Dinner for Struggle

It's been very clearly established that I feel fairly negative about most people most of the time, and it's true, I do. However, I feel very positively about most FOOD all of the time. And while I'm perfectly capable of eating large amounts of food all by my lonesome, I tend to try and get someone involved in the process with me, in order to, you know, fulfill social protocols, avoid drinking alone, and dispel all those nasty rumors that I'm building bombs in my basement. So when my friend Jacob (hi, Jacob!) announced that he would be coming into Struggledelphia for a brief interlude I saw no reason not to kill two birds with one stone and have a dinner party, giving me an opportunity to make an enormous meal, invite over tons of people, and, and this is the genius part, avoid actually having to deal with any of the guests.

You see, I'm a little controlling when it comes to cooking. Maybe it was the five years I spent working at a chef right here in Struggledelphia (and as a result if anyone needs a new acid dealer they should let me know, I know at least three!), or maybe it's my secret belief that if I put a knife in the hands of a stranger it gives them a tactical advantage over me should something go down, but I have spent at least 65% of every dinner party I have ever thrown sweating my make up off in the kitchen cooking and cleaning as outside on my patio youthful revelers carouse and quaff. And, to be perfectly honest, part of me really enjoys just that, the act of preparing and creating and watching other people enjoy the product of that process. And another part of me enjoys the fact that whenever I disappear for too long, my friend Mariel (hi, Mariel!) starts to call for me like a baby bird, and then everyone else notices I've been gone and drags me back out to ply me with wine and, (horror of horrors!) socialize. Well, if you can't avoid people, at least surround yourself with the least dreadful of the bunch. And make sure they bring the wine.

So to help out all those who are in search of dinner party guidelines, I've included a few helpful tips, along with photographic illustrations. After all, if I can manage to make it through a night with other people, open flames, food, knives and a gin-based Sangria (don't ask), YOU should be just fine.

1. Be an excellent cook. Or hire one.

 2. It's not the 1950's and 60's anymore, please avoid making Jello-based desserts. I love Mad Men as much as the next sane human being, but come on, people, there's love and then there's crazy. You wouldn't just go around stalking the object of your affection, would you? Walk that same line with pastry, and you should be fine.

3. I know there is a recession on, but serving your pet as the main course is tacky. At least have the class to capture and kill someone else's. It can be a group activity, and thus solves the problem of bored guests should that come up.

4. I don't care how bad you are in social settings, resist the urge to try and escape by any means necessary.

5. Finally, give your friends some love. Especially if they are the ones keeping your wine glass full, and not making fun of your apron.

Ice Ice Struggle

There are many possible alternatives to an ice pick. A thin sharp knife will work, or a wooden spoon or spatula. Anything plastic is less then efficient, it's something about the material when it meets ice, please don't tell me the chemical-physical reaction, I don't want to know. Metal tends to be the key, in my experience.

And what exactly is my experience, you might ask? Well, it's recent, but rich, and it pretty much involves me attacking an ice floe inside a freezer for at least 25 minutes and contemplating how this moment became a part of my reality.You know when you have those moments in  your life when you can't help but think, wait, stop, how did I get here, how did this happen, how did this all go so wrong so quickly? I've been having a few of those lately.

Here's a funny thing about me: I spend a lot of my time in the apartments of strangers. Am I a stalker or a serial killer? No, not yet at least. No, I'm a Real Estate Agent, more specifically a Rentals Agent, and as a result I spend my days fielding questions from idiots and explaining away the messes of people I've never met.  I run, or rather, bike furiously, from apartment to house to apartment, wandering through other people's spaces like I'm trying on the contents of their closets (which I've also seen, by the way), and I observe their kitchens, bathrooms, bedrooms and living rooms (their dirty laundry, their dishes, their family photos, their jewelry boxes, their shoes) like the most detail oriented voyeur possible. And in my wanderings across the city of Struggledelphia this past week I found myself confronted with an adorable studio apartment, hardwood floors, tiled bathroom, separate kitchen, miniature polar ice cap. That last one? Was from the freezer. Noticing the freezer door slightly ajar, I tried my best to close it. No dice. Not only had the freezer created an ice storm of epic proportions around the ice cream and fat-free frozen dinners, but it had extended beyond the bounds of the freezer, reaching out, creating a Mr. Freeze style ice bridge which in another context might be a real challenge for Batman, but for me was just another Thursday afternoon.

Shooing the possible new tenants out with an awkward clenched teeth smile, I found myself, knife in hand, using a freezer full of ice like a session of aggressive physical therapy. Just another day in the life, I thought to myself. Nothing to worry about. I'm just doing my job.

After days like this, I need the meal I cook to be as simple as possible. My caramelized cauliflower with onions is a recipe so deceptively simple most people think it took me hours. Little do they know, after a day wrestling with an aggressive freezer, I've earned the cheap and easy calories.

