maggiethecat

96,833. Yum.Happy Birthday, Suzi Ma'am!

In the Quarter? The Verti Mart- on Royal- real food 24/7, delivery, the New York Times a bottle of wine, stamps, aspirin. The Croisant D'Or. All the little bars with cheap beer and fried crawfish tails. Garden District:The Upperline.

Everyone who's ever been lucky enough to spend tiime in New Orleans has a story, culinary or otherwise. Post them here.

I'm not the only person whose world has been rocked, emotionally and in sweet memory, by Katrina. I went out drinking tonight with my "team," from work.-- all ages, genders and pursuasions, from suburban Chicago. We all had a New Orleans story, from college or honeymoon or a crazy wild weekend with a girlfriend. I wish Julia would chime in here to talk about how she bought her newlywed husband two lap dances at Larry Flynt's club, but I know she won't. New Orleans unravelled each of us in a different way. I'm a little shy about the perception that I'm pimping a Smackdown because of a terrible tragedy, but I want to tell a story about my connection with the Big Easy, and I know that you can all top mine. Let's call it catharsis, and tribute. I was in New Orleans last February, much more comfortable climate-wise than my previous visit over Memorial Day Weekend. My hair wasn't big, my dress wasn't plastered to my body with plain ole Northern Woman sweat. We'd walked and walked: checked out the casino, the mall (to pick up the ever so essential facial moisturizer I'd forgotten to pack) cruised Lucullus, the culinary antique shop. (I loved it, but, frankly my mother's dining room could kick it's ass.) Had a beer and some crawfish tails in a corner bar on Decatur. Had dinner and martinis at an old New Orleans Italian restaurant on Decatur---Sziba's? I've lost the matchbook, but the cork from our bottle of wine still rattles around the bottom, of my purse with loose change, renegade lipsticks and the odd earring. I was feeling pretty easy when we got back to our rental on Chartres and changed into silk pyjama pants and a silly bustier. We sat outside, smoking and sharing a bottle of wine, amazed at how quiet our piece of the Quarter was at ten PM., foggy as Sherlock Holmes's London. Then I heard a rumble out of Dickens, or Zola: the hoofs of the mules that drag the tourist carraiges all day, being sprung. They were heading for home, clattering down the cobblestones. The next day we walked around Faubourg Marigny, and we smelled a distinctly non-urban smell: manure. We wandered down the street and found the stable where out equine buddies sought their stalls and their straw after a long day's work tugging tourists around the New Orleans. They chewed, they drank, they shat. That's my story. You can do better, In the spirit of love, nostalgia, fear and hope, post them here.. And yes, there will be a Fabulous Prize. Let's leave this open for a month.

I am trying to square the idea of the Nero I know and love with Nero, Vegan Baker Babe. If anyone can do it, it's you. I'm really looking forward to this inventive thread. Blog on, Nero.

Kim, welcome to eGullet. I found "my people" here too -- lets hear lots more from you. Thanks for your kind words, and congratulations on your eBay haul.

96,341 --18.24 miles.

Recipe, please? MelissaH ← I added it to the eGRA. Check it out.

Green Risotto Serves 4 as Side. This beautifully green risotoo is my variation on Edda Servi Machlin's Green Risotto from Classic Italian Jewish Cooking.She uses celery, and I don't. I like a grating of nutmeg, and I sometimes use chicken stock to top up the spinach juuce instead od plain water. The parm is my addition, as well. 1 lb spinach, stemmed and washed. 1 tsp salt several grinds black pepper hot water 1-1/2 c Arborio rice 2 chopped scallions c olive oil 4 oz grated Parmesan cheese 1 T butter Chop the spinach very fine -- I use the food processor. Strain the juice into a large measuring cup, pressing down on the spinach to extract as much liquid as possible. Heat the olive oil in a 2 quart saucepan with a lid. Sautee the spinach and scallions for about two minutes. Add salt and pepper. Top up the spinach juice with water or stock until you have 2 cups. Add this and the rice to the pan. Bring to the boil, reduce heat, and simmer covered for about 15 minutes. When the rice is cooked, add the butter and the cheese. Stir to combine. Keywords: Side, Vegetarian, Easy, Rice, Italian, Jewish ( RG1388 )

Save the juice and some of the spinach, after you've extracted the liquid. I made Green Risotto from Edda Servi Machlan's Classic Italian Jewish Cooking last week for the first time -- it was superb. And green.

That is one beautiful breakfast, Sam. Being a northern kinda person, grits don't come automatically to mind for me as a breakfast dish, and of course, they should. Nuts, I should have checked in here before I made breakfast! My mother uses the covered pan method for solidifying eggs on occasion too, when she's looking for a low(er) cholesterol lunch. It works very well, and does produce the pristine citified egg you've described. I like bacon schmutz myself, and I prefer the crispy edge of the down-home egg, but hey, it's all good. Other starches? Well, hashbrowns come to mind of course. But I'm wondering...reheated leftover garlic mashed potatoes, crowned with an egg?

