Fresh Tart

Ooh, I have a cool new grill tool to rave about - the Weber Poultry Roaster! A sort of Chicko for the grill, or as Weber bills it, "beer-can chicken without the beer can." It has a little depression to fill with liquid - I innovated and poured in a bit of white wine with several cloves of smashed garlic - and the same phallic shape as the Chicko for spearing the chicken upright, always fun. The results? Completely delicious - crisp skin (salty, well, cuz I oiled and salted it), tender meat, even some nice pan juices (skimmed of oil, probably only a couple of tablespoons afterward, but very concentrated and tasty). All in all a success, especially with potatoes grilled in foil (with dill and scallions), finished with a dab of creme fraiche (scraped them from the foil into a bowl, stirred in a dab of creme fraiche), and LaFincapeapods sauteed quickly in a bit of butter. Uber-Frenchy, uber-yum, especially on the deck with a little tune-age, yeah.

What else? A dee-licious and romantic din at Cafe Lurcat last night, just John et moi, in the pretty bar. We shared the mini-burgers (to die), shrimp fritters, roasted cauliflower, apple salad, and gazpacho with anchovy crouton (again, to die).

Today, I worked off the excess by hauling my bike into Erik's Bike Shop (on an upside-down bike rack, no less, how embarrassing). I ride my bike every week or so, every time miserably uncomfortable and pretty much hating it. I finally brought it in to address the fact that my hands are painfully numbish after just an hour ride, plus I always feel like I'm sliding off the front of my seat. Well, hallelujah Erik's, my seat was too low, my handle bars were WAY too low, my seat was too big and tilted too far forward, and my tires were seriously under-inflated. The guy wryly said, well, we are making this quite a tall bike, but then again, you are not a short woman. Ha! No one else in the fam will be able to ride the thing (at least not if they want to touch the ground) - it even looks tall to me - but I got on that bad boy afterward and biked for an hour and a half today, happy as a clam. Do not underestimate the importance of a properly fitted bike - sheesh, what a difference.

Moderate it: it's tough at a spot like Cafe Lurcat, with arguably the best frites in the city. In the end, John and I chose between the burger and frites, and were happy with our choice (we were needing some protein in our order). We fleshed out the rest of our meal with veggies - gazpacho, cauliflower, and salad. Does a Bloody Mary count as veg? Who cares...damn goooood.

Um, at least it's sunny? Yeah. That's about all I can say, on the coldest day of the year, which here in Minnesota is a very cold day indeed. I'm trying to keep my spirits up, plying all the old, cozy tricks, and they most certainly help. What's not to love about baking bread and taking baths? But I think it was the warm break on Monday that did me in a bit, I got a good, long taste of fresh air and it's been hard to go back to being so, so housebound. Oh, I'll hang in there, like we all will, dressing in layers and sipping hot tea. But the next day that tops 10 degrees, I'm so out there for a long walk. Woo hoo for above zero weather!

Despite my complaining, I had a lovely afternoon out and about yesterday, a birthday lunch with my stepmom Susanna at Luci Ancora in St. Paul. I totally indulged in comfort food (hey, it was for my birthday!) and it was pretty incredible. Homemade fettucine as pillowy as Angelina Jolie's lips, tossed with a shower of truffly cheese, a nice amount of butter, a few pretty peas, and freshly ground black pepper. Simply. Perfect. I could have stopped right there. But no, I also had a crispy romaine salad, and split a berry fruit tart with Sus, served alongside a pile of softly whipped cream, with clever little swirls of chocolate around the plate to smear each bite through. Uff. Fullness. I think I am, now, officially done celebrating my birthday? It's been a most enjoyable ride, all eight weeks of it. Nice!

Tonight (actually, this afternoon, since we have to eat so early on Wednesdays) I'm pulling out the Chicko and roasting me a chicken. (The Julia Child method is fabulous too.) More long-cooking, kitchen-warming comfort food, yeah, yeah, yeah. Hey, I'm doing the best that I can...

Brrr! It's the real kind of cold out there now, not the fake stuff, oh no. I've even had to wear a coat (no!) these last few days (I usually get away with a cozy sweater, soft hat, and a big ol' fuzzy scarf). Should serve to put me in the mood for the holidays, but I'm having my usual hard time. It always feels to me like Christmas just ended - uh, didn't my tree just come down? Meh. Oh, I eventually get into it - we'll do our tree this weekend - and then I love it. But it's a harder transition every year. And I want that tree up for less and less time. There is no way, no how I am ever putting up a tree as early as Thanksgiving weekend. Egads, noooo!

