If Mayonnaise addiction were recognized as a sickness, then my mother would be in Mayo Anonymous. She'll eat mayonnaise in staggering amounts (Hellmann's of course) on everything from the normal - chicken sandwiches, potato salad, deviled eggs - to the severely abnormal - green salad, steak. Steak? Yes, in fact she'll eat mayo with any kind of meat if sour cream isn't available.
I've been trying so many new things in the kitchen lately: Steak Frites with Lavender Hollandaise, Pork Potstickers and Rack of Lamb with Goat Cheese come to mind. However, this week, after celebrating Chinese New Year in Chinatown on Sunday and stuffing myself silly with Peking Duck, I decided to go back to basics and roast a chicken.
It was Sunday, Valentine's Day, around 2PM. Baby Girl was asleep in her crib and the hubby was asleep on the couch. I was sitting in an armchair sipping earl grey tea and thumbing through Claudia Fleming's The Last Course. Specifically, I wanted to make the Warm Chocolate Ganache Cakes, which are like molten chocolate cakes but even more intensely chocolate. My mother and I use to gobble them down at Gramercy Tavern where Fleming was the pastry chef years ago.
When lavender comes to mind, I think relaxation, sachets and hand soap. However, I also think earl grey tea, madeleine cookies and now... Steak Frites! Yes, bizarre I know, but I read years ago about an old school restaurant in LA that used to smother steaks in lavender blossoms. I tried it and let's just say nubby strong smelling blossoms were everywhere and muscled the steak into whimpering submission.
I had the very best intentions to share with you my Horsey Grandma's recipe for brownies. Hers are a bit fluffier and cakier and, while I prefer a chewy brownie, I grew up on these and they're darn good. You might be wondering why I call my dear grandmother Horsey. In an effort to differentiate between our grandparents and because my father's parents lived on a farm, adding the Horsey prefix was only natural. Of course, the other explanation is my father had a penchant for nicknames and his sense of humor always leaned towards sadism. My nickname was Poo Bear as in poo poo not Winnie. He only knew baby girl for nine months, but she was swiftly dubbed Grumpenella due to her colic. I really do miss his way with words.
I get cravings. It starts as a thought, over time becomes a strong desire and finally ends up as an all consuming urge to fulfill. Brownies. Brick Chicken. Linguine alle Vongole. These are all examples of foods that, once they have a hold of me, you'll find me in the kitchen or on my way to a restaurant no matter what time of day it is. Strangely, I can't recall one craving from my pregnancy, but that's probably because I freely indulged every urge the minute I felt it. Last week, while I was salivating over anything dairy, I also started thinking about Chinese food, specifically Pork Potstickers and Peking Duck. While I'm pretty sure Peking Duck is above my paygrade, Pork Potstickers are doable.
As I mentioned a couple days ago, I can't eat any dairy until Sunday. However, my body wants it. Baby girl's milk is so alluring. The butter on her toast in the morning makes me want to scream. Yes, I'm dramatic. Always have been. And, I certainly understand that if lactose intolerance is all I have to worry about, then I'm golden. That being said, I really really want a cookie... and a glass of milk.
I've had a pain in my side for the last five years. It isn't a bad or a constant pain. However, it comes and it goes often enough that I went to the doctor (yes, after 5 years!) to get it checked out. Luckily, he said It would've killed you by now if it was anything terrible. He suspects dairy is the culprit and lactose intolerance the condition. As of today I am halfway through a ten day abstinence program where I can't touch a lick of dairy...
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