Chicken 'n Waffles...Skillman Style

I'll be honest: I've never understood the whole thing about fried chicken served on a waffle. I mean, really! I get the concept of a lovely square of leavened fluffiness as a repository for fallen juices or sauce, but this? The waffle seems to be there to sop up the grease? Ew.

Still, I've been intrigued....wondering how I could be immune to such a classic pairing. So much so, that I could almost say I was haunted.

So it's safe to say the notion of waffles is rarely far from my mind when I crave fried chicken. Ah, but even during Passover, you say? YES!, I say: Passover fried chicken is wonderful. Under a crunchy coating of seasoned matzah meal lies juicy, flavorful chicken! And since it was Passover, I dip one and a half times, not my usual two.

But Pesachdik waffles? Truly, I'm not one to try to fit year-round food into this holiday's mold, so no Passover Pasta or Pastries or Pain Perdu 'round here. That can wait the eight days. I prefer to put the holiday into the food and this year, the muses gifted me with uncanny inspiration: Waffles made from the batter I use to make potato gnocchi (NO flour!) for the Seder. A silky mix of mashed potatoes, eggs and herbs...yum!

Now, I get Chicken 'n Waffles! They were light; they had flavor; they added something to the meal. A light drizzle of pure maple syrup and I was entering the Promised Land!

Details?
Here goes:

Matzah Meal Fried Chicken 

-Heat about an inch of canola oil in a large cast iron skillet to 350.
-Place 3 or so cups matzah meal, seasoned liberally with salt, freshly ground pepper, granulated garlic and smoked paprika in a dish suitable for dredging.
-In another, similar, dish mix 6 to 8 egg whites with about a half cup of hot sauce.
-Dip the chicken in the wet mixture then the dry and repeat the process with just the tops. Place on a wire rack over a baking pan to dry and set the crust. 
-Fry to a crispy golden brown - about 10 mins per piece - or until the internal temp reaches 170 and drain on another wire rack over another baking pan.
(These proportions should coat the parts of a whole chicken.)

Potato Waffles

-Boil 3 large baking potatoes that have been peeled and cubed in salted water until fork tender.

-Rice them (or mash 'em if you don't have a ricer) into a large bowl.

-Mix in 4 T butter, salt and ground black pepper, about a third cup minced fresh parsley, 2 finely chopped scallions, and 5 beaten eggs. The mixture should be rather 'gloppy.'

-Heat your waffle iron, and using those directions and a lot of spray oil, ladle in your mixture and crisp to perfection.

I have seen the light...and it is good! Enjoy this variation - at Pesach or any time of year!

Changing rituals...

My family’s annual spring ritual typically begins weeks in advance while the frigid weather still clings to the land: My mother calls to see which night of Passover I want to hold the Seder.

"The first," I would say, after taking into account the day of the week and the boys' spring break schedule.

"Fine," she would say, "I'll do the second."

Well, that was up until last year when Pesach passed over us while Dad was in the hospital. We ate matzah in the cafeteria, but the closest we got to a haggadah was our prayers that Next Year We’ll All Be Home.

Unfortunately, Dad passed away in June and all our rituals have been turned on ear since last Purim. This is rather ironic, since Dad was all about rituals. But changes affect every family (even if it's not as extreme as this) and the story of the Exodus must be told.

So, I'm sitting here, putting fingertip to keyboard thinking about what foods I will make this year to grace both our table and Dad’s memory.

I’m sure there will be some tried-and-true standards and some soon-to-become standards as old and new friends ring our table. Some will be store-bought, but all will be homemade, even if it wasn't made in my house.

And while my biggest conundrum may be the main course… Do we want Chicken Marbella? Or the family brisket that’s been on holiday for the past couple years? How about grilled leg of lamb? Is this the year to ‘be’ Sephardic and go through with the sushi threat? I’ve always thought wasabi would a cool twist on maror. Or maybe make MY fried chicken using matzah meal... Dad’s favorite – chocolate – will make an appearance as a flourless cake and the requisite jelly rings and marshmallow twists (frozen, of course!) and we’ll make sure there’s enough hard-boiled eggs and salt water for the ‘soup’ he’d concoct before the gefilte fish comes to the table.

It’s a difficult year of firsts for us and I know too many of you can relate to this too. We’ll all set an empty place for Elijahu and hope he brings our loved ones along to sing Dayenu, whisper words of encouragement to the little one saying the Four Questions and giggle when the maror gets the better of us.

