A Salmon Supper on a Spring Night

It’s a cool and somewhat damp spring night here in northern Wisconsin. The birds are loud, continuing to jockey for position in the neighborhood. The daylilies are coming up and the snow is completely gone.

Inland, that is. Along the shore, it’s not. The “ice shoves” — those big piles of ice that move slowly towards the shore in March and April — are advancing. They look like fat, lumpy armies of white, coming to get us.

The Great Lakes shipping season is beginning. According to Boatnerd, the site for all things relating to Great Lakes shipping, the Soo Locks were set to open last weekend.

When my father worked on the Peter Reiss, this was a sad time of year for me. He would leave us to join the freighter, flying off to Detroit’s Willow Run Airport. It was tough for a few days, until my mother, my little brother and I fell back into our warmer season routine.

I was restless those first few days. I am restless now, counting down the days until my husband and I can begin our renewed explorations of Paris. Meanwhile, I’ve been enjoying posts from Terri from Island Writer, Chris from The French Journal — who were in Paris recently — and Carol from Paris Breakfasts, who is there now.

The pace at work these days is fast and furious, and I am happy to come home and make an easy supper. Two nights ago, I made a simple salmon wrapped in foil, another recipe from the “Ships of the Great Lakes Cookbook” from Creative Characters Publishing Group, which was supplied to several bloggers for review.

Just a filet of salmon, some lemon slices, freshly ground pepper and sel de fleur from the Ile of Ré. I added a dash of paprika, too. Bake it in an oven preheated to 350 degrees for about 20-30 minutes, even less.

Anything that takes under 40 minutes to prepare on a weeknight is welcome at our house. Sometimes I think simple recipes are the most ingenious.

Update! Tanna from My Kitchen In Half Cups has posted a dessert recipe from "Ships of the Great Lakes Cookbook." She's got a photo of the book, which I do not have, mostly because I've enjoyed the book so much it's gotten a bit dog-eared. There's also a tasty treat from Sara at I Like to Cook.

My Little Jar of Euros

We came back from France two years ago with a handful of euros in our pockets.

"We'll save them for next time," I said, creating a label for the little jar from Monoprix that once held what surely must be the world's creamiest vanilla yogurt.

The jar has had a place of honor on the top shelf of the pseudo barrister's box bookcase in the dining room for 23 months now. It has been a symbol of our future plans, our unwillingess to part with roughly 40 euros.

Last time we went to France, we got 728 euros for $1,000. The rate of exchange is equally dismal this year, although it was good in early 2006. C'est la vie!

Good thing we've rented an apartment with a kitchen and are within a short trek to Rue Cler. Because I think we will be eating in a lot.

Speaking of my barrister's boxes: Laura Florand initiated a bookshelf meme. The idea is that you photograph your bookshelf, or the one that best represents you. This is my France shelf. I am a total slob, as you can see. There are other, neater bookshelves in my house, but I thought you should see this one.

Of course, half the Paris books are on the coffee table in the TV room. At night we curl up with them — and the laptop — to plan our strategy for getting to know Paris a little better.

Rosemary-Garlic Roasted Chicken and Legends of the Great Lakes

When my father graduated from high school in 1941, he found work with the Reiss Steamship Co., as a deckhand on the A.M. Byers, a self-unloading freighter on the Great Lakes.

The Japanese had not yet bombed Pearl Harbor, but most people knew it was only a matter of time until the United States went to war.

So it was a time between for my father, who dreamed of other things, possibly a career in history or journalism.

The war intervened, of course, and he joined the Army and went off with the 4th Infantry’s combat engineers unit to land at Utah Beach and forge his way into France and Germany.

He got into the restaurant business after the war ended, but years later, as a young father, went off to “work on the lakes” again, this time as second cook on the Peter Reiss, another self-unloading coal freighter. That must have been a lonely time for my father. I missed him terribly, and recall the day I played my 45 of "The Poor People of Paris" over and over again because it had been a gift from him.

Working on the lakes meant being away from your family from late March until December. But the pay and the benefits were excellent. Winter homecomings were something we began looking forward to in fall, when the first of the boxes from fancy Detroit department stores began to arrive.

So when Mary aka Breadchick from The Sour Dough contacted me about reviewing “Ships of the Great Lakes Cookbook” for a Cookbook Spotlight Event, I agreed, seeing an easy fit with this blog.

The book’s publisher, Creative Characters Publishing Group, supplied the cookbook. I will be featuring several recipes from the book over the next few weeks as the 2007 shipping season gets underway.

Since my husband is a boat designer by profession, I saw a fit there, too.

The book is full of good food but many of the recipes are designed to feed a crowd; I generally cook for no more than four people at a time. This would be a good cookbook for anyone who cooks down-home food for large church or school groups or special events. It's perfect for a restaurant chef, too,someone looking to create unpretentious, but still stylish menus.

Today was the first Sunday of spring and we invited my mother for dinner. I prepared a Rosemary-Garlic Roasted Chicken that was tasty and melted in our mouths. I have never tasted such tender chicken. I served it with roast pepper-and-zucchini medley.

Rosemary-Garlic Roasted Chicken

1 5-6 pound roasting chicken
1 tablespoon rosemary, chopped
8 garlic cloves, crushed
8 medium red onions, peeled and cut into pieces
2 whole garlic heads
2 tablespoons olive oil

Preheat oven to 450. Remove and discard giblets and chicken neck. Rinse chicken under cold water and pat dry. Loosen skin from breast and drumsticks by inserting fingers and gently pushing between the skin and the meat. Place chopped rosemary and crushed garlic under skin. Lift the wing tips up and over the back, tucking under the chicken.

Place chicken breast side up in broiler pan. Trim ends of onions and remove papery skins from garlic. Do not peel or separate cloves. Brush onions and garlic with oil and arrange around chicken. I tucked in some rosemary, too.

Bake at 450 for 30 minutes. Reduce oven to 350 degrees and bake for another hour and 15 minutes or until chicken reaches 180 degrees.

We loved it and will do it again soon. This particular recipe is from the M.V. Paul R. Tregurtha, a coal boat. John R. Duning is head cook.

But first, a few more recipes from the Great Lakes. What next? There's everything from Lobster Bisque to Rotini with Fresh Tomatoes, Basil and Parmesan.

What They Ate: Coming Home, 1945

Food has always meant more to me than recipes, taste sensations and meals.

It's a clue to so many things: different people, different times, different systems of beliefs, different ideas.

So I am always excited when I run across evidence of another time and other tastes.

Going though a box of my father's World War II artifacts, my mother found a menu from the troop carrier that brought him home. Always a lover of history, my father must have folded the menu and pocketed it that night, July 5, 1945.

