jennsylvania

Crisis Averted

My office is on the second floor and that's where I tend to spend most of the workday.  Because it's located an entire flight of stairs from the filtered water on the fridge door, I find myself going thirsty rather than taking the trek to the kitchen.

Yes, I understand exactly how lazy this is. 

(Do I need to remind anyone of how I once considered hiding a bucket in the first floor pantry in the old house rather than climbing twelve stairs to the bathroom?) 

(Fletch wouldn't let me, by the way.)

Anyway, I came up with a rather elegant solution.  I would buy a case of water and store it upstairs, thus I would never get thirsty to the point of dizziness again!  Genius! 

(Granted, a little bit pathetic, but mostly genius!)

I bought the water, brought it upstairs, and deposited it on the counter in the guest bathroom, where it remained in the way for the next few days.  Because this bath is right next to my office, I tend to favor it over the master bath which is a good twenty paces down the hall. 

(Y'all are noticing a theme here, aren't you?)

I kept having to work around the bulky case when I brushed my teeth, washed my face, etc. so I needed to find a place to store it.  I could bring it down to the laundry room off the master bedroom, but then I'd have to do all that rearranging to make it fit in the cabinet.

Turns out the solution to my problem was right next to me.  I drew back the shower curtain in front of the unused guest tub and placed the case in there, spic, span, and out of the way.  Plus, I figured, if anything happened to one of the bottles, leaking water would go directly down the drain.  Again, genius!

When Fletch got home, I proudly whipped open the curtain to show him where I'd stashed the water. 

He slowly looked from the case to me.  After a long pause, he finally said, "So... you've decided to store stuff in an empty tub.  Congratulations, you've just taken the first step to seeing yourself on Hoarders in twenty years."

Yeah.  I moved the bottles.

Get Your Meat On

I've reached the short lull in the life cycle of the new book (My Fair Lazy, due out May 4) so I'm using this time to do nice stuff around the house for Fletch.  He got pretty tired of the delivery I insisted on every night while on deadline, so I'm making a concerted effort to cook meals he'll enjoy.

(Yes, fine, we had tacos delivered one night last week, but Maisy was sick and I had to cook her poached chicken and basmati rice and I was not about to make dinner twice.)

Anyway, this has become my own little version of Iron Chef and I've been challenging myself to try a lot of new stuff.  And two nights ago, I presented Fletch with my finest creation yet - a perfectly-cooked filet, herbed tomatoes, and white truffle butter pasta.  (The latter two are Ina Garten's recipes, but the filet is all mine.) 

I call this dinner Jen's Black and White Trufflepalooza.  (Serves two)

2 six to eight ounce filets, between one inch and two inches thick

1 teaspoon sea salt

1/2 teaspoon coarsely ground black pepper

1 teaspoon garlic powder

2 tablespoons olive oil

2 pats of black truffle butter

Two hours before cooking, take the defrosted filets out of the fridge, rinse them with water, pat them completely dry with paper towels, and coat them on all sides with the spice mixture, making sure to press it all into the meat.  Then put the filets in the microwave, not to cook them in any way.  Rather, to keep the stupid kittens from licking them.  (You can skip this step if you don't live in my house.)

The key to getting a good brown on meat is to make sure they're bone dry.  Right before cooking them, set the steaks in a cast iron skillet and stick them into a 275 degree oven until the internal temperature reads between 90 to 95 degrees.  (This only takes a few minutes, particularly if your meat's been out.)  (Okay, did that sound vaguely dirty to anyone but me?)  (No?  Fine, moving on.)

Once they've reached this temperature, take them out of the oven and set them aside.  Use the same cast iron skillet, putting it on a high flame.  Let the pan get good and hot before adding enough quality olive oil to coat the bottom.  (You may need a little more or a little less than 2 tablespoons depending on your pan's size.)  Right before the oil starts to smoke, place filets in the pan.

And here's where you need to turn on the vent fan. 

High. 

And possibly open a window.  Or all of them.

I know this sounds wrong, but if you really want a beautiful, brown char coat, your entire house is going to fill with an oily cloud of smoke that will not dissipate for a few days. 

I'm sorry, but it's worth it. 

