favorite thing in the house. Swede, who couldn't copy me, was stumped for a minute and then came up with TV. Annika made him choose something else. He then chose his hockey equipment, at which point Annika warned him that if he didn't pick something good she'd choose for him. And she'd choose flowers. Amy, let this be a warning to you for tomorrow's dinner. If Annika asks you to name your favorite thing in the house, it should be her. Or flowers. Or Swedish colors.
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