For supper that evening, the troops were served appetizers of celery and pickled onions. Their meal began with cream-of-celery soup. They could choose from baked fish with lemon-butter sauce, boiled ox tongue with spinach, roast leg of lamb with currant jelly or roast prime rib au jus.

Side dishes were succotash, stewed carrots, mashed potatoes, boiled potatoes.

There were assorted cold cuts, a lettuce-and-tomato salad, cheese and crackers, fresh fruit and, for dessert, ice cream and pound cake.

Troops could top the meal off with a cup of tea, coffee or cocoa.

It looks like a menu designed to appeal to a variety of tastes: The farm boy from Kansas, the street kid from the Bronx, the factory worker's son from Milwaukee, the college boy from Syracuse.

It might seem unsophisticated to us now. But imagine how to tasted to them that night. Imagine the jokes, the banter, the tales, the sheer joy of knowing they were going home!

My father was 22 that night, in three weeks he would turn 23. Just imagine.

I do.

I look back on the stories he used to tell, stories about scrambling for food in the forests and fields of Europe. I remember years later, when I was reading "Gone With the Wind" (my first adult book) for the first time, I asked him what his favorite part was.

"When they were grubbing for food at Tara," he replied. That was my favorite, too.

Little bits and pieces about someone or some time add up and tell a story. Artifacts enhance the lesson.

I am glad my father folded that menu in four and stuck it in his pocket.

Friday Night Fish Fry? How About Lobster Pizza Instead?

It's Friday night.

In Wisconsin, that usually means breaded and deep-fried perch or cod, served with French fries, baked beans, cole slaw and rye bread. Tasty, but full of carbs and fats.

The fish fry is everywhere here during Lent, at restaurants, bars, big-city union halls, country clubs and even church basements.

But we were dining in tonight. So we sought a Lenten meal with a different angle.

A few months back, we dashed into Red Lobster for a quick lunch and tried the chain's lobster pizza as an appetizer.

Frankly, I wasn't sure I'd like it, but I did.

"It's more like a full meal," I told my husband.

So we decided to try it at home. One thing we both like to do is try to replicate dishes we've tasted at restaurants. Sometimes, the recipe or something like it is right out there on the Internet.

The Red Lobster people have graciously provided a recipe on their Web site. We made two of them. The pizza is basil-y, tomato-y, cheese-y and very lobster-y. Serve it with a simple salad and a light beer or wine.

Now I'm curious: Fish fries are served differently in different parts of the country. Does your region or country have a similar dish? Please share!

The Empty Bowls

I went to an Empty Bowls supper tonight with a friend.

Most of you are probably familiar with this project, often held in October in conjunction with World Food Day.

The premise is simple: If you purchase a ticket, you choose a handmade, one-of-a-kind bowl made by a student artist. The bowl is filled with soup and that is your meal, along with a roll or slice of bread. You may keep the bowl.

I have some lovely bowls and mugs from other such events.

But this one is special. It is lovely, yet imperfect. It suited me. I filled it with piping hot hamburger vegetable soup, a humble meal to be sure. But I think that's the idea.

For some, it would be a feast.

It is a lovely early spring evening here. Cool, but sunny. The Empty Bowls supper, held in a local high school gym, was a reminder of hunger and of beauty, too.

If you haven't attended an Empty Bowls event, I urge you to do so.

A Mystery, a Memento and a Spring Salad

Among my father’s mementoes of World War II is a yellowed and tattered calling card.

My mother always believed it held the names of the people with whom my father might have stayed while in Paris in August 1944; it certainly must have been a couple he befriended, as he was friendly and charming as a young man.

The last time my husband and I went to Paris, my mother could not put her hands on the card and did not recall the address. But my niece has a WWII project and together they were rifling through the family archives.

The card reads “Mme. and Mr. Pierre Harel.” It gives their address as 23, Avenue Foch in Vincennes-Seine.

Thanks to Google maps, I found such an address near (but not in) Vincennes, one in Paris and about five other Avenue Fochs in Ile de France.

I will never know, unless I chance upon a 1944 phone book, which one it was.

I do know that American writer Henry Adams stayed at 23 Avenue Foch in Paris. (Thanks to Google, I know that.)

But I don’t know who the Harels were or what the card means. (The card is pictured above set against one of my father’s toques, in a box for a quarter century now, still neatly starched but growing fragile.)

I was pondering this mystery as I prepared a simple salad today. It was cool and damp outside and I could hear the lilting songs of finches and other birds as I worked. Spring!

It’s mid-week and I’m trying not to overspend on groceries. So tossing something together from odds and ends was my intention. I made a Caesar Salad from leftover red leaf Romaine and butter lettuce and then topped it with roasted asparagus.

Very simple, very springy. I ate it with a hunk of jack cheese rolled in chives and dill.

My father once told me you could make a meal of anything if you were inventive. He could do that, and his hands were deft as he invented something for us.

"You will never be hungry if you learn this," he told me.

Once when his combat engineer unit was hungry, they scrounged for dried vegetables in a barn, somewhere in France perhaps or in Germany. My father liked to retell those stories and relished the challenge of making a meal from very little.

Chicken Salad with Oranges and Olives

When I was a kid, Sunday afternoons in winter were dedicated to plopping myself down on the couch in the den (the room in which the television and bookcases were located) with several oranges and a good book.

I read voraciously and ate just as heartily. Especially oranges in winter. I could not get enough of them.

Even with winter out and spring officially here (yes! finally!) I crave oranges. So when I found this little salad with oranges and olives, it sounded perfect. The original recipe, from the collection at Epicurious calls for canned tuna. But I roasted a whole chicken on Sunday and I thought I'd prefer it my way.

It would have been even better if I'd remembered all the ingredients. I bought fresh parsley and then forgot it. I remade the salad the next night, added the parsley and really enjoyed it.

Chicken Salad With Oranges, Olives and Red Peppers

1/4 cup olive oil
1/4 cup red wine vinegar
1 tablespoon minced garlic
3 seedless oranges, peel and white pith removed
1 small red onion, halved, thinly sliced
1 red bell pepper, thinly sliced
two boneless and skinless chicken breasts, cut into chunks
1/4 cup chopped pimiento-stuffed green olives
1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley
8 cups mixed salad greens
1/3 cup slivered almonds, toasted

Blend oil, vinegar and garlic in large bowl. Peel and slice oranges, removing membranes. Toss into bowl, adding other ingredients. Add salt and pepper to taste. Garnish with almonds.

I've learned to love the contrast and balance of olives with citrus. I added a dash of red pepper to give this salad a bit more bite.

Suppertime at Grandma Annie's: A Light Approach and Plenty of Raw Vegetables

March is a funny month in Wisconsin. You never know about the weather. Will it be winter or spring?

