I’m lucky enough to have my rent paid for through July, but after that I’m totally on my own. What I’m saying is.. now I’m turning budget gourmet. Luckily, produce is cheaper in Austin since we’re so close to the ole border down there, but I’m still going to have to save, save, save.. and save some more.

What’s your favorite super cheap but super delicious meal?

I don’t even know where to begin. A few years ago, I asked my chick friend to be my “date” to my academic program’s–which was more like a nerdy fraternity–semester formal. Bringing a guy when you’re in the middle of anything and everything with the gender makes it complicated, like starting to date someone at the beginning of February. What in the world do you do for Valentine’s Day? So, because of the Valentine’s Day dilemma of early relationships, I brought a chick friend, and my second favorite memory of the night is her eating my sesame ginger noodles and ranting and raving about how totally awesome they are. My number one favorite memory? Her, against all my good advice, eating a raw clove of garlic “just to see”, and then her crying and crying. I have photos as proof, a sort of permanent “I told you so.”

So please, Readers, bypass Memory #1 and go to Memory #2. These noodles rule. And whoa, I totally just typed “these noodles rool.” I changed it, but then admitted it, so I’m not sure why I changed it.. or admitted it. Anyway, They rule. Rool. Rül. Whatever. They’re good. I ate them cold out of some random Tupperware last night before a group interview. I ate them hot, voraciously, Fantastic Mr. Fox-style two nights ago, fresh out of the pot. And now I’m seriously considering going downstairs to eat the rest of them with my bare hands. I should never blog when I’m hungry..

The best part about these noodles is that they’re exactly how I like them to be. However, I took a huge batch on a college spring break woo party! trip to the coast, and everyone I went with loved them, too. The point? You can make them how you love them.. and everyone else will probably still love them, too.

Second best part about these noodles? You can use almost any vegetable hanging out in your fridge. It’s a nice “everything but the sink” sort of recipe that, as I so guiltily admitted, works well hot, cold, or with your bare hands. And if you don’t dig sesame that much, just replace it with more soy sauce or more oyster sauce or more vegetable oil! If you super love ginger, add more. Again, see where I’m going with this? Make this how you, dear Reader, like it. And you’ll thank me, and yourself, for it.

Here’s, however, what I used as vegetables:
Half a bunch bok choy, super white part discarded and the rest cut into about 3/4″ slices, starting where there’s always some green on the edge of the heart.
Half a bunch green onions, cut into 1″ pieces.
One singular stalk of broccoli, but only because that’s all I had, steamed and then thrown in at the end.
1/3 block of firm tofu, because, if you think about it, it was a vegetable at one point in time.. and I’m Southern. Macaroni and cheese is a vegetable here.

Aw, man, that’s it this time. I usually have bean sprouts and bamboo shoots and weird other stuff, but I just went with whatever I had laying around this time. Either way, I just reheated some and ate it with an actual fork and hoooooly mama. It’s good.

Here’s a play-by-play:
To make the sauce:
Mix the cornstarch and soy sauce til really smooth, then add all the other sauce ingredients, and put over low heat, stirring til nice and smooth and chocolaty-looking:
Fry garlic and the white bits of bok choy in vegetable oil about five minutes, until the bok choy starts to soften.. I like to poke and prod at the heart and make it do little pliés, a fancy ballet word for knee-bending. I’m mean:

Now’s a good time to start marinating the tofu:

Then I add in the whiter parts of the green onion, the stronger tasting parts, and fry about three minutes:

Then I put evvvverything else in, fry until delicious-looking, coat the cooked 8 ounces of pasta with the sauce, and then throw in the veggies. Season to taste and then go wild. Wild, I tell you!

Sesame Ginger Noodles and Stuff Vegetables
Sauce:
4 teaspoons cornstarch
5 tablespoons soy sauce
3 tablespoons white wine
2 tablespoons oyster sauce
2 teaspoons sesame oil
1 tablespoon garlic ginger paste, or just ginger paste

Noodles:
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
3 cloves garlic, minced
4 stalks bok choy, super white parts discarded and the rest cut into 3/4″ pieces, pure greens parts separated from hearty parts–hearty meaning pieces with some semblance of a white heart remaining.
half bunch green onions, cut into 1″ pieces, thick whitish parts separated from greens
1 stalk broccoli, steamed
8 ounces spaghetti or Asian noodles