Dorothy was right. (It was sad to see her fall in love with Lord Peter, and project herself into the Harriet Vane role, but, well, writers aren't always all there!) Back to Milne and food. I remembered haycorns today, and honey and thistle. (How could I have forgotten haycorns?) So I googled a little and found this gem from the Canadian Medical Association Journal. It's not about bacon and eggs , per se, but I wish JAMA published this stuff: Pooh had ADD. Kanga was a single Mom. Owl was dyslexic. Eeyore needed Lexapro. Pathology in the Hundred Acre Wood: a neurodevelopmental perspective on A.A. Milne And poor Piglet.... Print it out and read it with your bacon and eggs tomorrow morning. You will have a better day.

You are so right, JAZ. Bacon and eggs is a very satisfying dinner, for that matter, but I always do the grilled tomatoes if it's dinner -- gotta get the vegetable presence! Cooking bacon and eggs for the love of your life -- there's nothing better.

Thanks for all your kind words. Oh, yeah! And it made my writer persona want to jab one of those heels into my ankle. Why hadn't I thought of something that dead on perfect? No, I don't preheat --just set the oven for 450 and wait for the beep that tells me it's up to temp. I like your idea of using a slower oven, and I'll try it some Sunday when I'm not ravenous. Well, I don't think of myself as an Anglophile, actually-- I'm a granddaughter of English immigrants! And , of course, my mother, being a perfect person, always does the grilled tomatoes when she prepares her B and E lunches. A true daughter of Lancashire parents, she occasionally does the baked beans. I'm just too greedy to add another step and something else to watch . On some strange karmic note, the blouse Mummy wore at the anniverary party arrived in the mailbox today. I love my mother's hand-me-downs!

The King said, "Bother!" And then he said, "Oh, deary me!" The King sobbed, "Oh, deary me!" And went back to bed. "Nobody," He whimpered, "Could call me a fussy man; but I only want a little bit of butter for my bread!" ← Oh Behemoth, I love that. The King asked the Queen and the Queen asked the dairymaid... (Is that right?) And "I don't want marmelade!" Lovely rice pudding for dinner again. You made me cry. My father read Milne to me every night for years.... it's a perfect world. However, given our context, and again I'm winging it sans taxt from a long time ago: "A Bear, no matter how he tries Grows tubby without exercise."

Always. And she's such an inspiration: the older she gets, the more adventurous and sophisticated her cooking becomes. But there ia a muddle of muses. Rombauer/Becker and Julia Child when I was a twenty-year old newlywed with three cookbooks. The English Dames: Elizabeth David, and even more, Jane Grigson. And my Nonna-in-law, who was cooking scratch Tuscan until she was a hundred and one. (Thanks, Brooks, for the link to your beautiful piece about your Mother's cookbook. I loved it the first time round, and it resonated even more strongly this time.)

Thank you, "kind foodie friend from cyberspace!"

Cracker crumbs. It's always full to whack a sleeve of saltines with a rolling pin.

This was a serious, well-written article that gave the millions of folks who read the Times and aren't 1) restaurant pros 2) passionate cooking geeks like our friends at eG, a look at the history, biology, physics and gastronomy of sous-vide. I think it's great stuff, and I wish I'd written it. If I hear another Mr. Latte crack about what Amanda Hesser is capable of I'll get very cranky. This piece was excellent.

Gin and cucumber are a powerful combination. I occasionally use a slice of cuke as a garnish in a martini, and I find the cucmber presence almost too strong. But cukey gin with tonic? I'll give it a try;the tonic could temper the overwhelming green flavor.

I almost killed something, in fact someone, in fact my brother Ian. Does that count? My parents delegated, and my mother rightly felt that if she had two children up to the task she could share a last glass of wine chatting with Daddy while Ian and I did the dishes. This was non-negotiable: Ian scraped and washed, I dried, put away and wiped down the counters. We did it, and we hated it, and Ian seized the opportunity to drive his big sister mad. That night, my parents had gone to their favorite hangout after Friday dinner, leaving battling siblings over the dish sink. I was twelve and Ian was nine. He deliberately whistled a song I loathed under his breath. I asked him to stop, and he didn't. I'd wipe that snarky smile off his face! I picked up the big chef's knife I was drying and lost it. I chased him around the house, yelling, blood-lust pumping my arteries. He was faster on his feet than I was, and really really scared. At some point sanity returned. But, I confess, I had seriously snapped. I see my brother about once a year, and I have to say that although I didn't wipe the smirk off his face back then, he must have been afraid, because after a couple of drinks he always says: "Hey, Muffie, remember the time you almost killed me?"

I'm no expert, being a mere visitor in LA, but I loved the fish tacos at Senor Fish in Little Tokyo.

Words fricking fail. Sure, it's one thing to go to a joint to catch a sports event on the big screen. But individual TVs tableside? This is the end of the world as I know it.

For Chicago architecture, it's the Rookery Building, Burnham and Root 1888. For a Chicago wonder, I respectfully suggest you put the Dawg and the pizza well behind the Italian Beef sandwich. Mr. Beef on Orleans in the high temple, but it's hard to go wrong anywhere. For a turn of the last century Chicago frisson, and a darn good 12 buck schnitzel, with excellent beer, it's the Berghoff. I'll let richer people than I discuss the merits of Tru, Trotter's, Alinea, Green Zebra, Spring, etc. Depending on their recs you could get to seven in a Chicago minute.

96191. And what a novel solution to hard-wrung cookbook space: expel family members!