When the afikomen is found in Dad’s favorite hiding place – under his plate – I’ll feel him standing behind me with his hands on my shoulders and know that our family’s rituals really do live on l’dor va dor.

If I were making the cake for Dad, I'd probably omit the orange so nothing would distract from the chocolate!

Details?
Here goes :
(And in a switch from my usual, I listed the ingredients first...It's for Passover after all, a time that's different from all others!)

Butter, melted

1 1/4 cups walnuts

1 cup sugar, divided

6 ounces bittersweet (not unsweetened) or semisweet chocolate, coarsely chopped

1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder

6 large eggs, separated

Zest of 1 orange

1 teaspoon vanilla paste or extract

1/4 teaspoon salt

-Preheat oven to 350°F.

-Brush bottom of 9-inch-diameter springform pan generously with butter.

-Blend walnuts and 1/4 cup sugar in processor until finely ground. Add chopped chocolate and zest; blend until chocolate is finely ground, scraping sides and bottom of bowl occasionally.

-Combine egg yolks and 1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar in large bowl then add vanilla.

-Using an electric mixer, beat until yolk mixture is very thick, about 4 minutes, then beat in cocoa.

-Fold in walnut mixture.

-Using clean dry beaters, beat egg whites and salt in another large bowl until soft peaks form. Gradually add 2 tablespoons sugar, beating until whites are stiff but not dry.

-Fold whites into chocolate batter in 3 additions. Transfer to prepared pan.

-Bake cake until tester inserted into center comes out clean, about 40 minutes. Cool cake completely in pan on rack, release from pan and serve. 

May Dad’s and your loved ones’ memories all be for a zissen Pesach blessing. 

I'm cranky and crabby

And I'm eating everything in sight as if I haven't seen food in a month. OK, it only seems that way to me. But after grazing through all the 'fresh' food around here on this chilly dank day - a banana, a kirby cuke, celery stalk, Hey! Don't laugh, I bet you have your days too! And You, you know who you are, quit worrying that I usually don't eat. Seriously. - I had a hankering for soup. But since I didn't do the full Hunter-Gatherer thing this weekend, the only canned variety here is tomato. Blech. (Sorry to all you tomato soup lovers - my dear Husband included - but it's not my cuppa.)

Then the Bubbles dropped orzo and bits of leftover veg in my lap and an idea was born. So I foraged the fridge for a half tomato, a sprig of rosemary, the remains in a box o'chicken stock and a pathetic little shallot. Then I grabbed the pasta and 4 tiny garlic cloves (to equal an average-sized one) and set to put my craving to rest.


Details?
Here goes:
-Bring about a cup of chicken stock to a boil in a pan/small pot that has a lid and toss in a good healthy handful of orzo pasta, a little salt and pepper, the rosemary leaves from the sprig, and let simmer mostly covered until al dente. As it cooks, you may need to add more stock or water so it stays moist and risotto-ish.
-Meanwhile in another pan, gently saute about a T of chopped shallot and the aforementioned garlic - minced - in olive oil.
-When translucent, add about half a large tomato that you've diced and a half t red pepper flakes and let 'em go on med low til the tomato breaks down a bit and has given up some juice.
-Add the creamy orzo to the pan so all the flavors combine. Taste for seasoning.
-Pour into a bowl and shave on some ricotta salata.

Oh, and this is a single serving.

Yes, I put it in a bowl. I wasn't giving in to the crabbiness and eating out of the pan. That's what dishwashers are for. Besides, when I finished, so had the crankies.

A helping hand for an ailing foot...

Well, technically leg...but 'helping arm' doesn't work. Anyway...

Every Wednesday afternoon, a friend and I meet for a cuppa tea and mutual support. Most times we converge on a gourmet market that has an open seating area where my friend knows at least one other patron. But a couple times I've gone to her home and last week, I had no choice.

When vacationing on the Outer Banks 11 years ago, a really rough wave tossed and turned Jeremy to the extreme. We thought he'd want to spend the rest of our beach time on the sand, but he stood up and let out a decisive 'Oh Yeah!' before going in for more. Last Monday, a similar wave found my friend on the Jersey Shore and broke her leg. In three places. Oh my. Not good for an active woman in her 60s. Not good for anyone, really.

But my friend is a trooper. She laughed her way through the story and the afternoon. And we lost track of time, as usual. Before I left, I did the one of the few things I do well: I asked what I could do to help. Turns out it was dinner time and she - and her cat - were peckish. So I did the other thing I do well: I fed them. Lilly the cat was easy...open can, dump in bowl, add a bit of water...reminded me of Sizzle.