Cook the filets on each side for around two minutes to start.  Don't poke them, don't prod them, don't mess with them in any way.  Seriously, keep your damn mitts off of them.  Just let them cook and try to not let the smoke kill you.  Once both sides are covered in what will be a gorgeous char coat, flip them on their sides to brown them.  Have your meat thermometer handy so you can gauge internal temperature.  I cook Fletch's to 120 degrees (approximately medium rare) and mine to 125-130 degrees (more like medium.) 

Once they're finished cooking, remove them from the heat and stick them on a plate, tenting with aluminum foil and topping with a small dab of black truffle butter which gives the meat an unspeakably tasty depth of flavor.  If you don't like truffle butter, use regular butter or a drop of good olive oil.  Since the meat's so lean, I always feel like I need a little bit of fat to bring the full flavor out. 

Give the juices a good five minutes to stabilize before slicing into it.  A lot of times I like to serve this over a crisp bed of greens with champagne vinaigrette and a little feta cheese.  However, this time I used those five minutes to make Ina Garten's Tagliarelle with White Truffle Butter, which is possibly the most delicious thing you will ever put in your mouth.  Her recipe is fast and simple; what's difficult is not sticking one's entire face in the pot and nom-nom-nomming until it's all gone. I also served this with Ina's herbed tomatoes, which would be absolutely fine on their own.

Inhale and then spend the rest of the night watching crappy television with pants unbuttoned.  (Truffle burps are optional.)

Spend the next week quietly cursing me while walking into standing grease clouds.

You're welcome.   

Yes, This Post Is Two Years Old, But Pertinent Because I'm Making This Soup Today

Setting:  On the couch at my friend Stacey's house, catching up before watching Top Chef.

Stacey:  What did you do for Labor Day weekend?

Me:  Fletch went to his 20th class reunion in Indiana and I stayed home and worked on my stupid book.  (Note:  Apparently I DO have people and they would like you to know I do not feel this book is stupid.)

Stacey:  I'm sorry, that had to suck.

Me:  What's worse is it was our five-year anniversary and I couldn't go with him because I was buried in work.  By the way, try to guess what he brought me for a present.  I'll start you off.  One dozen...

Stacey:  Roses? 

Me:  Nope.

Stacey:  Orchids? 

Me:  Try again.

Stacey:  Gardenias?

Me:  No.  One dozen EARS OF CORN.

Stacey:  (thoughtful pause) I hope they were at least long-stemmed.

* * * * *

OK, please no hate mail to Fletch because I bought him... nothing.  We aren't 'elaborate present' people and the 'no gifts' thing is a long anniversary tradition.  Also, at this time of year few things can compare to picked-in-Indiana-that-day produce and he brought home a ton of it because he is a fine husband.

Point?

I had a bunch of tomatoes at their peak of ripeness from his trip, so I emailed Stacey for her soon-to-be-world-famous tomato soup recipe and I cooked it today. 

Following you'll find instructions in case you'd like to make it.  You'll also find my helpful comments in italics.

STACEY'S (MAGICALLY) ROASTY TOMATO SOUP

Can be served hot or cold and can easily be turned into a million other recipes.  (Is magic soup??)

Approx 4 lbs. tomatoes - I use a mix of plum, cherry, and grape for depth of flavor, but it is essential they be fresh and ripe. (How many pounds is one square foot?  Because that's how many I have on my counter.)

1 medium sweet onion or 4 large shallots, diced (Shallot is one of my favorite words - is pretty, like Charlotte, only more exotic.  But would cause non-existent daughter to be teased on playground and children would taunt, "Your name is Onion!"  Possible good dog name, though, particularly if of stinky pit bull variety.)

2 T Herbs de Provence (Did not know this existed in our house until opened spice cabinet.  Magic cabinet?)

Olive Oil

Salt and pepper

Preheat oven to 250 degrees.  (Remove stored Tupperware first.)  (Or remove melted Tupperware after.  Your choice.)

Cut tomatoes in half, toss in olive oil to coat, and arrange cut side down on oiled sheet pans.  (Debate washing cookie tin with stuff still burnt on from mid-summer's lasagna debacle.  Opt for big casserole pan.  Is close enough.)

Add onion or shallot on top of the tomatoes.  Sprinkle with the herbs and liberal salt and pepper.  Roast approx 1.5 to 2 hours until skins are loose and the flesh is soft.  (Much like own self's.) 

