Lazy Days.

We are so busy being lazy, staying in our pjs, playing outside and enjoying some time off, that I just don't have any free time (or umph) to blog.

But I'll be back, with some stories to tell, on January 4th.

See you then!

In My Kitchen.

Not much has changed since I was a little girl. I still love a bedtime story. I still want someone to play with my hair. And, most of all, I still love spinach ravioli.

Especially homemade.

Meet my dad.

He is a lawyer. But mostly he's a chef. And most of my memories with him involve food. Good food. Okay, really good food. Fresh, rosemary focaccia from the Italian market in North Beach. Whole grain bread in Switzerland. Delicate pasta in Italy. Rich chocolate mousse in Paris. Crispy bacon in Half Moon Bay. Creamy tiramisu in Ottawa.

And, perhaps my favorite, a frequent request of mine, spinach and cheese ravioli, made from scratch, in his very own kitchen.

Whenever I asked, he always obliged. We'd head to the market Saturday afternoon, buying ricotta and spinach. Then he'd mix it together, the egg, the flour, his hands moving with ease. We'd dot the thin dough with scoops of silky ricotta, ribbons of bright green spinach hidden throughout. I could hardly stand the short wait till that hot plate of heaven sat before me, those miniature pillows of fragrant, creamy cheese, hinted with nutmeg, melting on my eager tongue.

One bite was like wrapping yourself in a giant feather bed with wool socks and a good book. Warm. Succulent. Soft. Creamy. Soulful. A perfect blend of savory and sweet. Total comfort. Completely satisfying.

Now my dad and I live far apart. I hardly ever get to see him, or his ravioli. But tonight, he was in my home, in my kitchen, cooking for me and my family.

And guess what he made...

I snapped photos like crazy, trying to permanently capture this memory. It wasn't just a memory of today, in my kitchen, with my kids watching wide eyed from the counter, but I was capturing my childhood in his kitchen, my teenage years at his table, my entire life as his daughter.

We sat around my table, all ten of us, like one big Italian family. Except that we were speaking English. And none of us has thick, dark hair. Or olive skin. Or dark eyes.

But we were eating pasta. And talking. And laughing. And sharing.

And that felt authentic enough for me.

Spinach and Cheese Ravioli

For a family of six (Rule of thumb here is 1 egg for every 1/2 cup of flour. A 3 egg pasta is PLENTY for a family of six. Last night it fed four adults and six children.)

For pasta:

-3 eggs
-1 1/2 cups flour
-generous pinch of salt (Salt is pasta's best friend, it has no flavor without it. Can you imagine Pokey without Gumby? Dora without Boots? Blue without Joe? Mitchell without whining? Okay then, use salt!)
-1 tablespoon of olive oil

For filling:
-1/2 cup raw spinach
-1 cup ricotta cheese
-1/4 cup cooked, chopped onions (just saute in olive oil or butter until translucent)
-fresh nutmeg (I can already hear your whining about fresh vs. dried, but I'm telling you that fresh makes ALL the difference!)
-salt
-pepper

Okay. Don't be nervous. It's not like pastry dough where you're scared to death to breathe on it for fear it will be tough. And best of all, you don't even have to worry about keeping it cold. In fact, cold is an enemy to pasta dough. It's like chocolate to adolescent's pimpled face. (Not good.) So no running an iced cookie sheet over your counter top prior to kneading (there you go, a free grapefruit pastry trick). Keep that pasta warm!

Dump your flour and salt into your mixing bowl. Make a well in the flour and add your eggs and olive oil. Incorporate slowly with your dough hook. (If you are doing this by hand, use a fork.) This will take several minutes, there is no rush.

When it has turned into a stiff dough, take it out onto a floured surface for kneading by hand. The idea here is to stretch the dough, sort of like what you do to your stomach in the mirror in the morning when you want to remember what you looked like pre-stretchmarks. So push it away from you with one hand while holding it back with the other. Then fold back piece onto of pulled forward piece and turn it over to repeat. You'll want to knead, vigorously, for 7-8 minutes, until it isn't sticky anymore. Cut it into four sections and wrap each ball in plastic wrap. Set to rest on your warm counter top for 30 minutes.

