maggiethecat

Oyster Shooters sound as if they could make my life whole, make me smarter, make me happier. (The last shooters I had were upside-down Kamikazes administered by the Best Man as I lay on the bar at at my brother's rehearsal party. You really don't want to know.) So, tell me about Oyster Shooters, svp.

Country fried steak would be fab, and this cut can use some serious pounding. We've used your knife-based thin-sliced partially frozen technique with the same glum results. As I mentioned upstread, a food slicer can guarantee gossamer bits of tough tasty meat that melt on the tongue. A knife just can't do it.

Or you could combine all the ingredients into a pasty and dip in ketchup.

Now yer talkin'! I think the bison, which is super lean, might need a little fattening up, but this sounds like a dinner I would adore.

I think this is a great idea, but anchos and chipotles may be hard to source in Halifax. I may be wrong, but when I'm in Ottawa, my nation's capital -- with lots of Latin American diplomats lurking -- it's tough to find anything more exotic than a jalapeno. But you could probably get the ingredients for a bison enpanada, with fine-grated parsnip salsa. Grill the pears with vanilla sugar, topped with the mozz.

One: Even the most perfectly seasoned cast iron pan will never be non-stick. If you need completely non-stick, buy another pan. Two: I echo the bacon solution. Don't sweat it and please stop sanding it -- just cook some bacon. This pan has been around for a long time, so relax, have fun, and take the long view.

I am so in! I just need to get paid on Friday so I can order the vanilla beans and buy the booze. I think I'll scrape some of the beans and use others whole for the side by side testing. I know I'm not spending money on Stoli -- I'll use Fleichmans or something. And talk about your Artisanal Christmas Prezzies! At this price, if it works, my dear ones will get a year's supply of artisanal vanilla. I'm already thinking about cunning bottles, labels and presentation.

If there's nothing else going in in your fridge, like delicious cuts of meat, well, there's soup. We defrosted some chicken stock and made an a la minute quasi minestrone -- zucchini, garlic, carrots, broccoli rabe, mushrooms , cabbage, romaine -- whatever was lurking in the depths of the vegetable drawer, along with some crushed tomatoes and a can of cannelini beans. Topped with grated parm and accompanied by queso/refried bean quesidillas. This is what we call a "free" dinner.

I adore the idea of Dinner Clubs, and I think they may be an important feature of adventuresome dining in the Oughts. I know you both cook, and love to entertain, but what was it that made you to take the plunge into the icy waterbath of a dining club?

Like most of us, when I was a blithe young thing my breakfast consisted of caffeine, sugar and carbs -- a chocolate digestive, a beaver tail, toast and jam. Lunch was a restaurant affair -- I was poor, but I never brown-bagged it --and Montreal provided a vast assortment of temptations, from Hungarian at The Coffee Mill, smoked meat at Schwartzes, all those bistos, Anglo comfort food at Murray's or the Tartan Tray at Ogilvie's. I dug in. Dinner was a perfectly cooked epicurean feast courtesy of my mother or a swell restaurant meal with a date. I ate this way for many decades: sugary breakfast, store-bought lunch, careful and bounteous dinner. I cared a lot about dinner when our daughter was growing up becuase the only rules we had as parents were: 1) Library card. 2)Music lessons. 3) Dinner en famille. (And it worked.) It's topsy turvey now. The idea of getting through the morning at work courtesy of Krispy Kreme or a yoghurt is impossible: I know I'll get the sugar crash from the doughtnut or the bag of Cheetos at ten because a yog makes my tummy call an audible by 9:30. My co-workers are in awe of the meatloaf sandwiches and leftover fried chicken with which I break my fast. Dinner: It's still a big deal in our foodie empty- nester household but we eat late and I'm too tired to eat much. It's my Lite Meal now. Lunch: Delicious dinner leftovers, an omelette, a nuked potato, grilled cheese -- I work close to home so that I never ever buy lunch. Have any of you noticed a shift in your eating patterns? It could be geography, age , circumstance, metabolism, medication ...

I'm not pretending either, and if I were committed to eating locally the vegetal component of my diet would be the hips from my snow-covered rosebushes. Viva Mexico! Tempura, yes! I'm having a sweaty fantasy about the crispy battered spears dipped in the buttery yolk of a soft boiled egg. With a couple of rashers it sounds like a most lubricous Sunday breakfast.

We've recently provided counterspace to a Hobart (noncommercial) food slicer and we've made more pickles and Pommes Anna in two months that we have it the last year. It's a blast. Last night I realized that all the protien I had in the house was a 3 oz frozen bit of flank steak -- like eye of the round tasty but tough. I ran it through the slicer partially frozen and we could literally read the price tag on it's packaging through the slices, they were so thin. We stir fried it with some Active Senoirs from the vegetable drawer and a garlicky/ soy/ black bean sauce. I have to say that it was the best beef stirfry I've ever eaten, at home or in a restaurant. The beef gave great flavor and it's Kate Moss ethereal thinness made it incredibly tender and visually bulked up its volume. Your eye of round would do well with similar treatment.

I cook to please anyone of any gender, particularly me. Because my husband and many of my dearest male friends cook as well or better than I do, I'm often on the receiving end of their skills and largesse. (eGullet men seriously rock: I've been the lucky recipient of nightscotsman's cakes, Varmint's pig, ronnie's charcuterie, Dave's Hollandaise, guajolote's turkey mole, ivan's skill at the grill, Alex's breakfasts ...) I'm sure they cook for the ladies in their lives, but, like me they I think they mostly do it because they love it. My mother's celestial cooking is aimed directly at my father, who considers it just another reason that she's the most beautiful, fascinating, generous woman in the world. They're proof that the old Pennsylvania Dutch proverb "Kissing don't last, cookery do" is only half right.