In a somewhat more gracious mode, I've been cranking loads of food out of my kitchen. I made and brought appetizer pizzas (tomato/basil, bacon/caramelized onion, olive/feta) and almond coconut bars to Nathan's school yesterday, for their monthly faculty meeting. Hopefully tasted good (!), although I kept thinking that by 3:30 p.m., after a long school day, just about anything would hit the spot, ha. The almond coconut bars were a rather last-minute addition that turned out to be quite delicious - chewy, buttery, and best of all...coconut-ty to the max, rarrr. And super-easy, definitely a new addition to my tasty-yet-make-fast repertoire. (Recipe posted in comments, below.)

Oooh, I also conjured up the most delicious beef soup. I sort of innovated as I walked through Byerly's...grabbed a chuck roast, then fennel, carrots, onions, garlic, mushrooms, rosemary, sage. I browned the roast in some olive oil, took it out of the pot, then sauteed around 1-2 cups each of the chopped veggies, several cloves of minced garlic, and a few sprigs each of rosemary and sage. I put the roast back in the pot, covered it all with water to cover plus one inch, and let it simmer, partially covered at first, and then uncovered for the last hour, for about three hours until the beef was quite tender. I pulled the beef apart (discarded fat) into bite-sized pieces, skimmed fat off the broth, seasoned with lots of salt and pepper, stirred the beef back in the pot, and voila, a hearty, healthy, flavorful beef soup. Good stuff.

And check this out! I got my Romertopf Chicko (pronounced cheeko), but...it's not a Chicko! Close, but not exactly the same. It's just called a "roaster," and it's bigger, which might be nice because you can actually fit vegetables at the base to soak up all the delicious juices (and basting butter, let's be honest here...) I'll need to be returning Lindsay's Chicko to her now, and I'll check in soon on how the, uh, Roaster works (definitely not as cheeky a name as the Chicko, sniff).

So, to pick up on a couple of riffs from yesterday (and no, don't worry, I am NOT drinking beer today, ha)... First, dinner at Fogo de Chao was fantastic! What a blast! What a scene! That place is hoppin', people, and while many of the customers were Badger fans (how do I know? Because Badger fans wear their red Bucky clothes all the time, including out for dinner at Fogo de Chao...), I have a feeling that the place does just fine on other nights too. It's HUGE! And festive, with adorable Brazilian gaucho chefs wandering around with skewers of succulent fire-roasted meats - lamb and chicken and tri-tip beef, oh my! The entire staff is Brazilian, as far as I can tell, so Mary (my college Portuguese professor) chatted up a storm (in Portuguese, natch) while I offered the occasional "obrigada" (thank you) and then asked Mary, "Um, how do I say, 'My name is Stephanie?' in Portuguese?" Yeah, great memory. I can remember outfits I wore to class... I can remember which football players were in my class (as my stepmom Susanna recently reminded me, I did have quite a soft spot for the football players in my Portuguese class, rarrr)... I can remember all sorts of (high school) French... But actual Portuguese, I got nothin'. Obrigada, brain, obrigada.

Anyhow, my camera battery was dying (thus the horribly grainy pic), but I just had to try to capture this unlikely scene: my tiny, pretty mother, she who birthed two un-tiny daughters (me-5'11" and Stace-5'10"), with her tiny appetite, staring wide-eyed at these big ol' skewers of roasted meats, totally being a good sport while the gauchos offered slice after slice after slice... I have to admit, I couldn't eat much either, I was too full from all that damn Badger Blast beer. And the several bites of the Be-Wiched roast beef sandwich John brought home for me (be sure to check out Be-Wiched, it rawks). But it was great to see Mary Schil, and her friends Ron & Linda and their daughter Brooke. Especially when I offered them a ride back to their hotel, thankfully only a few blocks from Fogo de Chao - seeing a man as big as Ron (he's the one next to my mom, above), riding on all fours in the trunk of my not-large wagon (the only way he could fit)... I haven't laughed that hard in a very, very long time. Thank goodness he laughed right along with us. Damn, I'm wiping my eyes all over again. Ron = Good Sport, fo sho.