Aren't you feeling good about yourself right now? You should. Like you are some sort of artisan of old, pulling pasta by hand in your kitchen. Just pretend you look out your window and see fields of golden, semolina wheat, rustling in the Tuscan sun, and orange tiled rooftops contrasting against the blue sky, and it will all add to your experience.

Alright, you're ready for the cheese mixture. Simmer some water in a pan and add spinach (not too much water, you don't want spinach soup, just enough to steam the spinach), cover with lid. It only takes a second, so watch closely. Take wilted spinach out and wrap in dry towel. Roll towel up and ring over sink to remove excess water.

Chop spinach and add to ricotta cheese. Grate nutmeg (to taste), add salt and pepper (to taste) and add cooked onion. Mix together. See? Totally do-able. So not overwhelming. You're more Italian than you think!

(And as a side note here, make sure you become a cook who tastes along the way. Otherwise, how will you know when you've achieved perfection? Start snitching now!)

Time to roll out your pasta dough. If you have a pasta machine, start feeding it through slowly at first, then turn up the dial so you achieve a thick, long rectangle. (You can definitely roll this out, pulling and stretching with your hands to achieve proper thinness.) Lay out rectangle on floured surface and brush edges with water. Dot upper half of your rectangle with small spoonfuls of cheese mixture, then fold lower half on top. Press between each bulge to secure dough. Cut between and along edges, then lay ravioli on towel. (Don't make your ravioli huge or they won't cook properly.)

Important: do not lay ravioli on top of other ravioli. The dough is wet and sticky and you won't be able to separate them when cooking time arrives.

Once your pasta is ready to go, boil it in salted water for about 3 minutes. Bake in small batches so you don't overload the pasta.

Serve with a drizzle of high quality olive oil and freshly grated Parmesan.

Next, invite me over!

I might even bring a flourless chocolate cake if you do...

Highlights.

Yes.

It's true.

After thirteen years of hoping...

and wishing...

and praying...

I finally got my red Kitchen Aid.

Other Christmas highlights included Christmas Eve fondue, a talent show, a dense, flourless chocolate cake topped with billows of white chocolate cream, cookies for Santa, pancakes with berries and sizzling bacon, homemade gifts, my "trip" to Paris (courtesy of my sister Liz), a Christmas dinner of roasted goose in huckleberry sauce, happy children, a new bike and a permanent "Joe Cool" smirk on Mitchell's face.

Till next year...

From Our House To Yours...

Okay everyone. Just one picture.

Ready?

Wait--where's Jane?



Okay, good.



Jane?



Can you say "cheese?"



Please?



Oh well.

I tried...

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL!

Just In Time.

Are you aware that Christmas is only three days away? What? How did that happen? I woke up this morning, looked at one of the three advent calendars we have hanging around here and choked.

Now here I am, at 2:02 pm, still in my pjs, but with good reason. (Isn't any reason good enough to stay in pjs?) I've been preparing some last minute gifts for friends and co-workers, which in turn, has made my kitchen smell like that picture in the Pottery Barn catalogue...you know the one...with the house all decorated in fresh pine, with cranberries and red-framed photos adorning the fireplace mantle, with real mistletoe dangling from every doorway, with cloved oranges nestled in a gorgeous glass bowl on top of that rustic dining room table, which is hosting an elegant setting of crisp, white dishes and golden bubbly in the delicately stemmed glasses.

Oh ya, and around the corner, through the french doors (which happen to have fresh wreathes made from bay leaves and oranges in every window), all the naturally drop-dead gorgeous family members, who all have long legs and flowing hair, pink cheeks and stunning eyes, who are all wrapped in expensive scarves and furry boots, are carrying in a fresh-cut tree from that Pottery Barn backyard.