It was a little trickier for my friend since I didn't know what she had. But she pointed me toward some leftover this - pasta salad with pesto and spinach - and that - canned cannelloni beans - and I added a few  cubes of mozzarella and a drizzle of olive oil and balsamic vinegar. There were a few other things in this 'salad,' but for the life of me I can't remember what. Guess it didn't matter, or she was famished, being incredibly grateful and polite, because she said it was delicious.

But it gave my muse - the bubbles - some juice: Instead of stuffed burgers for dinner as I'd planned (but didn't have buns or cheese for the stuffing), why not make a large, leftover this and that, sloppy joe on ciabatta bread instead? Why not indeed!

Details?
Here goes:

-In a skillet, crisp up 4 oz bacon cut into 3/4-inch pieces.
-Then add 1 diced medium onion, 1 lb ground beef, 3 minced garlic cloves, a mostly-seeded minced jalapeno, 1 t cumin, 1/2 t cayenne, 2 T tomato paste, 1 1/2 T brown sugar, 1 t smoked paprika and a few dashes of bitters. Yes, bitters...I was looking for a savory element to add and lit on the bitters when I opened the fridge. It worked!
-Saute until the meat is well broken up, cooked through and kinda caramelized, about 12 minutes depending on the size of your pan.
-Cut the ciabatta horizontally and scoop out much of the crumb from both halves - so you can get all that yum onto the bread, of course! Spoon on the filling, cut into 'manageable' servings, and provide lots napkins.

So with some Peanut Butter Wild Cookies I made earlier, my friend had dinner and dessert and so did we... The genesis of inspiration never fails to amaze me. And who knows? Maybe food can heal a broken leg too.

His memory is a blessing...

All that's missing is his hat.

I got many things from my Dad: my curly hair, my love of sports, my taste for whiskey, my appreciation of silly jokes and my optimistic outlook. Oh, and my penchant to don a hat.

Rarely seen outside without one, Dad’s hat of choice was usually a cowboy hat. To go with his cowboy boots of course, and his love of the Southwestern landscape.

In some ways, Dad was born about 90 years too late... But he wasn’t particularly fond of horseback riding and he wouldn’t have been able to enjoy the Marx Brothers, Abbott and Costello or the Dead End Kids. So instead, he was the littlest – best dressed – cowpoke East of the Mississippi.

But he wouldn’t have just missed out on the comedy … there was the music. Music that filled our house – and car – by radio or recording … Classical. Jazz. Big band. And opera. Dad’s music was the soundtrack of our childhood.

When the opportunity presented itself a few years ago, Dad actually stepped onto the opera stage… We referred to his performances as “Mike in Tights” because yes, he did wear tights one year. Ah, if only Dad could sing! Good thing that as a silent extra he didn’t have to. But we all knew he was humming along.

Dad enjoyed tradition and created some that became routine.

Whenever Nat King Cole came on the radio, he’d say: That man could sing the basketball scores from the Sunday paper and it’d be a hit!

When the freight train would rumble by the baseball fields during one of my guys’ games he’d check the time on his watch and invariably say: The 2:15 or the 5:20 or the 11:13 – right on time! Dad had such an effect on people that my friends would say it even on the rare occasion Dad didn’t make it to a game.

And one of Mark’s and my favorite traditions happened at breakfast on Sunday mornings…When we were all served, Dad would make sure he had two extra pieces of bacon…and when only the eggs were left on our plates and all we wanted was another piece of bacon, Dad would hand us each one of the ‘extra’ pieces from his plate. I don’t know how old I was when I realized he took more just so he could give us that treat, but I was old.

That was Dad. He had a particular knack to make everyone around him feel special.

And while some would say I got my easy smile from him, no one’s smile came easier or brighter than Dad’s. It was a beacon of friendship, kindness, caring and goodness. And with it, he told the world: Join me and we’ll get through it together.

Flashing that grin, Dad made friends – true, heartfelt friends – everywhere he went: the local bakery, the bank, the café and yes, even the hospital, where he’d chat on end with the receptionists before AND after going to rehab. He was so important to them that they took good care to ease our visits during these past months and we’re grateful.

I’m not going to tell you how much Dad loved each of you. You already know because he told you each time you were together. It was in his firm handshake; his tight hug; his tender kiss.

It was in his eyes Saturday evening when I told him he made the sun shine in my life and that I am who I am because of him…

…All our lives have been richer and sweeter having known him.


To celebrate my father and one of his favorite treats, here's a link to the previously posted Ebinger's Blackout Cake.