But there comes a time, about mid-month, when the weather turns toward warm and the birds of spring are back to battle for position with the birds of winter. The juncos stick around a while longer, and the cardinals become aggressive as they guard their turf. The finches trill merrily at all hours of the day, and the red wing blackbirds cling to reeds and tall grass and join the song with a raspier trill.

Jerry, my neighbor, continues to burn wood, filling the air with that pungent aroma I remember from childhood. Dusk and the gathering night draw us inside to putter about in the warm kitchen.

My kitchen is small, not an eat-in kitchen at all, not like Grandma Annie's. Hers was truly the heart of the home, the comfort zone, the place we all felt secure and loved.

She was not an exotic cook at all. It is Grandma Annie from whom I derive my notion that it is not what you make but how you make it, and her meals were always made with love for the process, for the food and for the people who would eat it.

Annie and Mémere subscribed to the theory that large meals should be eaten early in the day, and light meals at night. So evening meals, which we called supper, were usually soup, salad and cold meat sandwiches.

Annie would set out plates of chicken or ham or turkey and various cheeses along with spreads and pickle or tomato slices. She adopted the "build your own sandwich" approach long ago.

Always on her table was a plate of raw carrots, celery and radishes. As a result, I prefer sandwiches eaten with these crudités.

I bought the radishes above because they still held dirt from the ground in which they were planted. That allowed me to cling to the idea that they were very fresh.

The radishes are very lovely and piquant, and they reminded me of a shiva with their root stems pointing this way and that.

A Salad of Red Butter Lettuce and Roasted Asparagus on a Friday Night

I once read that the hallmark of a good French cook is the ability to improvise, to take random ingredients and toss together a credible meal.

I have always prided myself on this, on not relying solely on recipes but preparing meals by instinct.

Tonight, I found red leaf butter lettuce at the supermarket. Not only is it lovely to look at, with delicate spring green leaves tinged with pink and rose, it has a mild flavor. It is a good source of vitamin K, pro-vitamin A and folic acid.

I thought it would be the perfect foil for green onions, roasted asparagus and goat cheese.

It was.

And it was simple to make. I drenched some thin spiky spears of asparagus and a handful of blanched almond slivers in olive oil and roasted them for about five minutes in a 425-degree oven.

Once they cooled, I placed the asparagus atop four leaves of lettuce and sprinkled chopped green onions and the almonds on top of those

For contrast, I sliced three small radishes that were still delicate in flavor.

Finally, some herby goat cheese added a good hint of tartness and earthiness.

I tried a raspberry vinaigrette, but felt it was too strong and too much of a contrast for this subtle salad.

Since I did not eat until 8 p.m., the salad took the edge off my hunger. It was all I needed.

Spring is in the air this week. The sun is higher in the sky and the light is broad. The mourning doves came back to my yard two weeks ago and there was a downy woodpecker in my chestnut tree this morning. A red fox crossed the road in front of my car, perhaps in search of a mate.

Yes, it’s nearly spring.

The Warmth of a Kitchen

My father worked in a stainless steel kitchen while on the job, but at home he had definite ideas on how a kitchen ought to look: Lots of copper, a braided rug, old jugs and at least one brick wall, preferably behind the stove.

My mother shared this aesthetic, and in their home that is the kitchen they set out to create. It took them a while, because my father used his GI loan to buy a home for his parents, and it was not until they were gone that the house became his and my mother's at last.

Finally, in that warm kitchen, there was a home for the copper mugs and pots and utensils they collected over the years, some of which are in my kitchen today.

(I love copper in a kitchen. Like pre-made baking mix, it can be a homey thing, a connection to the past. I hope to buy at least one small, copper egg-white bowl at Dehillerin in Paris. I hope the clerks won't be too intimidating.)

It was in that kitchen that I recall my father sharing his simple philosophy of life: "If you can't say anything good, don't say anything at all."

I have not been very good at following that charge. But he did, for the most part, and although he had faults, I cannot recall him ever savaging someone he did not like.

I think he'd get a real charge about what we did here today and is probably wondering what we'll do with all that biscuit mix.

I am, too. I know you are.

Thank you, though, for being willing to take part in this fun little event. I am really touched.

I have met so many good people here. It's as though we are neighbors who gather in each other's kitchens. Thanks for joining me in my kitchen today. and sending out the message.

I had some links earlier in the day that I think are now corrected. I want to thank Kalyn of Kalyn's Kitchen for helping me understand permalinks, which I have had some sort of mental block with for months now.

If I have not gotten over to your blog yet to comment, please forgive me. I'll be there tomorrow.

About the photo: The copper utensils are hanging on my father's old chopping block. There is a very similar block in the kitchen at Christine Cooks.

Biscuit Baking Mix Day: The Ides of March

Who would have thought so many delicious dishes and desserts could be made with pre-made baking mix?

We've had some excellent entries.

Here are the latest:

Mary aka Breadchick at Sourdough made a coconut pie I am hot to try. She threw in a bonus, some history of Bisquick, the grandmother of baking mixes. Nice touch from a fellow history lover.

Kristen at Dine & Dish, another fabulous cook, made cheesy garlic biscuits.

So did Cindy, who is never snobby or snarky, at Farm Girl Cyn.

Charles at BiCoastal Cook also made them, which just shows how popular they are. I'll have to make some soon, because I cannot get them out of my head now. They are one of the reasons that the Red Lobster restaurant chain is so popular.

Pepper at Frugal Cuisine, who is always inventive and has a great new look on her blog, made dumplings and took a photo to die for.

Christine from Christine Cooks made a berry cobbler and graciously allowed use of her photos. That's her empty plate above and would be mine, too, if I could visit her kitchen in person.

Speaking of photos, Husband and Wife at My Husband Cooks offered a French-inspired fish recipe with stunning photos. I am usually speechless at their work.

Erika at Tummy Treasure, about 70 miles down the road from me, made a cherry swirl coffee cake. Clearly, I should have required that everyone send their creations to me by Fed Ex.

Glenna at A Fridge Full of Food made buttermilk pie, a Paula Deen recipe, and something I make once in a while. So many of these can be made with low-fat, low-sugar ingredients. Glenna also pointed the way to Julie, a new blogger who is unafraid to use biscuit mix, at Noshtalgia.

Mary at Ceres & Bacchus made quiche, a dish I dearly love and often make for breakfast. (Why am I doing this on an empty stomach? It's making me crazy!)

Paul at Cookies Etc. made not one but two types of sweet biscuits. (I've got to finish this post so I can go eat; I am drooling.)

Sher from What Did You Eat? tempted me with two pies, an "Impossible" spinach pie and made with macaroni and cheese and topped with... well you just go over there and see for youself.

Tracy at Kitchen Spark made one of my favorite, too: Cinnamon scones. I love these with hot cocoa or afternoon coffee, and dripping with butter, of course (OK, Smart Balance!).