Dear Linda -- yes, you should definitely have a party to celebrate, and no, it's not a church supper or a wake so covered dishes shouldn't play a part here. And whatever you do, don't say No Gifts on the invitations. Go for it girl! For a kicking-off place, remember who the party's for: you. What would you like to eat? I threw myself a fling for a birthday a few years ago -- one with a zero at the end -- and my menu was a sort of American Bistro buffet. My husband and I did all the cooking, much of it in advance, and it was delicious but not ambitious. Hmmm, what did I have? Lobster rolls Crab patties Curried almond chicken salad on croissants. Roasted veg couscous salad -- an enormous hit. Mini beef tenderloin sandwiches with herbed mayonnaises A stupendous cheese platter with fruit. Veggie platter with hummous, raita, etc. The cakes were great -- frozen in France courtesy of Trader Joe's as I remember. And other lovely stuff I've forgotten. Much of this was made ahead, or was easy to slap together at the last minute. I respect that you don't want to cook, but I reiterate: draw up your dream menu and figure out what's too fussy, what's manageable, and what you can get catered, frozen or supplied by your willing friends. (Who cares about the kids? They get what they want on their birthdays, you get what you want on yours! I was astounded at how many lobster rolls a six year old can pound down, after I explained that no, I had no chicken strips or hot dogs.) Edited to add: I'd love to read your dream menu.

To hear Chef Jeff 's interview on tonight's All Things Considered, clickety.

Slice and pound paper-thin, stuff them with something ala bracciole, tie and braise. You'll never make this cut tender, but it 's tasty. I find that the thin slices hold a filling well, don't shrink much and won't overwork your molars.

Growing up I drank a lot of milk -- it was what we kids were offered in my mother's house. This was milk from cows, not beans. (I wonder where all those lactose-intolerant kids were back then? )We got a dram of OJ in the morning, tap water as necessary, and a soft drink as a special treat -- maybe once a quarter. I discovered Fresca and adult beverages at college and my milk intake flattened to about a glass a year, my typical intake for my adult llife. I'd switched to skim, which is the Tab of the Milk Group: no treat. Of course we always had milk in the house for our daughter, baking and my oatmeal requirement. As a woman in her very very verylate forties, I should have been chugging it for health reasons, but that sweet blueish stuff -- ick! I grabbed a jug of 2% a few months ago by mistake and decided to taste it. Man! It tasted so good that I wanted to bake cookies to go with it. It's my lunchtime drink of choice these days, I'll grab a glass when I'm feeling hungry and undernourished, one before bed... Has milk made any other new converts out there?

I cooked up a bunch of these full-figured gals last night: just some butter, lemon juice and sieved egg, a la Mimosa. (1.79 at the local supermercado.)

Salt mills: Completely unnecessary, yes. Stupid: no. I don't own one, won't buy one, but I'd be delighted if someone gave me one, just to hear the crunching noise. It would be fun. That makes it rise above stupid for me, owner of two of Nigella Dawson's beautiful salt eggs, Georgian sterling ruby glass lined salt cellars that could whup anyone's, and 1.99 for two Ikea salt shakers.

I agree with Steven here, trusting him with his comment about not covering food stuff that well. Hey, I'm just a provincial girl from Chicago, a city with amazing restaurants , a vibrant food culture and two dailies with food sections and food reviewers who barely rise above student paper writing. I think Bruni was spot on here, I don't give a care about his sexual oreintation, and I'm amazed that there's this long thread that exists mostly to say Bruni knows dick. Entertaining people all over the world is laudable. And, um, apart from the good folks at the LA Times who's that much better than Bruni?

I always imagined that bakery items in prison just rolled off a truck; never imagined that the good stuff was being baked on the premises. This may not be LeNotre, but it reads like real baking to me. I've been lucky enough to read the entire book, when my husband hasn't snatched it and disappeared. As johnnyd said: I couldn't but think of Bourdain, Henderson's polar opposite --white, educated, CIA, all the advantages -- who could have been one of Hard Head's customers had he lived in San Diego. The power of the kitchen saved them both, and in a tiny way, it saves all of us home cooks. The joy, or the necessity of cooking has saved me in little ways all my life. In Chef Jeff's story it saved his life.

Mama mia, where to start? There are so many variations... In summertime I poach my own skinned seeded chunked tomatoes in butter with slices of garlic until everything is sweet and soft, puree lightly with the immersion blender and toss in basil from the garden and salt and pepper. Then there's the winter version, which starts with a mirepoix in olive oil, some bacon or pancetta, canned crushed tomatoes (Bella Romana , a house brand of a fabulous local independent grocer called Caputo's: 89 cents per huge can.) Maybe a parm rind, a slug of red plonk, some red pepper flakes, a pinch of sugar or sherry vinegar: I just keep tasting. I don't add neck bones, chicken or ribs to any of my tomato sauces, but my husband's Neapolitan Nonna did. She was not a "Gravy" Italian- American cook: she was married to an uberTuscan gourmet from Lucca, and trust me, pasta e fagiolli was never pronounced pasta fazoul in their household! Her cooking was as strict, pure and rarified as Marcella Hazan's, and like Marcella she was about as cuddley as a handful of dimes. (For ragu, simply buy Marcella Hazan's first book and follow her stern instructions to the letter. )

Let's not forget Maigret, Simenon's great detective, whether eating at a late night bistro with Janvier and Lucas, or going home for lunch to Madame Maigret's pot au feu. I own a cookbook of Madame Maigret's recipes: plain, French, fabulous.

Ikea sells a set of regular plastic-handled scissors for, like 2.99. I've never used them on anything bigger than a turkey, but they take care of all my usual poultry/shellfish/present wrapping needs. Really.

Absolutely. This is a situation where rubbing rather than grinding is indicated.