maggiethecat

71,485. Miss Judy, your luck and dedication are amazing. tsquare, that's a really interesting haul. And Squeat: Sure it counts. 13.5 miles.

OK, Big G -- are you going to give the answer to yesterday's quiz? I can't stand the suspense!

Breakfast: Toasted wheat bread and goat cheese. Sprinking of brown sugar, run under the grill. Eagle River Bourbon. Lunch: Gummi Bears poached in chicken broth. More of the bread. Two o'clock: Roast the coffee beans. Glass of grapefruit juice for the roaster. Four o'clock: Post-jog Diet Coke Five o'clock: Red wine Dinner: Carrots. Yellow beans. And pork cutlets marinated in all the other ingredients, except the cucumber, which you attempt to make Iris eat and fail. Red wine. Dessert: Goat cheese sprinkled with bourbon and brown sugar, run under the broiler. Gerolsteiner. Bourbon

This shiksa has much to atone for too. For buying Express Salad in a Bag because I was too lazy to wash lettuce one night. For not making dessert more than twenty times a years. For all those past years when I did not remember the hungry in my prayers.

It will be time to pull out Laurie Colwin and make gingerbread, eaten with bourbon and cinnamon-laced schlag. Every time I make gingerbread I wonder why I haven't baked it in so long.

I'm a Cueez gal. I bought the DLC 8E within a couple of years of its birth, because I worked at Crate and Barrel (back when Gordon Segal had exactly three stores) and I had to do demos. There was a generous employee discount as well, I seem to remember. I also seem to remember that it was shortly after Creedence broke up, but I might be a little fuzzy about the date. I gave it a warrior's funeral three years ago, not because the motor didn't run, but because it was starting to be a hassle to replace the bowls. It's been replaced with a Deluxe 11. I am a source of wonderment to my friends because I have zero brand name loyalty, even in cigarettes. (Well, being a daughter of Quebec, I'd chose a Pepsi over a Coke.) But the Cuisinart food processor is one of those rare items that I have always been able to count on. Heck, it's like buying a Honda Accord in Southern Californnia -- it will be dependable for so long that you'll have to make up a reason to replace it.

I like canned peaches. (Perhaps given the fact that he's doing a "30 Minute" thing, having precooked peaches speeds things up?)

Andie: Wonderful post and wonderful tip. I'll remember it this fall. Larry: You are so right, and so lucky. And there's a baby food thread out there somewhere: nothing produces smoother fresher baby food than a food mill.

I bought my battered Mouli almost thirty years ago, and if all it every did was puree potatoes, the cost per use factor has paid off years ago. A masher works fine for an informal "lumps are just fine" platter for two, but if you want really excellent "mashed" potatoes, nothing comes close to the coarse disk on a food mill. One of the great cooking dicta is one I've remembered from Elizabeth David: Put the milk/cream and butter in the pan first, and heat it up. Then mill the potatoes. (If you have a nub of cream cheese lolling forgotten in the fridge, it's a great addition.) The coarse disk is also wonderful if you're making a pot of marinara sauce with fresh tomatoes and you can't be bothered skinning the tomatoes. Others have mentioned pureeing soup. But yes, the magic of pressing gnocchi through the foodmill! Maybe I don't get out enough, but I love the thrill of watching gnocchi float up to the top of a pan of simmering water.

Always counting! 71,440.

Now that made me snort Darjeeling up my nose! Thanks, Ed. Because dinner prep and cocktail hour occupy the same time slot, I usually have a glass of wine around when I cook. It's just the flow of the evening. I agree with Al that over-imbibing can make for a later dinner hour, but a couple of glasses of wine don't seem to make a huge difference. I've been accused of undersalting.

SWAGging Pere Hugo's collection at about 250, we are at 71,274. I'm glad to see the usual recidivists are breaking parole-- But, dang! Now I must, must get my hands on the Bertolli.

OK, it's Thanksgiving, people are hungry, and the baby hasn't picked up horrid amoebal infections while travelling up the Limpopo. Wash off the turkey. Smell it. Run it under the broiler. Pray. No one will know.

That really, truly totally, er, stinks. Two pounds of veal shoulder! Go to bed early, but my advice is that you suggest dinners out. If he's like most husbands I know, he'll be resigned to chicken sooner than a dinner tab.

Welcome, chefsteban! Your cool collection brings us to 70,605.