Tofu:
2 teaspoons ginger garlic paste
1 teaspoons sesame oil
4 tablespoons soy sauce
1/3 block firm tofu

Directions:
Note: It’s good to have a pot of water at the verge of a boil during the first few steps of the recipe. That way, you can crank up the heat and have it boiling when you’re exactly ready, which is around when you throw in the meaty whitish parts of the green onion [step 3].
Marinate: Combine all marinade liquids, cut the third of a block of tofu into bite-size cubes and toss in marinade. When ready to use, drain really well.
1. Dissolve cornstarch in soy sauce well. Add to the rest of the sauce ingredients in a small saucepan and heat over low heat until thickened.
2. Meanwhile, heat vegetable oil over medium heat, then throw in garlic and hearty pieces of bok choy. Fry, stirring often, for about five minutes.
3. [Start pasta in boiling water, if you're using traditional spaghetti.] Throw in meaty whitish parts of the green onion and fry, stirring often, for about three minutes.
4. Throw in the bok choy greens and the green onion greens and fry til a little wilty.
5. Throw in broccoli and fry a little.
6. Once pasta is finished, drain well and toss back into the pot. Coat with sauce and throw in all vegetables. Coat carefully, so as not to break up much of the broccoli, then fold in drained tofu and serve.

That’s right. I’m like a drug sniffing dog. But for bananas. I can’t help it; they have such a strong, distinct smell, one that I learned to hate a long, long time ago. But, thing is, I love banana bread. Looove it. Last night, my mother pointed to a pile of quickly blackening bananas and said, “Make banana bread. If you can stand it.” She then disappeared, all Batman-like, and left me with a dilemma. Could I suck it up and peel those things, actually work with them, all to make something that ends up delicious? After about an hour (i.e. three minutes) of meditation on the subject, I came to the conclusion: Yes. Yes, I could.

I picked up those bumblebee-inspired sticks of fruit with a crumpled look on my face. ‘You, evil, evil things,’ I thought to them, knowing my thoughts would be transferred telepathically to the devil’s fruit. Placed them on the counter, backed away, and stared at them suspiciously. Could I do it? I.. I.. I’m stronger than this! I can do it! I have defeated satan!

Except then I had to go to youtube to figure out how to peel them. Seriously. And when most of the videos were “how to peel a banana like a monkey”, I realized how stupid I was being and went all monkey on those things. ‘If a monkey can do it, why can’t I?’, I told myself. Luckily, I peeled those babies just fine and felt proud of myself for doing one of the things most humans learn within their first few years of life.

I started mashing and realized, ‘Hey, this isn’t that bad. Not nearly as bad as I remembered..’, and I blame this on Adam Roberts’ post on the banana pudding at Magnolia Bakery that actually looked.. good. Before I’d started mashing, I looked with hesitation at the unpeeled bananas and considered actually trying one.. but I didn’t. Maybe next time, Bananas of the World.

Sorry.

The most fun, however, came when I was adding flour to the batter, while rocking out to some Dodos or Animal Collective or Al Green, of course, and suddenly thought, ‘Oh god. Did I add three 1/2 cups of flour to the batter? It looks awfully thin.. Did I only add two? Ohhhh god. Should I add more? No, that’s a stupid idea. I know I added two half teaspoons of baking soda, so I must be on top of it, right? Adding the right amount of halves of things to suit the recipe, right? Right.. OK.. Caution to the wind.. Pouring this baby in the pan.. Hoping I don’t totally fail and have to go door-to-door asking if anyone happens to have four overripe bananas I could borrow, just so I don’t look like a failure to my mother..’

But guess what? I was right! I did add three 1/2 cups of flour, equaling the called-for 1 1/2 cups in the recipe. And guess what? The bread is awesome. Seriously amazing. I even packaged up a couple slices for poor microwave-lighting, cooking-inept (so far) Dan from my post about chicken soup chicken in some parchment paper and tied it up with some cooking string and, get this: these awesome, personalized “from the kitchen of” tags my mother got me for Valentine’s Day:

I even have a stamp! How awesome is that?!

Anyway, here’s what I have to say. Try this. It rules. It’s moist and flavorful, with a nice, subtle crunch coming from the walnuts I added. And it’s a great way to use up any overripe bananas you’ve got laying around, and, in my case, any leftover walnuts after my making my awesome lemon artichoke pesto. Nom.