Peel skins off tomatoes and discard.  (Or taste skins, declare delicious, and scarf right up.)  Dump the contents of the sheet pans (casserole dish) into a large bowl, using an immersion blender.  (Call Fletch to find out what 'immersion blender' is.)  (Call Fletch back to ask if we have one.)  (We do!  Magic Fletch!)

Blend into chunky soup.  (Change out of white shirt after operating very splashy immersion blender for first time.)  Adjust seasonings.

I serve either warm or cold with a dollop of creme fraiche (fancy!) or sour cream and some chopped fresh mint for grown-ups.  Add alphabet noodles or cooked rice for kids.  (Genius!  Too bad do not have daughter Shallot to feed to.)  Stir in toasted croutons and drizzle with olive oil and Parmesan for a classic Pappa al Pomodoro.  (Am pretty sure is Italian for "father of the spaghetti.")  Add fresh basil and garlic and you have a chunky pasta sauce. (!) Add fresh oregano and it becomes pizza sauce.  (!!) Freezes beautifully, can be canned if you are ambitious (right), and lasts up to two weeks in fridge.  (I TOLD YOU IT WAS MAGIC SOUP!)

(Serve in giant tub and inhale entire delicious contents while watching Survivor on DVD, saving none for Fletch.)

(A few hours later, find out what happens after inhaling one square foot of tomatoes, including skins.)

(Hint:  IS NOT MAGIC.)

One More (Unrelated) Thing!

Please don't forget to vote for Stacey if you haven't previously!  (Her cocktail is the Mionetini by Stacey Ballis, which is the sixth one on the list.)  (If you already voted, thank you!  No need to do it again because only one vote per email address counts.)

At this point, she's pretty much killed the competition, but with your help, she can COMPLETELY ANNIHILATE them.

Vote here by the end of today!

Thank you!

Jen In Real Life

First, please thank Margalit for writing something that inspired me to have a thought more than 140 characters long. 

(As a caveat, if you follow me on Twitter, you'll agree this has been a productive week.  If you only read the blog, though, not so much.)

Anyway, Margalit described how internet trolls love to fact-check bloggers when they post conflicting information.  The longer you've had an internet presence, the more this happens.  Personally, my blog is fairly current and consistent since I took older stuff offline.  What gets me, then, is when trolls use anecdotal evidence from my books and hold it up to my present-day life.

My books capture whatever thoughts and feelings I had at one particular moment and freezes them in time.  For example, in Bitter, I talk about being heartsick over the money I wasted on a Prada bag and I vowed to never be foolish again.  Which is completely true and I absolutely was. 

Yet last year when I posted a photo of some silly shoes I bought, I got a shitload of angry email saying, "You haven't learned a thing" and, "Those are Ferragamo, so clearly you lie" and, "You're completely back to your old ways." 

But here's the rub - there's an ocean of difference between spending a month's rent on a bag with no purpose other than to make me feel superior and buying a hundred dollar pair of sandals that I loved and could afford to celebrate making the NYT bestselling list a fourth week in a row. 

The lesson in Bitter wasn't that no one should ever possess nice things.  What I learned was that my stuff shouldn't own me.  In Bitter, ergo in my life, I rethought my priorities and the new paradigm I created back then still dictates how I live.  On that same note, in Such a Pretty Fat, I figured out how to be healthier, but that doesn't mean I can never, ever eat a cupcake.  The overarching theme was on finding balance.  I'm still working on it, with the knowledge that balance is a perpetual (and self-correcting) process. 

For those who want to argue that I'd previously described how I hate to cook, you're right.  I hated meal preparation.  When forced to do so, I cooked loudly and angrily.  But that was four or five years ago, long before I had the proper tools, skills, and motivation.  So I'm not lying when I write about enjoying the process of cooking now; I'm evolving.

In an effort to be healthier - or at least to counterbalance the cupcakes - I've vastly reduced the amount of packaged and processed foods from our diet.  I've recently been working almost exclusively with fresh ingredients and doing stuff like making my own sauces and dressings.  Seriously?  This clean-eating business works because our dinners have never tasted better.  For example, last week I made:

Baked chicken with roasted fennel, parsnips, onions, and carrots

Whole-wheat Panko crusted pork chops with mashed redskin potatoes and spring mix salad

Cuban pork with black beans and grilled fresh pineapple (yes, the cats were pissed I used their friend)

Seared beef tenderloin sliced onto red leaf lettuce with goat cheese and tossed with a warm balsamic reduction 

New York strip with asparagus risotto

(No, I don't have recipes.  I kind of do everything to taste.)