Caramelized Cauliflower with Onions:
1 Head of Cauliflower
1 Red Onion
Salt
Pepper
Cooking spray

Heat the oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit. Cut the cauliflower up into small florets. Slice the onion, and mix the onion in a large bowl the cauliflower, cooking spray (or olive oil), salt and pepper. Spread out on a baking sheet and cook until the mixture turns golden to deep brown and appears crispy. Enjoy.

Struggle Gets Dishy: Netherlands Edition

You know, people keep talking about how people from the United States eat like pigs. To this I would reply, right back at ya, Europe. And while you mock us for the McDonalds and the Taco Bell, may I please draw your attention to the frit shops that litter Belgium like greasy little dandilions. Judge not, baby, lest ye be judged.

However, if you aren't worried about your waistline but do enjoy a nice bite, and you find yourself in Holland ( a lot of requirements there, but bear with me) take the time to go to Haarlem (or Delft or Leiden, any of the little Randstad towns bordering Amsterdam) on a Saturday, where cheerful towheaded Dutch youths will explain to you every aspect of cheese production and you can find, thanks to Holland's rich colonist history, loempias (spring rolls) lachmaju (also known as turkish pizza), delicate french pastry, greek salad, and bread originating the world over.  (Don't go NOW though, if you are a chosen person, because, well,  Happy Passover, though I never see much that's happy about giving up the BEST THING EVER  for like, 8 whole days. How did Atkins Dieters DO this?) These weekend food markets are delightful and informative, and will challange your weight but not your wallet, which is a rarity here in the Netherlands, a country that invented the first stock market and has only gotten pricier from there.

Resting from your travels and munchings, have some restorative mint tea. Served everywhere in Holland, they make it with fresh mint leaves and honey and it's suprisingly divine. Just the taste makes you feel ready to go and eat something else.

Struggle Gets Dishy Volume 3

In honor of my upcoming trip to Turkey (more on that later), I've been getting really into lamb, yogurt, conversion by the sword, geometric patterns, Byzantine mosaics, and the works of Salman Rushdie. Ha, I'm just kidding with that last one, I'm not trying to start no trouble with the Ayatola. Fatwa free is cool with me. Anyway, my point is that I've been experimenting with yogurt in my mutfak (Turkish for kitchen, you're welcome) and I couldn't resist whipping up a side dish (or main dish, if meat isn't your treat, man, I'm on a ROLL today with the rhyming, rap career here I come!) using the key staples of Turkish cuisine. Foolish, you say, to gourge yourself on roasted eggplant with yogurt mint sauce right before a ten day stint in Istanbul? Well, I say to YOU....that's something I probably should have thought about earlier. Oh well. I'm a struggle for a reason.

In a move sure to anger and infuriate Turks the world over, I've used Fage Greek yogurt in my recipe. In my defense, however, when was the last time you saw Turkish Yogurt on the shelves at, say, any supermarket or grocery store? It's this kind of quick thinking that defeated Xerxes during the Persian Wars, and it's that kind of availability that means you can make an exotic seeming dish trading any camels to do so. And in THIS economy, who really has livestock to spare?

Roasted Eggplant with Yogurt Mint Dressing:
 1 large Italian eggplant OR three medium sized Japanese eggplants (Japanese Eggplants are a lavender color and are generally sweeter and faster cooking then their bulbous deep purple Italian counterparts)
5 cloves of garlic, minced (3 for the eggplant, 2 for the sauce)
1/2 cup Greek yogurt (or plain yogurt if your allegiance to the Turkish flag prohibits such a thing)
1/4 cup of chopped mint leaves
the juice and zest of 1/2 a lemon
salt, pepper
olive oil or cooking spray

Heat the oven to 450 degrees Fahrenheit. Slice the eggplant into rounds between 1 and 1/2" thick (depending on your eggplant choices these will resemble Hannukah gelt or small coasters). Toss the eggplant with salt, pepper, 3 minced cloves of garlic and oil or cooking spray depending on your preference. Lay the slices out on a baking sheet, making sure that none of the slices overlap. Roast for 30 minutes or until done. The Japanese eggplant may take less time and the Italian more, but you will know the eggplant is ready when the outside is dry and a little browned and the inside is soft and gray.

Meanwhile, combine the yogurt, mint, lemon juice and zest, and the garlic. Mix well, and season with salt and pepper to taste. Set aside. The sauce is honestly better when it has some time to blend, so make it the day ahead or that morning if you can count on yourself not to spread it on everything possible before you even buy the eggplant.

Serve the roasted eggplant with a generous dollop of (or all of) the yogurt sauce. Savor the taste of Turkey, enjoy, and try to beware of Greeks bearing gifts.