Banana [Nut] Bread
Adapted from this recipe (I added three handfuls of walnuts, crushed to manageable size in a ziploc bag attacked by a rolling pin)

1/2 cup butter, softened
1 cup sugar
2 eggs, beaten
4 bananas, finely crushed
1 1/2 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon vanilla

1. Cream together butter and sugar.
2. Add eggs and crushed bananas. Combine well.
3. Sift together flour, soda and salt. Add to creamed mixture. Add vanilla. (At this point, I added the walnuts)
4. Pour into greased and floured loaf pan. Bake at 350 degrees for 60 minutes.

Keeps well, refrigerated.

Forgive me, Readers, for I have sinned. It has been a lot of years since my last confession. I.. I..
I watched New Moon!

It’s true, and I feel the only way to absolve myself is to confess to the world [wide web]. Then it becomes kitschy, right? Until I tell you.. It was the first birthday present I received this year! I felt old when my mother lit all the candles on my cake–my delicious, delicious deep chocolate vegan cake from Moosewood–but the fact that she bought me New Moon.. and the fact that I watched it later that day.. brought my age back down to earth. And then I watched a whole heck of a lot of True Blood.

They don’t explain vampire’s reactions to garlic in the Twilight series like they do their reaction to sun.. groan.. But that’s no reason why I can’t link vampires and garlic for a blog post! Today I made garlic soup. And O Lord:

Praise.

I did, of course, decide to make it at the store–meaning I decided at the store that I’d make it later at home, and did not set up a hot plate in the produce section–so I was meandering around looking up the recipe that had inspired me on my iPhone and generally did not look at the directions. Again. When I got home around 5 p.m. and realized that I was roasting more than half of the 44 cloves of garlic that go into the soup, I also realized I was really, really late. But guess what? So were my dinner guests. All was well, except for the fact that, in my rush, I refused to let my garlic cool after roasting and thus burnt the crap out of my fingers trying to get the smooshy garlic meat out of their little paper shells. Battle wounds, big sigh.

The soup might sound weird, or at least unusual, since most people don’t eat soup made almost entirely out of.. garlic.. on a regular basis, but the garlic is mellow and lovely. A combination of roasted garlic and raw garlic gives the soup a nice sweetness, complemented by a rich savoriness. There’s thyme in there, too, which is one of my verrrry favorite herbs, and just makes it all the better. I’ve got Smitten Kitchen to blame again for a new culinary obsession–this recipe came straight from her page, too.

To roast garlic for this recipe, you dissect a couple heads of garlic into 26 cloves, leaving them unpeeled, toss them in olive oil, pop in a baking dish, cover tightly with aluminum foil and then roast at 350º for about 45 minutes. This, my friends, is 26 cloves of garlic, violently ripped apart from each other:

You know your garlic is fresh when the cloves stay tight together and the paper is hard to peel away. I had some seriously fresh garlic, which I wasn’t so stoked about, given the time constraints. And speaking of time constraints, give yourself proper time for this recipe, because here’s today’s life lesson:

Peeling piping hot garlic is not smart. And it’s not fun. There, off with you.

44-Clove Garlic Soup with Parmesan Cheese,
Directions by SmittenKitchen!
Adapted from Bon Appetit, February 1999

Serves 4

26 garlic cloves (unpeeled)
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons (1/4 stick) butter
2 1/4 cups sliced onions
1 1/2 teaspoons chopped fresh thyme
18 garlic cloves, peeled
3 1/2 cups chicken stock or canned low-salt chicken broth
1/2 cup whipping cream
1/2 cup finely grated Parmesan cheese (about 2 ounces)
4 lemon wedges

Preheat oven to 350°F. Place 26 garlic cloves in small glass baking dish. Add 2 tablespoons olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper; toss to coat. Cover baking dish tightly with foil and bake until garlic is golden brown and tender, about 45 minutes. Cool. Squeeze garlic between fingertips to release cloves. Transfer cloves to small bowl.

Melt butter in heavy large saucepan over medium-high heat. Add onions and thyme and cook until onions are translucent, about 6 minutes. Add roasted garlic and 18 raw garlic cloves and cook 3 minutes. Add chicken stock; cover and simmer until garlic is very tender, about 20 minutes. Working in batches, puree soup in blender until smooth. Return soup to saucepan; add cream and bring to simmer. Season with salt and pepper.

Divide grated cheese among 4 bowls and ladle soup over. Squeeze juice of 1 lemon wedge into each bowl and serve.