The tenth good thing about Sizzle

Sizzle, when he joined our family

I suppose it's serendipitous that more than 16 years ago, when we presented Dill with three choices with which to name our first cat, he chose the one that's also a cooking term: Sizzle. That's not why he picked it, of course. I think he liked the spunk of the eponymous cat puppet on TV and it was fun to say for an almost 3-year-old.

For a loooooong time, Sizz lived up to his namesake's spunk ... even when we moved (and he spent an hour in his litterbox before venturing out to explore) and when we rocked his kitty world by adopting Austen (our second cat, a rather large ginger tom fluff-ball who once prompted the exclamation: What is that?) ... but every sizzle starts to fizzle, and our guy began to decline about a year and a half ago when he developed thyroid disease. Six weeks ago, Sizz went from bad to worse with a limp-causing, fast-growing lump on his knee...and we began the process of saying good-bye.

Big sigh. I believe Sizzy's mournful wails warned the Banshees that he wasn't ready. And despite his making garbage of three gorgeous wool area rugs, I wasn't either.

Our mornings start with a vocal greeting from Sizz and Austy at the bedroom door to make sure we know they want fresh food and water. I don't know how Sizzy got up the stairs the past two weeks, but I cuddled his ailing body on the way down. And our evenings begin with him circling the kitchen island as I cook and he M'ows for wet food or as we call it, crack. Then there're the second dinners and the thirds. I pamper him with thawed tiny shrimp for the last one.

When people say "you'll know when it's time," you will. And it's scary. Dill realized he wouldn't see Sizzy again, so he made his peace before returning to school. But I kept looking for signs; though for me they were too gradual to discern.

Until yesterday. I realized he hadn't moved much from the heating grate in the kitchen, so I brought some of his favorite shrimp to him... He ate most of it, then lost all interest. Late afternoon, other things told me it was time, so I rang the vet to make arrangements. We discussed this as a family, but I was elected to be the sole human to accompany Sizz. So I swaddled him like a baby in an old towel, packed up a couple shrimp in case he ... oh, I don't know ... I'm a Jewish mother who tries to be prepared for anything... and gently laid him on the front seat with the warmer on and drove to the vet; one hand on the wheel and one on his cheek.

It was quiet; it was quick and I was home within the hour.

This is the first time I had to do anything like this... and pardon the pun, but I'm kind of at a loss... I'm not a huge animal lover, but my cats became more than 'living furniture.' They wove into the fabric of our family. As a sleeping pre-schooler, Dill exclaimed: No Sizzul, I don't wantamawy you. And Jere was struck by the fact that within their same 16 years, Sizz was at the end of his life while he was approaching the prime of his youth.

Throughout this passage, I kept thinking about Judith Viorst's story, The Tenth Good Thing About Barney, where a boy's mother suggests he create this list about his cat who just died as a way of dealing with his sadness. So, in no particular order, here are the 10 Good Things About Sizzle:

* He was our family's Alpha Male.
* He was more dog than cat, greeting us at the door and telling us when it was food time.
* He never brought home gifts of maimed birds or rodents.
* He lived in harmony with the boys' pet mouse and guinea pig.
* He came when we called for him and replied when we M'owed to him.
* He didn't mind when I affectionately started calling him "Old Man."
* He nipped at our heels as we climbed the stairs.
* He nipped at our hair from the back of the couch.
* He was very social.
* He showed his affection by pressing his forehead against mine, a kitty head bump.

So to celebrate Sizz, here's a recipe featuring his favorite food: Shrimp.

Details?
Here goes:

-In a bowl, combine 1 T olive oil, chiffonade (thin ribbons) of 10 or so basil leaves, zest and juice of 2 limes, 2 thinly sliced garlic cloves, 1 and a half long hot peppers or 2 jalapenos thinly sliced, 1 t each ground black pepper and salt.
-Add 1 pound (16-count is good) peeled, deveined shrimp with tails on and marinate for 10 minutes or so while heating the grill. (Cast iron skillet works well too.)
-Grill (or saute) until pink and serve over jasmine rice.

Ah, poor Sizzy Kitty. I still look for you around the house and probably will for quite some time. May your memory be for blessing.

My friend Bill...

...personifies all that is good about this season: His smile lights the darkest corners; his generosity knows no bounds; and his faith in us all is automatic.

And I came to really learn this quite by accident - if chance ever plays a role when someone special graces your life, that is.