Tanna from My Kitchen in Half Cups started it all when she used Bisquick and wondered, tongue in cheek, if the food blog police would come after her. To show her support for today's event, Tanna made Sausage-Cheese Biscuits.

And last but not least, writer Laura Florand chimed in with her thoughts on the subject of civility at her blog.

I made a dessert pie with apricots. Scroll down the page to see how it turned out.

Many many thanks to all who participated. If I have forgotten anyone, please let me know and I will made additions and corrections.

What nice people you all are!

And the Hits Just Keep on Coming. . .

The latest entry in Bisquit Baking Mix Day is like music to my ears and ambrosia to my palate: A French-inspired St. Patrick's Day recipe from Husband and Wife at My Husband Cooks.

The Washington DC-based, food loving Husband and Wife stun me everytime I visit their blog. If you have not checked them out, do so today.

I like to think I discovered them.

(Why do I like the Irish-French recipe? Well, it's no secret that I relish being French. But I'm Irish, too, and my research indicates that my Irish ancestors orginated — where else? — in France, specifically, Normandy.)

More Biscuit Baking Mix Day Goodies: Cobbler, Biscuits and Coffee Cake

When I was very young, it was a struggle to get me to eat. (Alas, that is no longer the case.) I refused to eat meat, or anything white. I was not fond of vegetables either.

I liked fruit and cheese, though. And sweets.

Which is why I like these three entries in Biscuit Baking Mix Day, which is officially tomorrow.

Christine of Christine Cooks made a fabulous down-home Berry Cobbler. Her photos are terrific, too, so you can almost literally watch it being made.

Christine was one of my first blogger friends who encouraged me when I was starting out. She ranks pretty high on my list. I'm delighted she is participating.

A newer blogger friend is Charles at BiCoastal Cook who made one of my all-time favorites: Cheesy-Garlic Biscuits, the kind Red Lobster serves. I like Charles, too.

I like Red Lobster. I'm not ashamed to admit it. Some chains do what they do fairly well and this appears to be the case with Red Lobster.

My husband and I eat there when we are in a hurry and want consistent quality, usually at lunchtime and usually when we are driving to Green Bay to shop at Woodman's, a large, employee-owned supermarket where Erika from Tummy Treasure also shops. One of these days I'm going to follow her home, because she's always got something tasty on hand, including today's Cherry Swirl Coffee Cake, just the kind of thing I like with a big glass of cold milk. Nice lady, that Erika. That's her photo above, used with permission.

(By the way, to be fair, I should say that my husband and I also eat at locally owned restaurants, too, both upmarket and downscale. I've written a food column for three years, and I know the owners and often the chefs. They are friends and good people.)

Not being a snob is what Biscuit Baking Mix Day is all about. Not ridiculing people who may not be as sophisticated as you are. Not bashing other blogs or bloggers. You get the message.

There's a lot to be said for being, well, being nice.

Thanks to everyone who is participating. You restore my faith.

There's more to come tomorrow or in a later post. Who knows what today will bring?

What's France Got to do with Biscuit Mix?

Apparently, nothing.

All reports indicate you cannot find an equivalent in France. I don't recall seeing any, but then I wasn't looking for it. I did see many other convenience foods in the supermarchés. I am not ashamed to say I tried some. Yes, I did. I bought a loaf of commercial bread that was half croissant, half brioche, or so it claimed.

OK, I was curious.

To balance it all out, I shopped for artisan bread, too, falling hard for a boule of olive-wheat bread at a bakery near Cahors.

Everytime I saw someone with a baguette tucked under his arm, I knew I was in France. Long may this tradition continue.

Glenna from A Fridge Full of Food found a new blog, Noshtalgia, whose owner, Julie, featured a zucchini fritter made with Bisquick on March 9. It looks wonderful!

Julie takes the same approach I do, combining family memories with food. How can I not like her blog? Check it out.

And the photo? Women buying bread at the twice-weekly market in Cahors, in the shadow of the cathedral.

I Brazenly Lifted This Photo from Another Blogger

Yes, I did.

But it's all in good fun.

It's a delicious (I can just tell!) quiche from Mary at Ceres & Bacchus, who is participating in Biscuit Baking Mix Day, which is becoming Biscuit Baking Mix Week, which is fine with me, because I have something to post about during a busy week.

And I get to steal other bloggers' photos, usually with their permission.

I've made my share of similar dishes. Biscuit mix was something I always kept on hand during my college days and in the four years between college and grad school when I was paying for the first degree and trying to scrape together money for a second one (I got halfway there!)

Those were good days, although I did not think so at the time. I had writing and editing jobs, worked as a history research assistant, took care of houses or cats while their owners traveled, worked as a professional notetaker for hearing impaired students, wrote press releases, taught non-credit classes, and handled clerical and editing work for an association.

I like to refer to it as my checkered career.

My point here is not to talk about how versatile I am, but to point out that sometimes we have to work and in university towns, patchwork arrangements of several jobs are not uncommon.

That's where biscuit mix comes in. I often used it as a basis for meals like the one to the right and desserts like the one below (from Glenna at A Fridge Full of Food, who e-mailed it to me the other day, preventing one more crime of theft from occurring.

About the same time, Bisquick, the best-known of the mixes, came out with the impossible pie idea and I was hooked. I've probably made dozens in my lifetime. They were a good way to use up eggs and cheese and leftover vegetables. I tried nearly every recipe, and came up with some of my own.

I was living in downtown Madison without a car, and the closest sources of food in winter were overpriced downtown grocery stores. I had to make my food dollar stretch.

Biscuit mix helped.

Plus, it reminded me of childhood. I suspect our mothers used it for some of the same reasons: Convenience and cost per meal.

More Biscuit Baking Mix Recipes

Entries for Biscuit Baking Mix Day, which is officially Thursday, continue to trickle in.

The latest is a double-header: A pair of sweet biscuit recipes from Paul at Cookies & Etc. The photo, which is Paul's, says it all.

Since I love this sort of thing, I am having a tough time suppressing my appetite.

I'll post links here as they come in, and the rest on the designated day itself.

When I can, I will post photos, too, if no one minds.

To date, other participates have been Sher at What Did You Eat? with an "Impossible Pie" (and a real surprise today!) and Tanna from My Kitchen in Half Cups with Sausage-cheese Balls.

Also checking in were Glenna from A Fridge Full of Food with Buttermilk Pie and Tracy at Kitchen Spark offered cakey cinnamon scones

Writer and blogger Laura Florand has offered her perspective on civility and niceness, which is what this whole thing is all about.

I will post links now through March 15.

Thank you all for participating.

All I ask is your patience and forgiveness if I mess something up: I have to do this befor work, sometimes even before a full cup of coffee.