Do ahead: Can be prepared 1 day ahead. Cover and refrigerate. Rewarm over medium heat, stirring occasionally.

On the way to the store today, I felt like I was in a strangely creepy David Lynch film.. the weirdest people walking along the street that were still there when I drove back. I just had to get that out. Phew.

I did, however, go a little late and without having even glanced at the directions. When I got home, I realized they were looong. You have to cook each thing individually in a different manner, which is fine, unless you’re trying to get the whole thing done in about an hour. And remember how lazy I am about dishes? That makes it even worse. I wanted to use the same pot for the asparagus and then the artichokes. And the same pot for the shiitakes and then the shallots and risotto. I could’ve broken down the time a tad were I not so lazy, but alas, I am.

Then you must add on all the time of cutting stuff up.. each thing into 1/4″ slices, which is a challenge with string beany asparagus rollin’ around everywhere, little disks ending up on the floor being eaten by the cats. But the worst of all? The artichokes.

I’ve only eaten artichokes out of a can or steamed whole, dipped in lots of deliciously evil stuff for your body. Thus, the only experience I’ve ever had with a raw artichoke is some measly cutting off the stem and the top little bit of the leaves. And thus, today was quite the learning experience. The recipe + blog called for picking off all of the leaves, removing the choke, cutting the heart into, yes, 1/4″ slices, tossing in lemon juice, then boiling for ten minutes. And today, my friends, you will learn a thing or two about working with raw artichokes:

1. Lever
2. Knife

There’s a reason most recipes tell you an artichoke is done steaming when the leaves peel off easily: They don’t otherwise. Which brings us to tip #1: Lever. Get your thumb down as far as you can, as close to the base of the artichoke and lever that thing off. It gets the cleanest break, with very little leftover leaf hanging out on the general body of the artichoke.

And you know how when you’re finished with the leaves of a steamed artichoke, the choke comes out easily with a spoon? Let’s just say.. not the case with raw artichokes. I found the best method of removing the choke to be angling a knife in and down slightly, coming from the edge of the leafless artichoke, and popping that hairy grossness off. Phew. OK.

Here’s the best part, though: The. Risotto. Was. Amazing.

All in the pan and whatnot:

Seriously. I’m not a big carb person, really, and I ate an entirely too huge plate of it. My mother said it was “delicious, but I think now I’m going to burst.” Thank God I made the whole recipe; that stuff is gonna sound mighty tasty around midnight tonight.. So moral of the story? Hard work pays off. And don’t count your chickens before they hatch, but I think that’s just about me forgetting wine at the store and having to go back. And I just wanted to say don’t count your chickens before they hatch. Yeah.

Oh yeah, here’s another life lesson: Fresh shallots make me weep. Weep, I tell you, complete with mascara steeped tears running down my poor face while I locked myself in the bathroom to get away from the shallot fumes. When will I learn that onions kill me if I’m only wearing my glasses and no rubbery onion-proof contacts?

Proof of the pain:

Last life lesson: In a mid-sized city that lacks the exotic, “asparagus, artichoke, and shiitake risotto” is going to be expensive. Overjoyed, however, by the contents of my shopping basket and all those delicious-sounding ingredients, I shelled out about thirty bucks for the risotto alone anyway. Was it worth it?

Yup. It was worth it.

Asparagus, Artichoke, and Shiitake Risotto (straight from smittenkitchen.com)
Ingredients:
5 cups chicken broth (40 fl ounces)
1 cup water
1 pound thin to medium asparagus, trimmed and cut into 1/4 inch thick slices, leaving tips 1 1/2 inches long
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/2 stick (1/4 cup) unsalted butter
3/4 pound fresh shiitake mushrooms, stems discarded and caps cut into 1/4 inch thick slices
2 large fresh artichoke hearts, cut into 1/4 inch thick slices, prepared*
2 shallots, finely chopped
1 1/2 cups Arborio rice (10 ounces)
1/2 cup dry white wine
2 ounces finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano (1 cup, though I used half)

Directions (once again, straight from smittenkitchen.com):
Bring broth and water to a boil in a 4-quart pot. Add asparagus and cook, uncovered, until crisp-tender, 3 to 4 minutes. Transfer asparagus with a slotted spoon to a large bowl of ice and cold water to stop cooking, then drain and pat dry. Keep broth at a bare simmer, covered.