Granted, I've recently evolved to the point of obsession.  Which is why I hit six different grocery stores last week searching for the best ingredients without having to pay a fortune.  (If Whole Foods honestly thinks I'm going to fork over $34/pound for beef tenderloin from cows with positive self esteem, they are delusional.  I'm super pleased with the $8/pound self-loathing beef from the creepy grocery store down the street, thanks.) 

I'll be honest - cooking's a lot more fun now that I can take the afternoon and do it at my leisure.  (Being able to see the TV from my new kitchen helps a lot.)  Plus, coming home to a nice dinner is a lovely way for Fletch to end a stressful day and that makes me happy.  He's a particular fan of the very labor-intensive Risotto Night, which happens every Thursday.  (Tell me how you can watch Hell's Kitchen and not want to make risotto.) 

Would the the four-years-ago-me ever spend 45 minutes stirring a risotto?  OH, HELL, NO.  Then again, the four-years-ago me would just be walking in the door at 6:00 PM after a day of temping. 

Point?  Things perpetually change around here. 

That's just the nature of the internet.  And of real life.

But four months from now when I'm on deadline, knee-deep in empty Pringles tubes, and Twittering to Fletch to please, please make a Burger King run, promise me you'll keep this post in mind?

Behold!

If I weren't too lazy to go upstairs, get the digital camera, then find the stupid cord to download the photos, I wouldn't have to capture this with my BlackBerry.  Regardless, behold the peanut butter bomb cupcake:

 

Fletch said he'd bring cupcakes to work if I wanted to experiment with other recipes, so I made Martha's one-bowl chocolate cupcakes and the frosting from her peanut butter and jelly cupcakes. 

The cakes were gorgeous - dark and glossy and really moist.  However, the frosting wasn't nearly sweet enough.  Basically, it just tasted like peanut butter and I assume the big drop of jelly on top is what makes them tasty.  (Martha did warn us about mixing and matching her various cupcake components.)  

So, I cut the cake open, put the pb frosting as-is in the middle, reassembled and topped with buttercream and then used an equal mix of buttercream and peanut butter mixture to make a pb-buttercream swirl on top of that. 

Fletch assures me they are magnificent.  I can't personally vouch for them because I can't eat another goddamned cupcake, possibly ever.  Apparently you can get enough of a good thing. 

FYI, are you aware that baking cupcakes is an excellent way to procrastinate writing a keynote address?

Now you know.

Cupcake Up, Bitches

I've come to realize that I don't have a thing. 

In my regular, everyday life I've got no hook, no gimmick, nothing specific or special that makes the people who actually know me want to invite me to their house.  No one's ever, "Ooh, Jen's coming!  That means she's bringing corn dip!" or "Jen's here?  Hope she'll play piano for us again!  She has the voice of an angel." or "Jen's just back from Asia and she's got a ton of silk goodies for everyone!" 

Pretty much it's, "Oh, Jesus, Jen's here.  There goes all the Savignon Blanc.  And keep her away from the dog.  He hasn't been right since the last time when she tried to make out with him." 

Anyway, I've decided that cupcakes will be my thing.  There seems to be a big cupcake/author connection (See: Sedaris, Amy; McCandless, Sarah Grace; Bussel, Rachel Kramer) so this is a logical choice.  Besides, a really good cupcake can forgive a whole lot of bad behavior, and frankly I could use the help.

Martha Stewart, patron saint of crabby girls who dig buttercream, featured a whole passel of cupcake and frosting recipes in the February edition of her magazine.  So yesterday I went out and bought all the proper supplies - a sifter, cake flour, paper cups, buttermilk, etc.  And then I came home and got to work. 

Following her instructions to the letter, here's what I created three hours after beginning:

   

They're magnificent, aren't they?  And the taste/texture are to die for... most likely because they took five sticks of butter. 

Martha's cupcake/buttercream recipes are an excellent jumping-off point because I can't begin to get creative until I figure out the basics.  Next time I make these, I'll be using real vanilla bean and I may fool around with extracts like lemon.  Also, I'll cut the recipe because I ended up with 36 cupcakes and that's, um, kind of a lot for two people.  (Fletch did his best by woofing down five.  Bless his little heart and his distended belly.) 