Every Photo Tells a Story, But Some Photos Make Me Cry

Paging through a magazine about life in France, I was again struck by the way some photographs resonate with me.

They trigger something in my brain, some reflex that picks up the feel of the air and the quality of light and transports me somehow, if only for a quick second.

It must be some atavistic pull, because it only happens with photos taken in France. And it began happening long before I traveled there.

A somnolent village in the noonday sun, an early-morning street in Paris, twisted lanes in ancient cities, apple orchards in Normandy and the skyline of Old Menton: Each of these scenes and others pull me in and infuse with with something — what? — some sort of genetic memory, perhaps?

These short flashes of something are both welcome and bittersweet. Circumstances often force us to live our lives not quite as we would prefer to live them. We do our best, we try to make the right decisions. But often, we spend much of our time yearning for what might have been, had circumstances been different, had our wisdom not been such a hard-won victory.

The photo that touches me the most deeply has nothing whatsoever to do with sun-warmed red tiles or stormy skies over wheat fields painted by Monet.

It is this photo, the famous one of a man weeping as the Nazis marched into Paris in 1940. It is one that is used always when this heinous event is shown in documentaries.

This photo of this well-dressed man, perhaps a banker or civil servant, is the face of recognition, the realization of what the fall of France meant. There is more than grief on his face.

I struggle with photos of someone's agony. But this one tells a story, and one that people who are quick to criticise the France of 1940 ought to grasp. Too often they don't.

This gentleman knew what it meant and what it would mean to France and her dignity. He weeps for more than the thought of occupation, I suspect. He weeps, perhaps, for the world.

I tried to find out about him online, but was unsuccessful. Who was he? Did he survive the Occupation? Did he go on to live a peaceful life when the war ended?

I wonder. I hope for the best.

I know one thing, if I want to make myself cry I look at the photo. Perversely, sometimes I do just that: I never want to forget.

Two favorite fellow bloggers are heading to France this week, and I want to wish them bon voyage et bon chance.

Impossible! Apricot Pie with Baking Mix!

As far back as I can remember — and I have a long memory — apricot has been one of my favorite fruits and my favorite flavors. I was no big fan of Gerber's baby food, but I do recall that apricots were my hands-down favorite, followed by peaches, apples, cherries and lamb chops.

(What were we really eating back then? I shudder to imagine.)

When I found this recipe at the Bisquick site, I knew I had hit pay dirt. But I remade the recipe with low-fat, low- or no-sugar ingredients.

Impossibly Easy Apricot Pie

1/2 cup Heart-Healthy Bisquick
1 cup evaporated skim milk
1/2 cup Splenda
2 tablespoons Smart Balance
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 cup egg substitute
1 8.25-ounce can apricots in light syrup
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 cup Polaner All Fruit apricot preserves

Heat oven to 350. Drain apricots and purée in blender; set aside.

Combine all ingredients — except preserves — in mixing bowl. Blend thoroughly with hand blender. Pour batter, which will be very liquid, into greased pie plate. Bake for about 45-50 minutes.

Spread apricot preserves on top after the pie has cooled a bit, but is still warm.

The verdict: A bit bland, but adding whipped cream (in this case, Cool Whip Sugar Free) and peppering it with cinnamon bumped up the flavor.

It tastes like something from my mother's sunny yellow kitchen, the one I recall from my toddler days. It passed my Ultimate Taste Test, too, and tasted great the morning after I made it.

My French Chocolate Kitchen

A few months ago, I started a companion blog which I called French Chocolate Kitchen.

My original idea was to create a place to store chocolate recipes and experiment with New Blogger, then known as Beta Blogger or Blogger Beta.

I began using the blog as a repository for anything chocolate that was also posted here. I switched to the new blogger template and began playing around with that, which was scary at first.

New Blogger is easy to use, it turns out. It's not so scary after all. It got a bad rap, for some reason — I think because there were issues in the beta stage.

So of course, New Blogger was intimidating at first.

Now that I've played around with it for a while, I like it.

The upshot is, I'll be changing French Kitchen in America to the new blogger template sometime in the next few weeks. I am pretty sure that means all my carefully entered links will be lost. It will take a while to replace them. So be patient.

If for some reason, your link is lost in the process, let me know. Fortunately, adding links with the New Blogger is very easy and less time consuming.

By the way, if you have any comments on switching to the new template, please post them here.

Meanwhile, please visit French Chocolate Kitchen and tell me about your favorite chocolates nibbles. My favorite combination of chocolate and something else is chocolate and orange. It has been since I was about 5 years old and punching holes in the bottom of chocolates to see what flavor they were (chocolate and raspberry is a good one, too.)

Oh, and one piece of other news: For the first time ever, my humble little blog hit the 200 visitor mark. That's right, FKIA had 215 visitors Friday. Since I haven't done a lot to market this blog, that was good news.

The blog is also coming up on its 200th post. I expect we will reach that milestone by March 15.

You made that possible. Thank you.

Oh, the Possibilities!

We've had our first entry in Biscuit Baking Mix Day.

Sher from What Did You Eat? posted a lovely Impossible Spinach Pie, one of my personal favorites. She also shares the fact that Bisquick, arguably the most famous of the pre-made baking mixes, was common in her mother's pantry.

Same thing at my house, even though my father was a chef. My mother used it all the time, mostly for pancakes and what she called baking powder biscuits.

The truth is, this was likely the case for most of us. Some may not care to admit it. In the 50s, 60s and even in the 70s, convenience foods reigned in many kitchens.

Biscuit mix was a staple in my cupboard in my college days, as I've said before here. I carried a full load, worked as an editor, and house sat and cat sat and was a professional note taker for money. I didn't have time for from-scratch baking, except on weekends. I think the whole "Impossible Pie" concept debuted around that time and I found it intriguing.

There were many months when, right before payday, I could not afford bread or bagels (living in downtown Madison is expensive) and baking powder biscuits saved me. I still like the way they taste. And they cost only pennies to make.

Those were good days, when anything seemed possible and accessible, and I guess I associate the taste with those feelings and aspirations. I really didn't mind not having much money because I was getting my education at a world-class university. That's something no one can ever take away from me.

Check out Sher's recipe and lovely photo. More links and recipes will trickle in over the next few days, with the bulk of links likely next Thursday.

• Update: Tanna from My Kitchen in Half Cups already has her entry ready, too. Sausage-cheese balls - makes my mouth water.

• So does Glenna's buttermilk pie, a Paula Deen recipe, at A Fridge Full of Food. I had made something very similar and loved it.

Thanks Sher, Tanna and Glenna.

I will post links now through March 15.

But wait! There's more! Writer and blogger Laura Florand has offered her perspective in today's blog post.As is the case with everything Laura does, it is a good read.

And more! Tracy at Kitchen Spark offers cakey cinnamon scones, one of my favorite scones.

