Creamy Tomato and Gorgonzola Soup

Holy shizz. So remember a couple years ago when it became legally mandatory to post all of the sex offenders in a national sex offender registry? And it was like all the rage after an evening of watching How to Catch a Predator, to sit down with your loved ones and look up all of the sex offenders in your town, and to your horror, you'd find your mailman of 23 years, Gil, or Aunt Millie's wrinkled mug staring you in the face? You'd keep your fingers crossed hoping that it was only for taking a freak-a-leak behind the shed after three too many beers at the annual Labor Day picnic, but inside you were never quite sure? You were left wondering what your neighbors were doing in their spare time? Yeah, those were the good ole days...
Well I had the pleasure of reliving this great period in American history, just the other night, when I found myself asking "Do we ever really know our neighbors?" The answer to this, my friend, is not blowing in the wind. The answer, my friend, is NO. And so it begins...
Last week, my brother bought a treadmill off of Craigslist. This should have been my first clue that the night was going to be interesting. The word "Craigslist" alone is synonymous with weird. Like weird weird. Like the weird you only find in college dorm rooms. Like Bubble Boy weird. Anyway, you get the picture. Craigslist lived up to its reputation.

We drove up to the seller's house, (a frighteningly short drive), and Mr. Craig was waiting for us... Outside...
Before we even get to introductions,I can tell this guy is going to be awesome. Clad in a casual pair of distressed jeans, a screen printed t-shirt that said "affliction," this guy was nothing short of Leawood's John Gosselin. His outfit, coupled with his balding dome, had me feeling mortified for his children, and I sure as hell hope this doucher hasn't fathered eight of them.
He introduces himself as"Mike," which is also my brother's name and although I didn't know it then, served as the first of many comparisons he would make between the two of them.
We go downstairs to find the treadmill and my brother, Michael, attempts to make small talk. He is brilliant with small talk, a genetic gift he has inherited from my mother. However, I would not really call what unfolded before our eyes "small."In fact, Michael and I discovered some rather big issues about this man.

Michael: "This looks like a really nice treadmill."

Mike: "Yeah, that's not the only nice thing I'm getting rid of. I have got multiple huge flat screen t.v.'s, this massive house, and a portable,indoor sauna."

SMALL TALK TRANSLATION: I am a big loser. Let me attempt to impress you with these material goods, I have collected over the years.

Michael: "Oh cool. Well should we start to move this thing up the stairs?"
SMALL TALK TRANSLATION: Oh wow, this could be a long evening. Best to start it and get it over with.

Mike:"Yeah,yeah. You should move down to the light end and I will get the front."
SMALL TALK TRANSLATION: I feel threatened by your youth, and want to prove to you that I can still do things.

Michael: "Are you sure? I don't mind..."
STT: Please do not sue me when you herniate some discs mid-heart attack as you try to hold this thing
Mike: "No, no. I still got it. I look pretty good for my age, don't you think?"
STT: VALIDATION. NOW.

So they start to move this gigantic awkwardly shaped excuse for a good idea down the hallway and up the stairs when things start to get tense.My brother Michael is at the bottom of the stairs holding the majority of the weight while Mike is struggling mid staircase. Mike's face is getting very red. Mike's veins are starting to pulse. I am starting to have visions of this massive thing slip from Mike's grip, joy ride its way down the stairs, just shortly before crushing every bone in my eldest brother's body, having met his demise in his twenties on the carpet of this randomaniac's home. NOT GOOD.

Michael: "Is everything okay? Do you want to take a break?"
Mike: "No man, I got it. I'm just going to tie one end of this rope I found around the treadmill and the other around my neck..."

WHAT???!?!!!!??
So he is going to strangle himself before killing my brother? AWESOME.

So Mike, now wearing a leash, insists that he is okay and continues this Everest-esque trip up the stairs.