On a nippy Sunday two weeks before Christmas, we went to get our tree. (Yes, we're Jewish; yes, we have a tree. Christmas is a secular celebration in our house where Dad was raised Catholic.) And like most families, we have a tradition surrounding this adventure. Our favorite place is Bill's tree stand - where Dill, and now Jere, got their first tastes of employment - and where the trees and the maple syrup, like Bill, come from Vermont.

Once our fir was tied high atop the van and the car alarm finally stopped (a tale for another day!) and we tipped our helper (Thanks Jere!), Bill roped me into working for him too. Actually, he sweetly asked if I could spare a few hours helping decorate wreaths because his primo decorator had a family emergency.

So as John tangled with the tree at home, I set about wiring cones and berries and bows onto wreaths. For four and a half glorious hours. And when he asked me to work some more, I returned Monday armed with Wild Cookies and learned how to make garland out of fresh brush. Though I became the self-monikered Queen of Garland, I was sure I was doing it 'wrong' because I went through bunches of brush as soon as they were clipped. But people seemed to like the super lush, thick, garlands because each strand sold before I finished it and I started taking special orders.

So maybe I didn't need to bribe 'em with the cookies...but before I knew it, the cookies were gone and Chuck (Bill's right-hand man) told Bill I should sell 'em at the stand...so besides selling Chuck more dozens than I could count, I made my first professional cookie sales to people I didn't even know! A big step for Suzy's Wild Cookies, Yay!

Toting more cookies and heavy work gloves, I returned every day except the brilliant day Dill came home from university in Ireland. (More on that in a bit.) Over the next couple weeks, I reconnected with people I didn't expect to see and others I had hoped to - You college guys have grown into Mensch Men! - learned more about my community, and made new friends including Jim & Peg (Bill's NJ hosts) and Bill's son, Bret, who lived with us for a week.

Through Bill, the world grew smaller and my sense of self-worth grew larger. And I found a subtle peace that I lacked.

In a famous New York Sun editorial, the writer told an 8-year-old girl her "little friends were affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age." And a 114 years later, it's truer than ever.

But Bill turns that on its ear with his grace and appreciation and soulful optimism. When people arrive at the tree stand with neither the requisite cash nor check, he simply tells them - no matter who it is! - to return with the payment later. When older customers ask him to deliver their trees, he doesn't just plop it on their porches. No, not Bill. He'll bring it into the home and make sure it's sturdy and safe in its holder. And when people arrive at his stand just to say hello, I saw their crestfallen faces if he wasn't there. He's cultivated friends and turned them into his New Jersey family.

Some skeptics might say: Oh, well...this joy is due to the Holiday Season. But I say it's Bill's spirit: It's just his way...and his joy and his spirit have no season.

I've known one other person like Bill... and like the girl with skeptical friends, I was 8 when this 9-year-old boy wiped the sticky apple cider off my hand at the local farm...his eyes sparkled and he left an impression on me of all that is good and possible...I see that again in Bill and I am honored to have become part of his legion.

So to further paraphrase that well-known editorial: Yes, my friends - skeptics or not - there is a Santa Claus...and he is Bill Manning.

So onto the recipe...Bill makes amazing maple syrup so I've been experimenting with it in a variety of baked goods...I made this maple coffee cake the day Dill came home...but honestly, I didn't need to sweeten that day at all. When Dill came down the ramp to the baggage claim, he saw his brother and he saw his father....but he stared at me, came straight for me and held me so tightly for what seemed like forever...That, is the best present a mom could get.

Details?
Here goes:

-Preheat oven to 350F and grease and flour a 10"x16"-ish baking pan.
-In a small bowl, combine a half c white sugar with 1 T cinnamon and 1 c chopped pecans. Set aside.
-Incorporate 1 and a half c Maple Syrup - preferably Bill's Fancy grade! - and a half c dark brown sugar into 8oz butter...it'll be a tad separated, but that's OK.
-Add 2 beaten eggs and 1 c plain Greek-style yogurt and mix to combine.
-Add 2 and a half c flour, 1 T baking powder, a quarter t salt and 1 t cinnamon and beat to a thick batter.
-Spread half in pan sprinkle with 2/3 of the cinnamon sugar mixture and a nice handful of dried cranberries.
-Spread or plop the rest of the batter on top and sprinkle the remaining sugar mixture on top.
-Bake for 45 to 60 mins until a toothpick comes out clean from the center of the cake.
-Cool just until you can handle the pieces you cut and enjoy!

So when the days seem to be darkest - whether by calendar or clouds of blue - remember Bill's smile and Dill's hug and that the most real things in this world are those you can't see. After all, a new year is upon us and the best gifts come in magical, human, packages.

Happy New Year!