Herbed Cheese, Sun-Dried Tomatoes and the Unfortunate Habit of Dissing Rachael Ray

Poor Rachael Ray. The perky, upbeat little kitchen diva has more than a few detractors in the food blog world.

I have no idea exactly why she evokes such a strong reaction in people. Sheesh!

Yes, she is a bit too much sometimes, mugging for the camera and being cute. I suppose that bugs people who do not mug and who are not cute.

Not much substance there maybe, but well, not everyone is an intellectual. Nor should we want them to be.

I’ve watched Rachael’s show(s) a few times just to see what annoyed people so much. (I kind of like the one where she eats on $40 a day while sauntering through Savannah or Carmel: My kind of eating budget.)

Yes, the EVOO and the eyeballing and the “yumo” stuff are a bit much. So? You don't have traits that annoy people? (I know I do!)

But really, is what she’s doing really so bad? I mean, not everyone can afford to buy top quality, organic items. Rachael Ray seems to be showing people how they can eat fairly decent food without spending a lot of time or money. She's helped them eat a few steps above fast food and TV dinners. Is that bad?

Some people don’t like spending hours in the kitchen, something most of us don’t understand, but, hey, we’re all different. (My mother, who married a chef and whose mother and grandmother cooked and loved it, readily admits she doesn’t like to cook. So? Should I stop speaking to her? Disown her? I think not.) Rachael provides fast meal ideas for busy people.

You’ve got to wonder if some of these RR bashers are jealous of her success. Maybe they want cooking shows of their own. Maybe they want a cookbook contract.

You could pick apart other TV cooks or chefs, too, I guess. Laugh at Paula Deen’s accent. (I like it. I like her.) Ridicule Emeril’s “Bam!” (Aw, c’mon, it’s endearing.) Make cracks about Giada’s toothy smile. (Good dentist!)

Really, it takes a lot less energy to leave them to their kitchens and focus on the positive. No one ever offered a TV cooking show to an old sourpuss. Trust me on that one.

Besides, some people believe that unhappy cooks produce lousy food.

And the photo? That’s my kind of convenience food, fresh herbed Mozzarella and sun-dried tomatoes and garlic from the olive bar I talked about a few days ago. Yum. Oh.

A Rustic Mushroom Soup with Thyme After a Bad Day at Work

French novelist Janine Boissard helped me through college.

Not that she is aware of this act of kindness. But her books — none of them long but all of them lovely — created a pleasant diversion for me on weekends.

She wrote a series of books about the daughters in a family with ties to Normandy; I felt an affinity for them because I had relatives with the same surname. She also wrote other novels, too, and many times they were gentle feminist stories about women achieving some sort of independence or reaching some sort of decision.

I recall one book in which a woman’s husband leaves her for another woman, a younger one, of course. She drives through the rain into Normandy to spend time with her father, and they feast on a rustic meal that included mushrooms. It may have been soup or it may have been a mushroom omelet. No matter; it was comforting. I liked that scene.

I had that comfort in mind tonight when I made such a soup, using that leftover rind of Parmesan and some thyme to give it body and depth. Creaminess and warmth were what I craved.

Rustic Mushroom Soup with Thyme

10 ounces mushrooms
1 small onion, thinly sliced
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
4 cups chicken or turkey broth
½ cup dry white wine or sherry
3-4 sprigs fresh thyme
dash pepper
dash sel de fleur

Brush mushrooms clean with damp towel; quarter and set aside.

Melt half of butter in heavy stockpot. Add onions and heat until onions become transparent. Add mushrooms and the rest of the butter and stir until mushrooms begin to darken and cook. Add stock and bring to boil. Reduce heat and allow to simmer for an hour.

After an hour of simmering, allow the soup to cool. Working in batches, transfer mushrooms and most of the onions to a blender and purée, holding the blender top down. Return the purée to the stockpot, add wine and allow to simmer for another hour. At this point, I added my rind of Parmesan cheese and the thyme and left it in long enough for some flavor and texture to be released. I removed it after about 20 minutes.

Just before serving, I also added ¼ cup of half and half, to give my soup some creaminess.

Note: Tasty and layered, if less full-bodied than I would have liked. It was inspired by an Anthony Bourdain recipe. He says it's better the next day. Let's hear it for leftovers!

A Few Thoughts on Biscuit Baking Mix Day

One of the first things future visitors to France learn (if they read the guidebooks or listen to advice from seasoned travelers) is to be polite to French people, especially merchants.

Greet them with a pleasant "Bonjour!" and say "s'il vous plait" and "merci," advise the travel guides. They are correct. The notion that the French are rude is a myth. They just want you to be polite.

So do I. So do most of the nice people who visit this blog regularly.

Sadly, not everyone is polite. In just eight months in the blogworld, I've run into my share of rudeness. The most painful for me was when I sent a highly complimentary e-mail to the owner of a well-written and interesting blog. Oh, I got a polite enough response. I was so excited with the find that I posted a link here. Sadly, the blogger only deigned to visit my blog once and made a comment I found belittling. Frankly, I was hurt by it. I soon removed the link, but I doubt the blogger even noticed.

Adults should know better.

I know someone who is rude. She's not an evil person, just self serving and inconsiderate. As a result, no one really likes her very much. Too bad, because she has many fine points. But it's hard to see past the rudeness.

Same thing with rude bloggers. Snobby bloggers, too. (I should hasten to add that there are many kind people out there in the blogword, and many who posted comments here when I was starting out and really didn't understand what it was all about.)

Which brings me to the subject of Bisquit Baking Mix Day on March 15, a day that should call attention to the need to be polite and not snobbish and snarky.

If you agree this is important, your charge is to make something using this plain-Jane, rather ordinary ingredient that many bloggers snub.

You can use any version of this mix, Jiffy, Bisquick, homemade, generic. I'm using a Hodgson's Mill whole wheat product. I usually use the "Heart Smart" version of Bisquick.

E-mail me by Sunday, March 10, and I will post a link to your blog on that day. If you have aready contacted me, there's no need to do it again. Please let me know if your recipe is up-market or down-home.

And the photo above? It's a side street in Cahors, leading to the cathedral. We found exceedingly pleasant shopkeepers in downtown Cahors. Of course, we were polite.

On a Train Going South

I knew I was French before I knew what it meant to be American, thanks to my grandmothers who spoke French at home. But my love affair with France began in the pages of books.

It was a gift from my father, Kay Thompson’s “Elouise in Paris,” that ignited my early passion for Paris.

(In fact, I rather patterned my behavior after Elouise’s own mischievous antics, something my father encouraged, even rigging a toy telephone hookup between my tiny bedroom and the kitchen so I could call “room service.”)

My attraction for points south of Paris began long before Peter Mayle even considered moving to Provence.

It started with a box of used paperback books. I was 14.