Heat oil with 1 tablespoon butter in a 4-quart heavy saucepan over moderately high heat until foam subsides, then saute mushrooms, stirring occasionally, until browned, about 4 minutes. Season with salt and pepper, then transfer to a bowl.

Cook shallot in 2 tablespoons butter in saucepan over moderate heat, stirring, until softened, about 3 minutes. Add rice and cook, stirring, 1 minute. Add wine and cook, stirring, until absorbed, about 1 minute.

Ladle in 1 cup simmering broth and cook at a strong simmer, stirring, until absorbed, about 2 minutes. Continue simmering and adding broth, about 1/2 cup at a time, stirring frequently and letting each addition be absorbed before adding next, until rice is just tender and looks creamy, 18 to 20 minutes. (Save leftover broth for thinning.)

Remove from heat and stir in 1/2 cup cheese, remaining tablespoon butter, and salt and pepper to taste. Gently stir in asparagus, artichokes and mushrooms, then cover pan and let stand 1 minute. If desired, thin risotto with some of remaining broth. Serve immediately with remaining cheese on the side.

* My absolutely favorite artichoke heart preparation is to remove all the outer leaves, choke and stem of a whole artichoke, leaving just the heart. Cut the heart into 1/4 inch slices and toss it immediately in a bowl filled with the juice of one lemon. Make sure each and every edge, angle and side of the hearts gets coated in lemon juice, or they will brown very quickly. In a small pot, boil water with a good glug or two of white wine, a splash of white vinegar and if you’re feeling fancy, a smashed garlic clove and/or a bay leaf. Drop in the artichoke hearts with all of their lemon juice, and simmer them for about 10 minutes, or longer if needed for them to become tender. Drain and set them aside.

At least for the general idea of the recipe. Then you can go crazy and have mashed potatoes or noodles. Or both! Seriously! It’s that easy. This is for people who.. you ready for this story? Here goes:

My mother works with this young guy who hates tax season and loves beer. It’s tax season. He had a lot of beer last night. And you wanna know why? The guy decided to teach himself to cook and settled on macaroni and cheese for dinner last night. So he wanted to make breadcrumbs. They weren’t getting particularly crispy in the oven, so he popped them in the microwave. And the microwave caught on fire. And then he got a phone call, telling him firemen were on there way.

“But can’t you stop them?”

No. You can’t. I’m not sure what he actually told them, after they “came in all their firemen stuff” (his words), but I hope he told them the truth. Or that he was welding. Welding something big and manly. Or the truth. That’s a pretty good one, too. And you wanna know why? Because his friends felt sorry for him and bought him a lot of beer. You can’t light that on fire (Right..? Anyone remember the torts case where this company had an oil spill and then a spark lit the oil, which they didn’t think could happen, but it did and the fire burned down an entire wharf? That case comes to mind..).

So, Dan, this recipe is for you. It probably won’t cause anything to catch fire, but it’s stupid easy, cheap, and delicious. Chicken. Soup. Chicken. The kind of meal that’s so simple and homey, you just feel cozy after eating it. I’ve been eating it since I was a little kid, and it’s one of those recipes I’ll make for myself when I’m in my own house. I eschew most of the simple stuff we ate when I was a kid, but not this. No way.

What you’ll need:

All you’ve got to do is brush some neutral oil on washed and super dried chicken pieces, pop those in the oven at 425º for thirty minutes–make sure before you take them out, there’s a nice bit of browning on the skin. Mix a can of cream of chicken soup with a can of milk and pour that all over the chicken, then it’s back in the oven for those suckers, just about thirty minutes, or until they’re done–internal temperature of 150º. Then uh, serve with mashed potatoes or cooked shell noodles or both.. and pour that deliciously simple gravy over everything. Everything. If you’re writing a food blog about it, sprinkle some parsley on the top of everything so it looks fancy. Tada!

Chicken Soup Chicken
Ingredients:
Chicken thighs, typically one per person or however many you can stuff in your belly
Cream of chicken soup (Usually just one can, but I made two can’s worth when four were eating)
Milk, the equivalent of however much cream of chicken soup you use
Salt
Pepper

Directions:
1. Preheat the oven to 425º. Wash the chicken and dry very well. Place in a casserole dish and salt well. Allow the chicken to sit like that for fifteen minutes, drying out the skin and allowing the salt to dissolve.
2. Brush the skin of the chicken with vegetable oil, or some other neutral oil, and season with white pepper. Roast in the oven for thirty minutes.
3. Mix cream of chicken soup and the milk well. After thirty minutes, take out the chicken and pour the cream of chicken soup mixture around the chicken. If you try to avoid getting the mixture on the skins of the chicken, you get even crispier skin! Uh.. yum.
4. Roast for another thirty minutes, or until the internal temperature of the chicken is 150º. Serve with mashed potatoes, shell noodles, or.. both.. and loads of that delicious gravy.