I had a bit of a storage conundrum because I couldn't just wrap them in plastic because the frosting would stick, yet I couldn't just leave them sitting out on display because in addition to getting stale, they'd get licked.  (Perhaps this is not a problem with the cats in your home.  But your cats are probably not in the mood to ruin your stuff because they're super-angry at you for keeping the house so cold.  Yours probably also aren't all huddled over the heating registers like furry little homeless people.  But I digress.) 

I stuck them all in a roaster pan and covered it in Saran wrap, which seemed to work well.  As I progress, I'll get the proper storage container. 

So... huzzah!  I finally have my thing.

My thing on the internet is that I'm kind of funny yet I realize that this post was not. 

But perhaps you'll get a chuckle out of the cupcakes I made last week before having proper supplies and committing myself to making them the right way? 

"Oh, Jesus, she brought cupcakes.  Hide the dog, please."

My Friend Stacey Needs You

Ergo, I need you.  First, the what...

Please go here and vote for your favorite cocktail which I'm strongly suggesting will be the Mionetini created by my BFF Stacey Ballis as she used elderflower liqueur and we all know that it's the most delicious substance on earth.  (Her name and cocktail are the sixth one down on the list.  One vote per valid email address, please.)

Now the why... this summer Stacey and I were both on deadline and therefore we each found a thousand different ways to procrastinate, as writers are wont to do.  Whereas I picked up the Twilight series, Stacey dodged her own work by entering recipe contests.  Six months later, her book is done and her procrastination paid off - she's now competing for a trip to New York and a chance at the $5000 grand prize, whereas I am still correcting grammatical errors spurred from spending too many late nights shouting, "Renesme is the stupidest name I ever heard!"

And the what's-in-it-for-you... after entering dozens of contests and winning nothing, Stacey wrote the funniest article I've ever read about the experience.  Part of it recounts her side of the story on the day I went up to her vacation house and got into a head-on collision with an Adirondack chair.  I'm pretty sure if your votes catapult her up into the top three and she gets to go to New York, she'll put the story online.

In no way is this meant to look like a bribe, but if you guys WERE to get Stacey firmly into the number one spot, I'll put aside my seemingly never-ending editing and tell you my story about meeting Brian Dennehy and Carla Gugino on Monday. 

Did I exclaim, "I loved you in Tommy Boy!"?  

Did I shriek, "What was it like to work with Pauly Shore?"

Vote and find out.  

(And thank you!)

 

COOKIE PARTY!

Hey, remember last year when I said I was going to a cookie exchange and I asked you to share your favorite recipes here? 

And everyone participated? 

And it was super fun? 

Remember that? 

And we all had fantastic Christmases because we were so full of excellent cookies? 

Oh, wait, perhaps that's an exaggeration because last year was when Fletch suggested we cook dinner following Gourmet magazine's recipes?

And it was the very definition of a train-off-the-tracks, biker-hitting-a-billboard, baseball-bat-to-the-'nads, cat-with-a-jar-stuck-on-his-head monumental kind of fail? 

And we ate said fail-dinner at 11:25 PM, with barely thirty five minutes left until it wasn't even Christmas anymore? 

And my pie, the one that so screwed up our timing, never solidified (despite being stored in the freezer) so I served it in sauce form for a week over ice cream?

And Fletch suggested we use the liquid pie to replace our window washer fluid in the car because I so clearly had invented a substance that would never, ever freeze? 

But it was all OK because I fended of starvation (possibly another exaggeration) due to having previously made so many of your recipes?

Yeah, I remember, too. 

ANYWAY, welcome to what's now Jen's Second Annual Online Cookie Party!  Post away.

Once you're done if you want to read something awesome, check out my friend Stacey's article about being Jewish at this time of year and harboring Secret Christmas Envy.  Who knew? 

I'll be taking her a plate of cookies made from your recipes on Christmas Eve, so, guys, please bring your A-game to the comments section.

(And a non-stick pan.)

Today's Exciting Announcement!

Today's the official opening of the Holiday Drinking Season... gentlemen, start your bourbon!

Should you prefer your bourbon cut with something a bit sweeter - say, a milkshake - then do I have news for you!  Thus, I'm announcing the Official Cocktail of the Holiday Drinking Season.