Then the thing gets stuck in the door frame. (A problem my brother brought up an hour earlier, which Mike brushed off...)
This is when things get interesting. Mike, who has taken to calling me "Les," now insists that I maneuver my way up the stairs, between them and the treadmill and start to unscrew the whole damn thing. I begrudgingly obey, we get the thing through the door and we are that much closer to having survived one of the scarier nights of our lives. Or so I thought. After we have the whole machine loaded into my brother's car- which nearly broke during the process, Michael is called back into Mike's house to look at pictures of his Russian girlfriend that Mike has printed off from the internet.

Mike: "Look at her! She is just average over there! Average!"
Michael: "Uh huh...wow..."
STT: maybe the less I say the faster I will be out of here?

Anyway, to make a long story somewhat shorter, I will just say we made it out alive, having learned quite a bit and grown as individuals. Incredible experience to say the least.
After returning to Michael's house I made a delicous creamy tomato and gorgonzola soup. The foodie connection to this whole story is that if you decide to make this soup, in all of its fiery red glory, just know that its color was the same as old man Mike's face when trudging up the stairs.

Ingredients:
Tomato juice
1 can tomatoes-any way you like
1 red pepper
1 onion
some garlic
gorgonzola cheese
some cream cheese
some heavy cream or milk

Saute garlic, onion and red pepper until onion is translucent. Pour in tomatoes and juice and bring to a simmer. Slowly add cheeses and stir to blend. When soup looks nice and blended add the milk. Serve with a grilled cheese or some crusty bread and indulge.

Broccoli Cheese Soup

This soup, from The Greasy Skillet, was surprisingly delicious, despite its humble name and ingredients. This could be one of my favorite meals to date! I paired this soup with a freshly baked loaf of Asiago Cheese bread.
4 tablespoons of butter.
3-4 carrots shredded
3-4 ribs of celery diced
a 16 oz. bag of frozen chopped broccoli. I've also used a 10 and 12 oz. bag, depending what I find in the store.
1 cup of diced onion
3 cans of chicken broth
3 cans of cream of potato soup
1 lb. of Velveeta diced
8 ounces of sour cream
salt and pepper to taste

Melt the butter in a large pot. Saute the celery, carrots, onion, and broccoli for 10-15 minutes.
Pour in the chicken broth and cream of potato soup.
Allow the soup to simmer for 30 minutes.
Add the Velveeta and stir until it's melted.
Right before serving add the sour cream and stir until it's blended with the soup.

Serve the soup with some nice crusty bread

Sweet Potato Rosti and Butternut Squash Pear Soup

Autumn is definitely in full swing. Leather jackets, boots, and plaid flannels are finally back! For no explained reason,other than the general magical transformations that come with the changing of the seasons, Saturday football and Thursday night television are all of the sudden important parts in my weekly routine. To fully immerse myself in the wonders of the season, I have been cooking hearty meals with ingredients from someones farm or patch or something. YUMZ.

Sweet Potato Rosti 750g Sweet potatoes, peeled and grated Olive oil, for frying 1 Small onion, finely chopped 1 Clove of garlic, finely chopped 200g Goats cheese (or any other – stilton also works well 2 Small eggs, beaten Salt and ground black pepper

1. Squeeze the liquid out of the grated potato and place into a bowl.
2. Lightly fry the onion and garlic in the oil, until they have softened and turned a golden colour. Add to the potato.
3. Add the eggs and half the cheese to the potato mix and season as required.
4. Divide the mixture into six, and mould into cakes with your hands.
5. Place the cakes onto a greased baking tray, and drizzle each with a little olive oil.
6. Bake in the oven at 210 degrees C for 20 minutes, or until they are golden brown and cooked through.
7. Remove from the oven and scatter the remaining cheese on top. Brown for 5 minutes under the grill, and serve immediately

While cooking tonight, I had this song stuck in my head:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M11SvDtPBhA

I know. Embarrassing.
Peel and chop pears.