…I’m hungry.

- My mother.

Today I discovered a wonderful little Indian market randomly tucked away in the suburbs. I spent a ridiculous amount of money on three types of lentils, hoards of frozen samosas, fresh paneer, and other amazing condiments I was previously unable to find. Oh, yeah. And that Cadbury Dairy Milk I absolutely had to have…

On this ethnic grocery high, I decided to try out “International Bazaar” down the street. No qualifier, just.. international. I popped in, and it was empty. A moment later, a burly–and silent–Russian man meandered out of the back and kept an eye on me at all times. While scowling. I couldn’t read anything, kinda figured there were fish in the cans with pictures of fish on them, realized I wasn’t in the market for canned fish, and.. left. But the Indian market was good!

When I got home, I decided to not use any of it, but make Indian anyway.

Well, OK, I lied. I used my shiny, new ginger garlic paste, but that’s it, I promise.

I made aloo matar–potatoes and peas in a tomato-y sauce–which I used to eat all the time when I was vegetarian. It’s simple, healthy, and delish. I even made it in just one pot, because I’m lazy. I probably should’ve made some basmati rice to go with it, but that would’ve required pushing the meal back the extra twenty minutes it would take to make it before starting everything else. Yeah, I’m that lazy.

But I am NOT lazy when it comes to adding chilies to a dish. Seriously, this baby is on fire. Like this one, the one typing. Yowza. Deep breaths. Might even go grab some milk….

But I’m too lazy. I think, instead, that I’ll just stuff myself with potatoes and peas and watch this video.. And decide for myself..

Aloo Matar
Ingredients:
5 medium red potatoes, peeled, cut into bite-size pieces, boiled, and drained
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 medium onion, chopped fine
1-2 small chilies, chopped fine (I threw both the onion and chilies in the food processor)
1 tablespoon ginger garlic paste
2 bay leaves
2 cups crushed tomatoes
2 cups frozen green peas
1 teaspoon white salt
1 1/2 teaspoons garam masala
1 1/2 teaspoons paprika
1 tablespoon turmeric
1/2 teaspoon ground coriander
1 teaspoon salt
chopped cilantro for garnish

Directions:
Forward by Author
Be like me.. lazy.. And boil the potatoes, drain them, and set them aside, then use the pot for the rest.. or just do it while you do the rest of the stuff.

Actual Stuff
1. Sauté onions, chilies, ginger garlic paste, and bay leaves in oil until onions are soft.
2. Stir in spices, then peas and tomato purée. Heat through.
3. Toss in potatoes and mix in til coated well and all evenly hot. Season to taste and cook til desired consistency.
4. Sprinkle with cilantro and serve with hot basmati rice if you’re not as lazy as I. Maybe even some naan, dare we dream…

Note: I added loads more chilies slit down the middle, as well as cayenne and chili garlic paste. Yeah, I know. I’m insane. But it’s soooo tasty! Nom nom.

However, unwilling to spend such an ungodly amount of money on a teeny tiny hummus-size tub, I set out to make it on my own. One poor Christmas, I made some for the entire family, and jarred them in cute little Masons. Was it a hit? Oohh, was it.

($25 gift card not included)

There’s something about my family that requires them to snack at exactly four o’clock or eat dinner at 5:45. I can’t explain it; I’m much less strict. What can I say? I like food, and I’ll wait for it. The fam? Not hardly. So, if you remember the dinner with our “special guest” that was categorically not me, thanks Mom.. it’s the vegetarian aunt who’s always starving upon crossing the threshold to our abode. “What will you have for Vegetarian Aunt when she walks in?!” my mother demands, desperately. “Fine, fine, I’ll make artichoke lemon pesto,” I concede. Wait.. did I just say concede? I meant responded blissfully! I love this stuff! It does, however, look like tuna fish.. But that’s irrelevant.

