This week, Jenny is taking a day off. But we know a Monday with no Jenny would be a very sad day indeed, so we've compiled some of our favorite zingers, rants and confessions below. And for even more Jenny, read our behind the scenes spotlight on her here.
To wit: Pineapple upside down cake, in my view, does not want to be pale in color and insipid against the fork. It does not wish for maraschino cherries hanging around in its pineapple holes. And it does not wish to have the texture of a conventional weapon.
1. Very important: YOU MUST USE GOOD ANCHOVIES. Don’t talk to me about cans, don’t get on your high horse about bottom feeding. Just get the best you can find. Whole Foods sells the nice ones in a flat plastic container near the expensive yogurt.
2. Use what you need to make this into a fine paste. I used my Vitamix, which worked okay-ish, save the part where I decided to wash it after by putting soapy water in and running it on high, which resulted in anchovy scented bubbles over half my kitchen counter. I said “Oh dear” at very high volumes and no one came to the rescue, which I guess had to do with the fact the family was watching The Ten Commandments and they were at that part where Moses was gets all badass with his staff. Still. Made note to self to pick up a mortar and pestle along with 12 inch cast iron pan and a martini shaker.
There are many things I think about when walking sullenly through my local Soviet-era grocery store, and not all of them involve pondering the 1980’s music that seems to be the perpetual soundtrack in all American supermarkets.
Is Phil Collins supposed to inspire me to buy some stabilized salad dressing and Paul Newman popcorn?
Just as often while shopping, as I wander, I wonder: If I buy my children their requested Cinnamon Toast Crunch, will that turn them off oatmeal and homemade pancakes? Or will it guarantee that they like me for, like, ever?
Some random things I love in my kitchen: old Randy Travis songs, gin, antique glasses full of gin, artichokes, someone else folding the dish towels, shallots, toffee, coffee, and drbabs' recipes.
In fact, can we all stop here to have a moment of silence for this bottle of fun in your fridge [Worcestershire sauce], which predates the anchovy craze as a salt zapper, tastes great in burgers, lasts forever and is very, very hard to pronounce.
There are simple answers to dinner, and then, there are insanely simple answers. Enter Maple-Cardamom Glazed Salmon. You brush a sweet little overcoat of maple syrup on your main man, Mr. Delicious Salmon and cook him. The end.
But wait I have more to say!
The first thing you will notice is that our author has tied together a sultry, nectarous adhesive with an array of woody spices that work together effortlessly -- I am talking Lyle Lovett and his large band.
I feel it is very important for you not to feel prejudiced against pasta just because it resembles the slug at the bottom of a Mezcal bottle and has a name that makes you think of odors.
I never thought about anchovies with orange. Why is that? Is it because I spend most of my time holed up in my DC kitchen thinking about new ways to perfect a chocolate chip cookie? I don’t know really, but this dish is going into the rotation.
Like many Americans, or humans, I do not find work the best part of my week.
That’s not to say I don’t enjoy spending my days trying to suss out exactly who is trying to end Medicare as we know it, or pondering the relative merits of the 16 individuals running for the second Congressional seat in Utah. But all things considered, I’d rather be planting Thai basil.
I did use a Chianti instead of Cahors if that makes you feel better. But you should probably use whatever wine MrsWheelbarrow says. She knows things.
Mangoes were my children’s gateway tropical fruit. Bacon girl sadly went on to eschew all fruit not disguised in pancake batter, but the incipient pescatarian who learned the ways of lamb and never looked back continues to love mangoes.
Even in your standard blender, this mix of milk, yogurt, ice and honey will be zipped together in less than a minute, and the next thing you know you’ll be ready for a big day at the office, or curling up with a V.S. Naipaul novel. That’s your business.
People will flock around you to eat them warm, so if you have a chore you’d like fulfilled “No cookie for you until you hang up that backpack/sweep the porch/cut some mint in the garden” call it in.
This little drink is as delicate and lovely as it appears, but like so many things of beauty, packs a bit more of a wallop than you may have been expecting. Please reserve this experiment for the end of your day, when you have little else to do but sit on the porch and wonder how it is that you never noticed that you have a cowlick, or if a failing to water your blueberry bush is a form of moral turpitude.
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