"My tummy's turnin' and I'm feelin' kinda homesick. Too much pressure and I'm nervous, and the taxi man turned on the radio and a Jay-Z song was on, and a Jay-Z song was on, and a Jay-Z song was on..."

Incredible lyrics, I know.

In a 4-quart saucepan melt the

butter over medium-high heat, and add and sweat the onions. Add squash and pears and sweat those too a bit.

"So I put my hands up, they're playin' my song, and the butterflies fly away, noddin' my head like yeah, movin' my hips like yeah, and I know I'm gonna be okay..."

Pour in the stock, enough to submerge solids. Add sprig of rosemary and bring to a simmer and cook until squash is fork tender about 15 to 18 minutes.

"Yeah, it's a party in the USA, it's a party in the USA..."

Remove rosemary. Puree with immersion blender. Add a touch of cream and season, to taste.

"It's when the DJ played my favorite jam and a Britney song was on... So I put my hands up, they're playin' my song..."

Enjoy.

"It's a party in the USA..."

No matter how much you hate to admit it, the girl's got pipes. Plus, I'm glad somebody's partying, I've about had it with all of this economic talk. Lets just party in the USA...

Impressions of a Farmers' Market

Saturday, September 19, 2009 started out just like any other. I rolled out of bed, blindly made my way to the bathroom and started brushing my teeth. As I lazily brushed each side of my mouth I thought about the day’s activities in a sleep induced stupor. I knew I had to do something of significance today, but what was it, I thought as I brushed my tangled hair. “Kick-off against Duke is at 11, is that it?... No, a mere football game would not be bookmarked in my subconscious,” I thought as put in my left contact. “I’m sure I haven’t finished all of my homework…but that is pretty typical for a Saturday morning…” I posited as my vision was clearing somewhat. “Homework. I know it has something to do with homework…” I put in my right contact, blinked, and in a moment of total clarity, remembered “The Farmers’ Market! That’s it. Today I am going to the Farmers’ Market for a class project!” Satisfied, as the day’s agenda had finally come to me just as clear as my own corrected vision, I threw on some jeans and a t-shirt, grabbed some cash and my car keys, and headed downtown. When I got near the general vicinity outlined on my assignment’s prompt, I did not see anything resembling a market of any sort, save tons of people who clearly knew more about this event than I did, as they walked with purpose, on their way to a hidden valley of fruits and vegetables, a Kansan’s land of milk and honey. Others, walking away from a general area to the left, seemed to walk with something else. They walked with a sense of content, a sense of satisfaction and an armful of produce. I knew I was headed in the right direction. As I got closer, I followed my nose to the smell of “Barbeque?” Confused, I took another whiff. “Yep, that is certainly the smell of cooked meat and summer. That is definitely barbeque,” I decided, as my hunger to reach this mysterious destination grew like my own intensifying appetite for breakfast. “Who’da thought? BBQ at a Farmers’ Market!” As I approached the entrance, my sense of smell proved correct. Underneath a large white tent to the left of the opening to this event, a man was smoking some pork next to a large white sign advertising everything from organic beef cutlets to chicken breasts. I continued walking throughout the market and was surprised yet again. Across from the BBQ station, my eyes fell upon the rare ethnic delicacies of baba ganoush, spanakopita and Lebanese Turkey pies. Blown away from surprise, I slowly made my way to the next vendors. This duo was selling baked goods and soap. Although I first thought this an interesting combination, as I moved closer, I realized the connection between these two seemingly unlike items was that both looked absolutely delicious, and good enough to eat. The soaps, which were casually formed, actually looked like cookies, and were scented like edible confections with everything from vanilla almond to watermelon. I was beginning to see what made this such an extraordinary event. While I milled around the market, I began to notice something else peculiar. Aside from the random looking smattering of produce, baked goods and barbeque, the people at this event were like no others I had seen at any grocery store I had ever been to. These people were enjoying themselves. Unlike the usual haggard, tired countenances of the overworked mothers who frequented the local Dillon’s, these people looked happy, relaxed and overall excited to be there. No one looked agitated or in a hurry. Children were safe and free to run around. Laughing with happiness, toddlers and teens alike were savoring cinnamon rolls and talking to friends or parents. This was an event, an event to be celebrated, and was treated as such. Live music from hand-made instruments filled the air as people danced in the parking lot. This event’s attendees included both strangers and old friends. It was obvious that some of the people in attendance shared a personal camaraderie with the people they were buying from, as they asked about health and family. A high school reunion appeared to be in full swing, as a group of old friends gathered underneath a sign that said “Class of ‘67” while drinking coffee and talking about children. An hour and half and a bouquet of flowers later, I left the Farmers’ Market with a wealth of knowledge about this extraordinary event, a turkey pie in my stomach, and a feeling of content, like the people I had seen before. I felt content knowing that this event brought people together. I felt content knowing that in this world of schedules and work hours that you could find people gathered together at least once a week, buying wholesome food and generally enjoying their lives. For that reason alone, the Farmers’ Market is truly exceptional.

