maggiethecat

Has anyone eaten at Osteria Angelini? I'll be in LA later this week, and this restaurant has been suggested as a lunch venue.

Just another of Dean's Ho-Hum dinner parties! Matthew, I want to hear sbout the vinaigrette, please. And your haul from the farmer's market has me seriously wistful. Dean, when you've had a little (well-deserved) nap, tell about the manufacture of tomato juice please. And what company! Damn! (Dean, this was a great idea for a thread .)

It's on the calendar. In ink.

David, I am eternally grateful to you for being here to give me this advice, because I am that tyro. I'm lucky to possess a daughter who's an aspiring writer with a day job. As my unemployment drags on, she applies the ever-useful kick in the maternal ass. "What are you working on, Mom? If you're not working, you'd better be writing. I'd give anything for a good four hour stretch every day in front of my laptop."

In fact, she sounds like a native French speaker.

A horizontal tasting of creme fraiche. Gawd. I'm breaking into a sweat. Yes, please let us know what the verdict is! You hedonist, you.

When I bought my Kitchenaid there was some kind of promo that threw in an extra bowl free. I have blessed my luck many times.

Terrific idea, Craig. I'm looking forward to suggestions posted here. And it's not simply a problem for the ineffable Nero (with whom I've spent a more than a few agreeably alcoholic evenings.) I have , er, budgetary constraints too, although I'm old enough to be Nero's (let's say) Aunt. I'm raising, or perhaps lowering the ante here. Ten bucks! Heck, that's for a major occasion. Nero said something like: I want three bottles for eleven dollars. What's drinkable for $3.66.? I am pretty sure that your answer will be: Um. Sorry. Nothing. Or maybe not... As I said, terrific thread.

Laughing Goddess: Surely you didn't miss THIS thread? You'll see that your fellow eGullet sisters are quite in agreement with you. Or, (blush) this? Maggie's Shameless Self-Promotion

Take it away, fresco.

Glad you understand my girlish trepidation! A corn dog is a weiner inpaled on a stick, enrobed in an overcoat of cornmeal mush then deep fried. Preferably, in ancient , rancid oil. Think: Southern Scotch Egg. They are, as Nero would say, heinous. And so good. Edit: fifi beat me to it. Fifi: the man's a Canadian!

My hatred for hotdogs is well documented. I make an exception on my once-every-ten-years visit to Wrigley Field or Sox Park. But then, there are corn dogs! Sigh. When I visit my daughter in LA next week, I intend to indulge at the stand on Santa Monica Beach. ("Hot Dog on a Stick?") I love them. My scariest craving is for raw ramein noodles. I know that I should reconsider my entire life when I bite open that dime bag of Oriental Soup Mix and toss the flavor packet. (You can buy boxes of twelve? Where? Actually, don't tell me. Thanks.)

Yes, McD. Please follow the plan. Actually, cooking in a bathrobe always seems like a dangerous act. There's the sash at burner lever, the flap-open front, the too-wide sleeves-- all just begging for you to light their fires. And of course, one is rarely, as you so memorably point out, wearing protective clothing under the robe. The McDowell Bathrobe Protocol.

Heck, no! You got the good, the bad and and blah, even when the food involved had more than two syllables. And the accent in the wrong place.

Welcome, indeed, Mousse. You've put us over the 43,000 mark. 43, 410 to be exact. (tana...I'm working on it.)

What guajolote said. This is the method favored by my born-in-Lucca grandmother-in-law. However: Should you not have thirty minutes stirring time available, I recommend Barbara Kafka's method from her "Microwave Gourmet," a book I push regularly. Nuke water, cornmeal and ssalt in a two quart souffle for 6 minutes. Stir. Cover loosely with paper towel and return to the jukebox for another 6 minutes. Add butter, white truffle oil, Gorgonzola, what have you, stir,and let rest for three minutes. I'm not sure I could tell the difference from Nonna's in a blind tasting. As well as the cookie-cutter idea: As a two person household with GF concerns, a regular recipe for polenta is too much to consume at a sitting. I roll in into a log shape on a piece of plastic wrap, wrap tighly and refridgerate. Just cut off oval slices as needed, and sautee until crispy.

Yes, it's like having a hutch in the door of the fridge, with bunnies disguised as jars of hoisin sauce and black bean paste. Starting from scratch? TJ mayo, eggs, parm, moutarde (I hate mustard), chunk of cheddar.... and bacon! Folks, a fridge without bacon is hardly worth opening. Re: Worcestershire. Tip from Mr. Beefcake, Paul Newman: When making hamburgers, pour a dime-sized puddle on one side of the patty. Smear it over the surface with your finger. I read this somewhere ten years ago. It makes a subtle but noticeable improvement to the plain burger, and I've never failed to use this trick since.

I am truly jealous. I don't have Complete Africa. 42, 934.

It's the end of September, I think. The 28th, maybe.

"Most remarkable thing How it seems to be spring On the gloomiest kind of day; How your wishes come true, Or it seems as they do, When you wish on a load of hay. First, you're joggin' along And the weather's all wrong, And the heavens above are gray; Then a genie appears And it suddenly clears When you wish on a load of hay. That farmer boy wavin' "howdee-doo" Has a wagon full of dreams for you. Oh, it's perfectly fine If you make the right sign, And you know the right things to say; There's a wonderful thrill That is waiting to come your way, 'Round a bend in the road When you wish on a load of hay." Johnny Mercer

I'll say. That Mountain Dew has gotta go!

Dean: Brilliant, Sir. I believe the other two thirds of the T Riot are gainfully employed right now, but I think I may speak for us all here: Yes! Yes!! Yes!!!

Soba: Five cups is a light day for some of us! Yummy, yummy coffee.

That's . . . whoa. Word.

As it happen, dear Nero, I went to a wedding last night too. Had the same soggy crackers and had the same thought about emergency surgical procedures on a caterer who allowed this to happen at my party. At least you got some Boursin. Smoked gouda was as good as it got. Same green beans and carrots. Same Mondavi. Cream of glue and broccoli soup. A whole skinless/boneless (napped in some truly horrible slippery white shroud) and a chunk of filet mignon, which came rare, thank God. Same garlic-heavy potatoes you had. The cake at your party must have been better than the cake at mine; no way would I have consumed three pieces of this white tastless mess. No Dan and Bud, but I did have the perennial Fresh Brother- in- Law. The music at your wedding sounds marginally better than the stuff at mine. The FBIL took me out for a spin to "Do You Love Me?" Yes, I conjured forth a decent Mashed Potato, but remembered that one cannot Do the Twist in four inch heels. Full disclosure: Two JW Reds on the rocks, two (small) glasses Merlot, two (small) glasses chardonnay. The giggly gaggle of ushers passing around a joint behind the clubhouse were not as generous and welcoming as your Mom's friends. Long drive home. Gin on the rocks. Beddybye. And, babe of the Heartland, you are the bomb diggety.