“Here, you’ll like this one,” my father said, as he handed me a copy of Dorothy McArdle’s suspense-cum-romance novel, “The Dark Enchantment,” set in a perched village in the Alpes-Maritimes.

He was right. I was hooked.

Words like “Languedoc,” “Provence,” and “the Midi” soon began to conjure up images of sun-warmed aubergines and deep rich wine and mysterious olive groves.

So as the train inched out of Gare d’Austerlitz for the southwest of France, there arose inside of me a sort of breathless anticipation.

Paris is lovely and layered and enchanting. But it is the south that resonates with me in a deeper, more atavistic way.

As the train made its way through banlieu and brickyard, my excitement grew. Somewhere south of Chateauroux, I sense a subtle change, a shifting of the light to be sure, but an insouciance, a spirit I could not define.

But I knew we were heading south on a train that cut a swath through the green heart of France. I could feel the south, sense its allure, smell its perfume.

At Limoges, I noticed the passengers who boarded looked like they could be my relatives, not surprising since the branch of family I most resemble originates in not-so-distant Poitiers.

Somewhere — perhaps Limoges — we saw old cars from the legendary Le Mistral rusting away on a sidetrack.

At Brive-la-Gaillarde (Brive, the strapping woman), the south was palpable. Red tiled roofs on sunny yellow and tan buildings. Place names ending in “ac.”

The Lonely Planet called Cahors “a sunny southern backwater.” It was sunny and southern, certainly, but no backwater in my book.

It could have been Aix. Plane trees and bougainvilla. There was a festive holiday feeling, one that continued as Gérard drove us up into the hills. Vineyard after vineyard. Pink and tan houses with dogs in the yard. Lilacs and juniper and a hint of sea breeze in the air, in this place midway between the Atlantic and the Mediterranean.

At the house, we unpacked and settled in chaises at the pool, surrounded by olive trees in deep pots. We drank the sunshine and the rich dark wine of Cahors.

Vacation? Home.

Brussels Sprouts with Mustard Sauce and Roasted Chicken with Thyme

Sunday will always be chicken day for me. I’ve probably said this before: I associate the aroma of roasting chicken with Sunday mornings and getting into play clothes after church.

Poring over my French cookbooks, I could not find one recipe for which I had all the ingredients. What I did find was Susan Herrmann Loomis’ tips for roasting chicken in her “Cooking at Home on Rue Tatin.”

I followed her tips, bringing the bird to room temperature before roasting, stuffing it with shallots and lemon and herbs and adding wine to the roasting pan. I turned the chicken over for even roasting.

I left it in the oven long enough so the skin got crispy on its own; I did not have to use Susan’s trick for accomplishing this.

It was the best roasted chicken I’ve had since Grandma Annie’s: Moist and tender and herby. It tasted like chicken, too; none of the things I did to the bird — including stuffing it with thyme — overwhelmed its flavor.

My husband was ecstatic.

I served it with Brussels spouts again, this time tempering their flavor with a sauce of mustard, shallot and chardonnay, adapted from one I found on Epicurious.

Brussels Sprouts with Mustard Seeds, Shallots and Chardonnay for Two

1 teaspoon mustard seeds
8 medium small Brussels sprouts, trimmed
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
8 small shallots
1/2 teaspoon lemon juice
½ teaspoon grainy Dijon mustard
splash of white wine
pinch sel de fleur

Roast the mustard seeds in a dry skillet under medium-low heat. Remove from burner when the seeds start to pop and jump. Set aside to cool.

Cook sprouts for about 5-6 minutes in boiling water. Remove from water and plunge into bowl of cold water. When the sprouts are cool, slice them lengthwise in half. Set them on a paper towel to dry.

Sauté shallots in butter until they begin to turn golden. Add Brussels sprouts and sauté for about 6-8 minutes. Add mustard seeds, mustard, lemon juice and a splash of wine. Keep the pan on the burner until the wine evaporates. Add more butter, if you wish, and a dash of salt.

Note: The wine and the lemon provide contrast to the mustard and mustard seeds. You can taste the mustard, but it does not overwhelm. We thought this side dish offered a sophisticated flavor and we will make it again.

Memere's Potato Masher, the Textile Mills of Lowell and a Book by a Fellow Blogger

The woman I knew as Mémere was born Marie-Celine Josephine Plourde in a small town in the Province of Quebec. She was one of the younger children in a large family.

Her father, Honoré, was, according to family legend, a farmer and mayor of a small town. Josephine, as she was called, attended a convent school.

Lowell: The City of Spindles

When she was about 16, Honoré’s political fortunes changed and the somewhat barren soil of this particular part of Quebec at last refused to yield healthy crops. The family — that is Josephine’s parents and their younger children — moved to Lowell, Massachusetts, settling there in the neighborhood called Little Canada and finding work in the city’s hulking and legendary textile mills.

After several years in Lowell, the family moved to Michigan. By this time, Mémere was a widow with a small daughter. Eventually she met and married Pépere, Narcisse Laurin by birth, but called Nels or Nelson by nearly everyone. They had six children together, five of whom survived to adulthood.

Mémére was very old by the time I was born, and spent most of her time seated in a chair in her daughter Annie’s living room. During the months we lived with my mother’s family, I was her chair companion, perched on the arm, pretending to do card tricks for her or pretending to read stories. She taught me enough French so that I was very impressed with myself. Mémere had great patience with me.

Learning About Lowell

Years after Mémere's death, I became curious about her life in Lowell. All I knew is what I'd heard from my mother and grandmother: That Mémere loved city life. During her years in Michigan's hinterland — and that was most of her life — she traveled east to Quebec and Massachusetts whenever possible. The huge trunks stashed away in the attic of the family home bore witness to her wanderlust.

As a college student, I became interested in Mémere's life in Lowell. During my first year in Madison, I stumbled across a book about the Lowell textile mills, a classic called Loom & Spindle. After that I read whatever I could, adding a history major to my journalism degree. Using the vast resources of the Wisconsin State Historical Society, I became immersed in the history of the Lowell mills and of French Canadians in the United States. Academically, I had come home.

The history of texile weaving in Lowell began when Francis Cabot Lowell memorized the design of English power looms. In 1813, backed by a group called the Boston Associates, Lowell built the first such loom in the United States. Soon textile mills lined the banks of rivers in New England cities. The most famous of these was the city named for Lowell himself. Here Yankee farm girls were recruited to operate the machinery. At this time, urbanization was associated with moral decline so the Boston Associates devised a scheme to keep the girls' morals intact: A system of well-supervised boarding houses.

The Lowell mill girls are famous for the system and for many reasons, including the creation of the first employee newsletter in the U.S., The Lowell Offering.

