Comfort Foods and Indulgences

I'm a cheater, in the kitchen anyway. While I may not be a fan of mac and cheese from a box, I positively love using gourmet specialty products. What kinds of products? Jams, mustards, chutney, tapenade, Chinese sauces, so many things! Two of my favorite secret weapons are in the freezer--phyllo dough and puff pastry.

You could easily write a book on all the things you can make out of phyllo dough and puff pastry. I suggest the title "How to Succeed in Baking Without Really Trying". Once you learn how to handle them, the possibilities are endless. They even turn something mundane into something special.

For example you could make a stew into an elegant pot pie. You could turn a fruit compote into pastries. You could make fancy little appetizers to serve hot from the oven. How fancy? I suggest little napoleons or tartlets. It's really easy.

From the L.A. Times

In Italy's Piedmont region, where polenta may be better loved than anywhere else on Earth, the cornmeal mush is a food of the fall. When the air turns crisp with the first frost and people await the arrival of snow, housewives labor over their cooking pots, stirring, stirring as coarse meal slurried in water gradually thickens and becomes sticky and delicious. To serve, it's poured out onto a wooden board in a rich golden puddle like a harvest moon.

Cesare Pavese wrote about it in "The Moon and the Bonfires," a nostalgic novel about a Piedmontese expatriate's return home: "These are the best days of the year. Picking grapes, stripping vines, squeezing the fruit, are no kind of work; the heat has gone and it's not cold yet; under a few light clouds you eat rabbit with your polenta and go after mushrooms."

We do things differently in Southern California. In the first place, fall can be even hotter than summer. Here polenta belongs to these damp chilly days of winter.

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After returning from a two-week holiday stay with family in Rhode Island, Jeff and I were in a bit of a funk. San Diego suddenly seemed too quiet, too sunny, too bland. We missed the crunch of snow beneath our feet, the hearty bowls of quahog chowder and the sight of a pink and orange Dunkin' Donuts on every street corner. More than anything, we missed the accents.

I am a popcorn monster. During the cold winter months in northern Minnesota when it gets dark early, there’s nothing like curling up in front of the fire with a bowl of popcorn. I don’t eat the popcorn from a bag that is prepared in the microwave — too much sodium. The kind I eat is prepared the old-fashioned way in a pot on the stove, then drizzled with just the right amount of melted butter and sprinkled with salt. Napkins are a must.

Years ago, I had a generous neighbor who would make batches of Honey Peanut Butter Popcorn, always sharing a big bowl of it with us. It would usually be during the summer time. We’d sit out on my front porch munching and visiting, and suddenly, the bowl would be empty. The snack that my neighbor had intended for my family was gone.

I hadn’t thought of that sweet, chewy treat in such a long time. But the other night, as I was sitting on the couch with my big bowl of buttered popcorn, watching The Biggest Loser, that popcorn treat popped right into my mind.