Chicken Pot Pie

I am blogging from my apartment on a normal weekday night. Nothing noteworthy or exceptional, just a mundane Monday in the heartland of America. I am writing my first blog post with a feeling of content that only comes from the regular routine of Fall and a good meal in my stomach. With inspiration from Josh Ritter, I bring you Chicken Pot Pie.


Servings = 4 Serving size =1 pie
Cooking Time = 60 Minutes
This recipe can be multiplied by 2, 3, 4.
Leftovers are fair.
1 tsp
extra virgin olive oil
1 cloves
garlic (minced)
1 small
yellow onion (diced)
2 medium
carrots (peeled and diced)
4 Tbsp
all purpose flour
1 cup
low sodium chicken or vegetable stock
1
10 ounce package frozen peas with pearl onions
3 cups
2% milk
2 large
red potatoes
1/4 tsp
salt
1/4 tsp
fresh ground black pepper
8 ounces
boneless skinless chicken breast (cubed)
1 tsp
dried basil
1 tsp
dried thyme
2 Tbsp
curley parsley (minced)
3
buttermilk biscuits (from the dairy case)
Heat olive oil in a large non-stick skillet and add garlic and onion. Cook slowly so that the garlic and onion soften but don’t turn brown.Add the carrots and cook until they are slightly soft. Add the flour and cook for about 3 minutes. Slowly add the chicken stock stirring constantly to keep any lumps from forming. Reduce heat to low.Rinse the frozen peas and onions in a strainer under warm water. Drain well and add to the pan. Add the milk, chicken breast, salt, pepper and herbs to the pan. Cook over low heat stirring occasionally.Microwave the potatoes for 5 minutes on high setting. Cut them into 1/2 inch cubes. Add to the sauce and cook for about 30 minutes Ladle into four oven proof bowls.Preheat the oven to 300°F.Lightly flour a chopping board and, using a rolling pin, roll the biscuit dough together and then roll out until 1/4 inch thick. Cut into 4 equal pieces and roll very thin. The biscuits should be slightly smaller than the bowl the pot pie will be cooked in. Place them on top of the chicken mixture in the bowl.Place in the oven and cook for about 15 minutes until the top of the biscuit is brown. Let cool about 5 minutes before serving.
Nutrition Facts
Serving size = 1 pot pie
Servings = 4
Amount Per Serving
Calories 528
Calories from Fat 64

% Daily Value
Total Fat 7g
11%
Saturated Fat 3g
15%
Monounsaturated Fat 3g

Trans Fat 0g

Cholesterol 48mg
16%
Sodium 930mg
38%
Total Carbohydrates 84g
28%
Dietary Fiber 7g
29%
Sugars 14g

Protein 32g

Vitamin A 120%
Vitamin C 92%
Calcium 33%
Iron 29%
Vitamin K 48 mcg
Potassium 1634 mg
Magnesium 111 mg