The recipe is a bit fuzzy, since I get a little too into the moment (Anyone watch Heroes much? I’m like the guy whose eyes go white and he goes into a future-painting frenzy.) when cooking, but this should do. It’s easy and fantastic. I served it with crostini, which is just Italian bread cut pretty thin, both sides brushed liberally with olive oil, and popped in the oven at 400º. I baked them for about 15 minutes, turning occasionally, but it all depends on how crisp you want them. On we go!

Lemon Artichoke Pesto
Ingredients
12 oz. jar marinated artichoke hearts, oil reserved
1/3 – 1/2 cup freshly grated parmesan cheese
1/3 – 1/2 cup walnuts
zest of 1/4 lemon
juice of one lemon
fresh parsley, if desired

Directions
Blend artichoke hearts, parmesan cheese, walnuts, lemon zest, and lemon juice together in a food processor. Add reserved artichoke oil til you reach the desired consistency. Add parsley, if desired. Garnish with a sliver of lemon and a walnut or so!

Sigh. That looming black cloud for me? The fact that my favorite books are cookbooks. The creativity, the ideas, the beautiful pictures, ugh! Sure, there are pictures in law school casebooks.. but they’re black and white pictures of raisins and prunes: Mainly Learned Hand and Justice Holmes. I should’ve known better, to trade one for the other.

Not Learned Hand. Or Justice Holmes. May Posner? Dare I say it?:

However, standing there next to me on that ridiculous Southern porch where both Laura Ingalls Wilder and Old Yeller live, is my mother, sending me packages of new cookbooks for Valentine’s Day. Valentine’s Day! This year? The new Ina Garten and the Thomas Keller cookbook for the pedestrian cook: Ad Hoc at Home. The book is hefty and beautiful, with wonderful pictures and incredibly.. awesome and intimidating precision. I was surfing through some of Amateur Gourmet’s posts and was inspired by his Ad Hoc attempt of roast chicken on a bed of root vegetables–one of the tastiest looking things in the book.

His post looked delicious, and if you, like I, are terribly hungry right now, I’d skip clicking on the link altogether. So inspired, I was! However, I’d never cooked with turnips or rutabagas before, and had to kind of, you know, search the titles above the produce to figure out what exactly a rutabaga looked like (Hint: They’re ugly). I’ve roasted a hundred chickens, but peeling a rutabaga and a turnip? That was new. But easy!

All the vegetables hangin’ out pre-slow, tortuous death:

The hardest part was, after everything was all roasted and being eaten, trying to figure out which was the turnip and which was the rutabaga, before giving up and Googling it. They’re both white at the start, but after roasting, one is a merrigold yellow! How dare you confuse me, root vegetables! (Hint: The rutabaga turns yellow.)

The vegetables were phenomenal. Beyond words.

The fresh thyme infused with garlic and oil and cooked them perfectly into a bed of delish. The chicken skin was incredibly crisp–who can blame it? You pat that thing dry as a bone then pour a lot of oil on him.

And back together, like they’re meant to be:

I was, however, slightly disappointed with the white meat. I’m a big fan of the beer can chicken, and generally making my food look like it’s dancing in the oven.. that masochist. It can be difficult to get beer can chicken to come out all done all over at the right time, but the white meat is to die for. I’m a big dark meat girl, but I wouldn’t trade anything for a big slice of that beer can chicken’s white meat.. Am I feeling an infusion coming along? Beer can chicken over root vegetables..? Hmmm… thoughts… Either way, I ate a ton of it, and it was delicious. Recommended.

Confessions before we continue: I couldn’t find any cooking string, so I didn’t truss the thing. And I totally forgot the onion. Sorry, guys!

Awesome confession: I just got back from the grocery store and am making the roasted root vegetables tonight, sans chicken. We’ll see how it works…

Finally, Adam from Amateur Gourmet typed up the whole recipe beautifully, so I’m gonna just give him credit for that and skip the chore myself. So here you have it, Ad Hoc roast chicken on a bed of root vegetables, typed by the wonderful Amateur Gourmet and lazily copied and pasted by the lazy Legally Eating!

Roast Chicken on a Bed of Root Vegetables
Ingredients.. Be prepared. It’s precise.
One 4 to 4 1/2 lb chicken
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
6 garlic cloves, smashed and peeled
6 thyme sprigs
2 large leeks
3 tennis-ball-sized rutabagas
2 tennis-ball-sized turnips
4 medium carrots, peeled, trimmed, and cut in half
1 small yellow onion, trimed, leaving root end intact, and cut into quarters
8 small (golf-ball-sized) red-skinned potatoes
1/3 cup canola oil
4 tablespoons (2 ounces) unsalted butter, at room temperature

Directions. Be prepared. There’s a lot of them.
Remove the chicken from the refrigerator and let stand at room temperature for 1 1/2 to 2 hours, or until it comes to room temperature.