So, in case you are in the same boat of procrastination that I seem to be drowning in, here is a quick, simple (I promise!) recipe that will impress you, your kitchen, and your friends. I mean, who wouldn't want to dive into a hot loaf of cranberry bread (ahem, cake) that has a secret swirl of cream cheese running wild through the middle, not to mention splashes of orange zest and sugar?

Oh man, I can't take this.

I'm going to go steal a slice right now...

Cranberry Surprise Loaf
(Adapted from Pillsbury, The Complete Book of Baking, pg. 384)

2 3-oz pkg. cream cheese, softened
1 egg
2 cups all pupose flour
1 cup sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
Rind of one orange*
3/4 cup orange juice**
1/4 cup softened butter
1 egg, beaten
1 1/2 cups coarsely chopped fresh cranberries

Heat oven to 350 F. Grease and flour bottom only of pan. In small bowl, beat cream cheese and egg until light and fluffy. Add 1 egg and blend well. Set aside.

In large bowl, combine flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda and salt. Stir in juice, butter and beaten egg. Fold in cranberries.

Spoon half of batter into greased pan. Spoon cream cheese mixture evenly over batter. Top with remaining batter.

Bake at 350 F for 65-75 minutes or until top springs back when lightly touched in center. Cool 15 minutes, then remove from pan. Cool completely. Wrap tightly and store in fridge.

(I made mini loaves for gifts, which worked out great. Just don't cook as long.)

*Original recipe does not call for orange zest.

**Original recipe calls for apple juice instead of orange juice.

Joyeux Noel!

Hand In Hand.

It is a rare occasion when I leave my house without my peeps. Let me repeat that. RARE. They come everywhere with me... to the grocery store, the grocery store, the grocery store, and even the grocery store.

Okay, fine. You're right. I do go other places besides the grocery store.

I go to Costco.

And Baja Fresh.

(Obsessed with food? Who, me?)

But, if ever there is a blue moon day and I'm pulled away, I always look forward to my return when I am greeted with an over-zealous hug from Mitchell.

It goes something like this: I open the garage door and slowly pull in, as to not run over the four year old child who is bolting toward me at lightning speed. I park, turn off the car, and carefully open the door the 1/2 inch he allows me to escape. As I suck in my stomach to slide between the narrow space, he velcroes himself to my leg and camps there, like a leech. "Mommmmmmmmyyyy!" he cries, his voice oozing with relief.

I sort of love it.

This past Saturday, after spending the entire morning at a photo shoot, I was really looking forward to his eager face, awaiting my return.

But this time, something was different.

I opened the garage door.

It was empty.

I pulled in and parked the car.

No velcro. No leech.

I walked in, anxious for my welcome party to fall at my feet any moment now.

I found Paige at the table, contemplating her list of chores. I turned the corner to find Jane, a half-eaten muffin in one hand and a Barbie in the other. I glanced upstairs to see Megan, busily dusting her way toward free time.

But still, no Mitchell.

My heart sank.

Then I opened the den door.

"Hey Mom!" he chirped, a huge smile on his content face. He was tucked under his dad's chest like a baby kangaroo. Matt was hunched over him, sawing off bits of wood, with Mitchell's little hand holding on to the rear.

I completely melted. A serious puddle.

"Hey buddy," I smiled. "Are you helping Daddy fix the floor?"

He nodded, confidently, and answered with a quick, "Yup!"

I stood there for a moment, watching my boys working together, side by side. It was clear that Mitchell was in heaven.

And so was Matt.

Then Mitchell interrupted my thoughts. "You know what I'm going to be when I grow up Mom?"

And before I could answer, he replied, "A worker!"

The he paused, deep in thought, and added, "And Dad can be a worker with me."

Hours later, as we drove around looking at Christmas lights, Mitchell sighed heavily from the back seat.

"Dad?" he said. "I really liked doing the den with you." And then he quietly stared out the window, dreaming of hammers and saws.

And this time it was Matt who melted.

A serious puddle.

The End.

The Gingerbread House.