So, oh! The second riff is that I'm definitely going for the roasted Chicko chicken tonight... I'll post later on the specifics, but for now my plan is to keep the first attempt simple. Nothin' but salt and butter, baby. And did I mention that Nathan and John are, as I write, making a run to Maverick's for their killer roast beef and brisket sandwiches (John's clearly got a sandwich thing goin' this weekend)? Uuuurrrrgh... Moderation, Moderation, wherefore art thou, Moderation? Stay tuned...

Alright, I'm back with my roast chicken update! The Chicko is brilliant, absolutely brilliant. After a bit of a beginner's hiccup (I initially had the bird legs-down, kinda like a headless Buddha, then quickly realized it was going to cook more evenly legs up - I also realized that breast-down means more succulent white meat, always a good thing), I was good to go. No turning required (I did baste with melted butter a few times), just a beautifully crispy, juicy, browned chicken. So it's official - I'm a certified Chicko-phile! A Chicko-Chick! Leggo my Cheeky Chicko! Well, when I actually get one... Which will be soon, I just ordered one; with as many times as I roast chicken for dinner, I figure I might as well make it as good as possible, as soon as possible, non? Thanks to Kevin and Kristi for discovering and proselytizing this little beauty, and to their disciple Lindsay for loaning me her Chicko in the (successful!) effort to convert me. Amen.

On Wisconsin, Part Deux!! I tell ya, once you go to the University of Wisconsin-Madison, it never leaves you... Nevahhhhh! Even if you want it to, ha...but then again, who would want it to? What's not to lurve about all the beer, cheese, and brats one can eat for $25? While chewing along to the beat of the fabulous Wisconsin Marching Band playing If You Want to Be a Badger? Yes, today was the biannual Badger Blast, a monstrous (3,000-person!) downtown Minneapolis get-together of pre-Gopher/Badger game Badger fans, replete with my beloved Triple-Threat Bs: Bucky, Band, & Beer, baby (quadruple if you count brats). Woo friggin' hoo! On Wisconsin, yeah!!!!

Ahem. So, I ended up at the Badger Blast thanks to my crazy-fun-tiny-green-eyed neighbor Lindsay Polyak, nee Kappa (KKG)Lindsay Hykes. We were in Madison at the same time, but despite knowing several of the same boys & bars, never knew each other. I didn't know her equally-crazy-SAE-bro Kevin Hykes either. Where the hell was I, Hykes-less in Madtown? Glad I'm Hykes-ful in Minneapolis, whew!

In fact, it turned out to be nothing less than a big ol' neighborhood party, since several of my neighbors are Badgers. And there were several non-Badger neighbors as well, happy to be at the Badger Blast 'cuz, well, they're born party-ers. Yep, funny thing, I ended up in a neighborhood of like souls, ha. John would rather die than go to a beer-drinkin', brat-eatin' Badger anything, so it's fun to have friends and neighbors who are ready to jump right in - YESSS! In fact, thanks to my neighbor John Miller for post-Blast brewskies at Rosen's (because we all needed morebeer, ha). Good thing Beer Is Food, since I forgot to eat a brat (too busy talking, shocker, I know) and I don't want to count the revolting bite of cheese that I (and Kristi) took off of a huge chunk o'cheese being passed around by some random crazy drunk dude.

Soooo, food-wise, Lindsay loaned me a fabulous uh, cooking device (?) called a Romertopf Chicko (prounounced cheek-o). How to describe the Chicko? Well, let's see, how about an enormously phallic ceramic juicer, that's what first came to mind when I saw it. It's purpose has nothing to do with large oranges, however, but everything to do with roasting the perfect chicken. You, uh, penetrate a whole roasting chicken with the Chicko, then set it in a hot oven, and roast the little bird to crispy, buttery, roasted chicken perfection, no turning required. I'll have to get a few more details from Lindsay, via her foodie brother Kevin, who totally discovered this beauty while on vaca in Europe with his fabulous wife Kristi. I'm thinking perhaps a Sunday-night, Chicko-roasted chicken...stay tuned...

Why not tonight? Because this eve, I'm dining out a la Brazilian, at Fogo de Chao, with my my mom and my Portuguese professor Mary Schil (in town for the Badger game). I'll check in later with the very meaty details...Fogo de Chao is a traditional churrascaria, serving slices of meat off of roving skewers. Can't WAIT, yum.