Preheat the oven to 475 F.

Remove the neck and innards if they are still in the cavity of the chicken. Using a paring knife, cut out the wishbone from the chicken. (This will make it easier to carve the chicken.) Generously season the cavity of the chicken with salt and pepper, add 3 of the garlic cloves and 5 sprigs of thyme, and massage the inside of the bird to infuse it with the flavors. Truss the chicken.

Cut off the dark green leaves from the top of the leeks. Trim off and discard the darkened outer layers. Trim the root ends, cutting around them on a 45-degree angle. Slit the leeks lengthwise almost in half, starting 1/2 inch above the root ends. Rinse the leeks well under warm water.

Cut off both ends of the rutabagas. Stand the rutabagas on end and cut away the skin, working from top to bottom and removing any tough outer layers. Cut into 3/4-inch wedges. Repeat with the turnips, cutting the wedges to match the size of the rutabagas.

Combine all the vegetables and remaining garlic cloves and thyme sprig in a large bowl. Toss with 1/4 cup of the oil and season with salt and pepper. Spread the vegetables in a large cast-iron skillet or a roasting pan.

Rub the remaining oil over the chicken. Season generously with salt and pepper.

Make a nest in the center of the vegetables and nestle the chicken in it.

Cut the butter into 4 or 5 pieces and place over the chicken breast.

Put the chicken in the oven and roast for 25 minutes. Reduce the heat to 400 F and roast for an additional 45 minutes, or until the temperature registers 160 F in the meatiest portions of the bird–the thighs, and under the breast where the thigh meets the breast–and the juices run clear. If necessary, return the bird to the oven for more roasting; check it every 5 minutes.

Transfer the chicken to a carving board and let rest for 20 minutes.

Just before serving, set the pan of vegetables over medium heat and reheat the vegetables, turning them and glaazing them with the pan juices.

Cut the chicken into serving pieces, arrange over the vegetables and serve.

Except when my mother said that, she didn’t mean me, even though none of that slightly extended family has seen me since I moved home. She meant my vegetarian aunt. And did she make something vegetarian for that vegetarian “special guest”? No! Did I? Yes!

(Don’t mind my sneaky bit of Italian sausage I snuck from the meat sauce’s pan…)

In Italy, the pasta sauce is simple, fresh, and delicious. And while saying that makes me feel like a complete tool, I liked it, and I wanted to recreate it. So, opportunity arisen, I did.

I literally used four ingredients for the sauce: garlic, olive oil, tomatoes, and basil. And, OK, salt. But seriously! Four! Or five! Or whatever!

Really, the most complicated part is peeling the tomatoes, but it’s not so complicated.

Core those babies and then pop them into boiling water til the skins start peeling, then take them out! And into the ice bath they go. Then you just peel the skins off with your fingers and get on your merry way. I made something of a fleshy mess out of those tomatoes, but no.. skin off my back…. Then you just fry some garlic, throw in the tomatoes, cook a bit, then toss in the basil. Could it get any easier? I wish the Italians had an Italiany word for no.

Pasta bowl in front of me, I reiterated my pretentiousness by stating the dish reminded me of that little café we went to off that piazza in Florence.. What did I really mean, though? That it was delicious. Fresh, simple, delicious.. All the meat sauce-eaters were jealous.

Penne al Pomodoro e Basilico
Ingredients
3 tablespoons olive oil
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 pounds roma tomatoes, cored, peeled, then chopped into 1/2″ pieces
2 tablespoons fresh basil, chopped
2 servings of penne, or whatever.

Directions
Heat olive oil over medium heat then sauté garlic til fragrant. Throw in tomatoes and crank up heat a bit. (And now’s a pretty good time to start the pasta process.) Cook tomatoes for about ten minutes, or until tomato juices are pretty evaporated and it’s a nice, lovely sauce that pleases you. Throw in basil, correct seasonings, and cover.
When pasta is done and drained, throw into the tomato sauce and stir to mix and coat well. Then act frustrated, pout and lean on your elbows, and cry “Ahh, Bertolli!” It just seems.. appropriate.