This is the first year I've established a specified drink, although I tend to gravitate towards/stick with one kind of cocktail each season.  A couple of years ago it was Prosecco and that pink fusion X-Rated liqueur (chased with Ambien - DUMB, but tasty.)  I've also been a fan of what I called Champagne Coolies which were basically a glass of bubbly and a cube of sugar.  One season I had nothing but hot chocolate mixed with Godiva and hazelnut liqueur - never got drunk, but always felt like my teeth were wearing fuzzy socks. Then, of course, there was the time my drink of choice was the five dollar wine section at Trader Joe's... 

I decided I'd have an official cocktail this season after receiving the book Peterson's Holiday Helper: Festive Pick-Me-Ups, Calm-Me-Downs, & Handy Hints to Keep You in Good Spirits by Valerie Peterson. The book is full of fabulous old school libation recipes plus a bunch of snarky commentary and hilarious photos from Christmases circa 1964.  (FYI?  Makes a great gift.)  Seriously, she listed too much good stuff to NOT name an official drink.

Without further adieu, I give you The Christmas Consolation:

1 cup fresh raspberries

1 cup elderflower syrup (the book references places where to find this, such as IKEA) (and if you can't find it, you might substitute St. Germain's elderflower liqueur which is the DRINK OF THE GODS and surprisingly available at local liquor stores)

750 milliliter bottle of champagne or other sparkling white wine, well chilled

Combine raspberries and syrup overnight, refrigerated, covered to steep.  When serving, divide the steeped berries and steeped syrup evenly among six champagne flues.  Top with chilled champagne.  

This is supposed to serve six people, but nothing says you can't have all six servings and simply steep yourself.  

So, I wish you a Happy Thanksgiving and an even happier Holiday Drinking Season!

Maybe After All Those Cocktails?

Our regular Chinese delivery place dropped off an updated menu with our order last night.  They've added a new item - hot dog fried rice.

GROSS.

(And yet a tiny bit intriguing.)

Worst Tablescape Ever

First, the old business -

We're running about 85/15 anti-Secret to pro-Secret around here (bless your snarky little hearts!)  However, there's a vocal minority amongst you of the why-don't-you-fucking-read-it-before-you-judge-it variety.  Excellent point.  I'm always pissed off when people smack-talk my work when it's obvious they haven't actually seen it, so I shouldn't do the same thing. 

Tell you what - I'll read it.  And if that in any way changes my opinion, I'll post a retraction here. 

(In the words of Principal Skinner, prove me wrong, children.  Prove me wrong.)

(Also?  The dogs are already huge believers which totally explains their recent internet celebrity.)

Speaking of the ungrateful, I woke up this morning to discover one of the cats had whizzed on the kitchen table.  Again.  (This is Bones's charming way of letting me know he'd like his litter box serviced.) 

As I scrubbed, disinfected, and grumbled, it occurred to me that now would be the perfect opportunity for a breakfast cocktail.  Seriously, when you roll out of bed only to immediately start cleaning urine off the surface where you eat, the day's probably already shot.  But we only have wine in the house, and that just doesn't pair well with coffee and Pine Sol.

When I was away on my girls' weekend, we went to brunch and I discovered the ultimate breakfast martini.  Although it would have been phenomenal on its own, the fresh sweetness actually enhanced the Eggs Benedict. 

Or maybe just made me drunk and hungry. 

Regardless, I forget what it was called, but it contained:

1 part vodka

1 part St. Germain elderflower liqueur

1 part champagne

1 part white peach juice nectar

Best way to describe the taste is like a Bellini with a kick.  A delicious, delicious kick.

Anyway, since I've already got my rubber gloved hands full here today, this is a play along at home post.  Please list the recipe for your favorite adult beverage and the ideal time and/or place to drink it.

And with that, I bid you salut.

I Hesitate to Do This...

... but I'm going to a cookie exchange party on Thursday and have no idea what to bake.  I figure with the vast cupcake knowledge you all have exhibited, maybe you could hook a girl up with your favorite recipe for Christmas cookies?

BTW, I love Royal icing (please include your formula because mine sucks) yet am terrible at creating complex cookie shapes with cutters.  Also, anything chocolate-y, nutty, or buttery is key.

Many thanks! 

(P.S.  Put your recipes in the comments if you don't mind.  If you have something great, let's share it with the whole class!)