By the 1870s, the character of the textile mill work force was changing. Families of immigrants took the jobs of the mill girls: Italians, Armenians, French Canadians and other groups. One of the best known oral histories of immigrant mill workers can be found in Tamara Hareven's "Amoskeag."

Another classic, now more than 25 years old, is historian Thomas Dublin's "Women at Work."

And by a Fellow Blogger

Naturally, this fascinating part of American urban-social-economic history has attracted interest from novelists. One of them is Terri DuLong of Island Writer, whose book "Daughters of the Mill," I have just finished reading. Terri's love for history and her desire to inform current generations about the plight of women in the late 19th century shines through in this book.

Some writers knock you over the head with character development. Terri is more subtle. Her characters grow on you. They face choices that were harder to make several generations ago.

Terri's concern for women's issues is evident in the twists and turns of plot she provides for readers. You never know what will happen next in this book.

I am always delighted to find bloggers with interests and backgrounds similar to mine. I have found many, and Terri is one of them. Like the plot twists in her book, Island Writer has you coming back for more.

And the potato masher? What has it got to do with all this? About a year into my research, after Grandma Annie died, I began amassing my own collection of family artifacts, concentrating on kitchen items and anything to do with needlework or textiles. Worn and cracked and beyond use, this potato masher is something that might have been discarded had I not rescued it.

My Mémere is with me always. She is there when I hold my head a certain way, chin slightly down, gazing straight ahead. The kitchen utensils she held in her hands so often are merely material reminders of her life.

Asparagus Soup with Parmesan Cheese

There is nothing quite like making soup when you are snowed in. And we are.

We live on a small hill on a ridge above a river. The winds come whipping up from the river, creating a vortex halfway up the ridge. It drives the snow up to our house, where it collects in drifts in certain inconvenient places, below our retaining wall, in the middle of the sloping driveway, just below the side porch.

Just in case we are never able to leave the house — ever — again, I stocked up on supplies the other night. Another bundle or two of asparagus was among them.

Asparagus Soup

1 tablespoon butter
1 small onion, chopped
1 large stalk celery, diced
1 tablespoon all purpose flour
3 cups homemade chicken or turkey stock
1 pound asparagus, tough ends discarded, cut into 1-inch pieces
rind from Parmesan cheese
dash fleur de sel

Melt butter in stockpot over medium heat. Add onion and celery and cook until tender, about 7-8 minutes. Add flour and stir. Gradually add turkey or chicken stock. Bring mixture to boil. Add asparagus and simmer until asparagus is tender. Turn off heat to allow asparagus to cool. Remove asparagus with slotted spoon and purée in a blender or food processor. You may need to do this in batches. Return pureed asparagus to soup. Turn up the heat under the stockpot. Toss in cheese rind and allow this to flavor the soup for about 30 minutes. Taste and add salt if necessary.

I used a solid piece of Parmesan that had gone very hard, instead of a rind. Once it began to melt and impart some of its creaminess and flavor to the soup, I removed it and rinsed it off. I'll try to find another use for it. I read about this in a food magazine a few months ago.

The Mistral in Wisconsin and a Garlicky Artichoke Dip

It was on one of my parents’ Italian nights that I was first introduced to garlic. I was thoroughly turned off. Of course, I was only five or six years old at the time.

My mother recalls she wasn’t too fond of it, either. It was something she and her contemporaries associated with ethnic neighborhoods in large cities. I am sure its pungent odor offended their small-town sensibilities.

In fact, my parents were born into a world where garlic was looked upon as inferior (sound familiar?). But as the world grew smaller, garlic’s benefits were discovered and extolled.

The older I get, the more I like garlic. And the more garlic I eat. I find there is very little that I do not add garlic to these days. I do not believe it has aphrodisiacal qualities. Well, maybe I do, but that’s another story.

What I do know is that when consumed in any form it is delicious. And it is a mainstay of my favorite type of food, which is Mediterranean.

Thursday night, with the wind howling like the mistral over Marseilles, I wanted garlic.

The thing is, on Day 6 of the South Beach Diet Phase One, I am limited. Not terribly limited, mind you. I am eating very well. But you see I’ve got all this celery to snack on and I want something nippy to go with it.

A nice garlicky artichoke dip was in order, I thought.

And so I made one. A very healthy one, too. As is my habit, I made it from items already on hand. It's too nasty out there to run to the grocery store.

Warm Artichoke Dip with Garlic and Red Peppers

1 14-ounce can artichoke hearts
2 small cloves fresh garlic, minced
1 teaspoon olive oil
1/4 cup Parmesan cheese
1/2 cup Mozzarella cheese
1/3 cup Smart Balance Omega A Plus Mayonnaise Dressing
1/4 cup roasted red pepper, chopped (can be from a jar)

Drain the artichokes and pulverize them in a blender. Set aside. Place the minced garlic in a small sauce pan and sauté until golden brown. Add artichokes, cheeses and dressing. Add the red peppers last. Transfer dip to small baking dish and bake at 350 for 20 minutes. Don't bake too long, or the cheese will separate.

I had my doubts about the Smart Balance. It's not bad, but not a replacement for mayo or Miracle Whip. For a treatise on these latter dressings, see Lydia's post at The Perfect Pantry.

Scallops to Warm the Cockles of Your Heart on a Blustery Day

The wind is whipping around the corners of my 110-year-old house today. It snowed last night, for about the fifth time this week, stopped long enough for us to find our way to work (how thoughtful!), and then started up again.

Luckily I have a job I can do from the warmth and comfort of my own home. I can also cook while I do it.

Today, I made scallops from Kalyn's Kitchen archives (above). Nothing could be easier. You cook the scallops in oil and butter and when they are browned, add some garlic. Tasty! I served them with leftover cauliflower and asparagus, drizzled with olive oil and broiled. A squeeze of lemon juice aded zest to the entire dish.

My job might give me some flexibility, but it also forces me to work long days. It was 8 p.m. before I was home for good yesterday, and I was starving. I made my own recipe for scallops, which is pretty darn good. I had some red pepper left so I threw that in for color.

Scallops with Shallots and Red Pepper for One

6 scallops
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
1 small shallot, peeled and diced
1 clove garlic, peeled and diced
2 tablespoons fresh red pepper, diced
1 tablepoon almonds
dash red pepper seasoning
1/2 cup water
dash sel de fleur

Rinse scallops and dry on paper towel. Place olive oil and butter in a small skillet and heat. Add shallot, garlic and cook until golden and softened. Add red pepper and almonds and cook about two minutes longer. Add scallops and water. Cover and cook for about 7-8 minutes until scallops turn opaque. Serve with a dash of salt and red pepper.

What do you eat when you are in a hurry? Do you take the time to make something? Or do you eat prepared food? I suspect more of us eat prepared stuff than we care to admit. But since I began blogging, I am doing that less frequently.