Mock the name? Heaven forbid! I adore these names. cakewench, you said "over here." Do you live in the Netherlands? If so, dish! I went to school with Edith Ridder, whose family came from Holland by way of Indonesia. She had a sleepover party and two things I distinctly remember from grammar school days. Yes, Mrs. Ridder kept a house even cleaner than my mother's. The breakfast! It seemed incredibly exotic -- plates of bread and cold cuts and fruit. Not a dish of cereal in sight. I was astonished when Eddie Ridder topped his sausage canape with a sprinkling of chocolate shot.

Yes, Patty (and thanks, Suzanne!) food related books count. I draw the line at magazines and software only. 70,279. And speaking of food writing, I'm enjoying Villas's "Stalking the Green Fairy" enormously.

Hey, buddies, thanks for doing the real work for me! Nobody had fully prepared me for the charmingly whacked-out (to a non Dutch-speaker) names these dishes have. They're neck and neck with the cuisine of Newfoundland in the nomenclature department. To wit: Stamppot Appelflappen Stroopwafels And my current favorite: Snert!

Rijstaffel--great idea! (Katie, he'd probably go for your menu too! ) And pea soup and herring and eel. I realize that this is a cuisine about which I know exactly zip. The research will be fun, even if I choose another menu entirely. And it's great to know that the brightest and best are here at eG to give a sister a hand.

But what is Business as Usual? When I was reading about the shenannigans in the Times today, I was stopped dead in my tracks. A lousy twenty seven grand for scholarships? What do these people do? It had the feeling of the Renaissance Council of Cardinals, with a hidden agenda, a secret handshake and a lot of good eatin' in the Curia. Of course, let's see some financial clarity, but folks, even good non-profits can screw up their books. What I want to see is a mission, explicated clearly, and some real involvement in the cooking community, along the lines Bourdain suggests. It's not the books that disgust me, it's the lazy in-crowd self-congratulation, the big whoop- it -up parties and the zero contribution to the culinary scene.

Helen: I have three whole weeks! Any help greatly appreciated.

I'll be throwing a birthday party for a tall blond Frieslander . I thought it might be fun to do the Dutch thing. Guess what? In all my cookbooks, Hollander cuisine comes in dead last. I can sprinkle chocolate on cheese, I can make a hochepot, I suppose. But I would love it if the diverse and clever eGullet community could give me a hint here. What would Rembrandt or Vermeer or Hans Brinker eat?

I walked into a bar looking for a single malt and some air conditioning. It was blessedly cool, there wasn't another customer in the place, the cocktail snackies were lined up beside me, the bartender was busy polishing glasses. I pulled out my book, and heard a voice say: "Where did you get those shoes? They're great!" Then someone else chimed in "You've got terrific taste in literature." "Great legs!" I figured I was losing it, because the bar was still empty and the barkeep still silent. Finally I asked him: "Am I crazy? I keep hearing voices." "No ma'am. It's the peanuts. They're complimentary."

Bravo, Scott! Superior writing, great pictures. I haven't enjoyed a restaurant review this much for a donkey's age. Onion cotton candy: genius.

If I entered this Smackdown it would be a rant! My tomatoes still aren't ripe, I haven't eaten enough corn, and my husband refuses to do the grill thing because he doesn't like his grill. Ou sont les etes d'antan? The peaches have been woody and hard, the berries expensive and mushy, and it took a trip to Alhambra ,California to get ice cream that shivered me timbers. Fosselman's, for you locals. I did plant some Grand Rapids lettuce early in the season, and it provided a few lovely salads. But I've beeen braising and stewing and frying chicken and mashing potatoes--all worth the effort. But no fish caught from the end of the dock. No watermelon on a hot day. No fresh squeezed lemonade. No trips to DQ. Thing is: It's all my own damn fault. I could be attending the Sandwich (IL) fair and its All-You-Can-Eat corn event. I could have driven up the eastern shore of Lake Michigan to Traverse City and picked cherries. I could have supported some lame suburban Farmer's Market, and I didn't. External factors made me forget what's really important about summer and food, and that scares the hell out of me. What if I don't get another summer to pick baby green beans or bitch about too much zucchini? Next year I'll keep my eye on the ball. Please tell me you did better. I want to lounge on your deck, dangle my toes in your pool, squeeze honeydews with you.