Retro Recipes and Traditional Fare

From the NY Times

The 1940s were a good time for drinking; eating, however, could be a dicey affair. Grapefruit fluff, published in The Times in 1941, was like a shining beacon in the sea of dull food. When looking for recipe inspiration in the paper’s archives, I moved right on by the date icebox pudding made with evaporated milk and the fruit turnovers that called for canned fruit. (A footnote, which only further proves my point: the original recipe had the uninspiring name “Grapefruit Dessert.” I changed this to fluff, for reasons you’ll understand when you make it.)

This fluff, the love child of broiled grapefruit and baked Alaska, is as joyful as it is unexpected. After assembly, you set the grapefruits in a pan filled with a bed of ice, then send them under the broiler for a quick singeing before the ice and everything else melts. To eat it, you pierce through a crisp, sugary snowcap to discover first a layer of warm, floppy meringue, then a pocket of vanilla ice cream and finally a well of tart and boozy slivers of grapefruit macerating in the grapefruit shell. It’s the perfect impromptu treat: you may already have all the ingredients in your pantry and fridge.

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One day when I was a little girl watching my mom make dinner, I asked her why we weren't a "meat and potatoes" family. She said, "That's because we're Italian, and we eat good food."

I remember thinking, was meat and potatoes bad food? Would it make you sick? I suddenly felt sorry for all those kids at school whose moms cooked meat and potatoes. I secretly wished I could bring them home for dinner so they could have good food like my mom's eggplant parmigiana, escarole and beans, and macaroni with gravy and meatballs.

Other than the once-a-year New England boiled pot roast with potatoes and carrots, my mom never made meat and potatoes meals, and I don't either. The closest I get to making meat and potatoes is a burger and fries, which suits Jeff just fine since his mother also never made meat and potatoes.

Modern entertaining is all about having fun with your guests while enjoying the food. It's not about being chained to the stove, never being allowed to mingle for a moment. For cocktail parties, especially around holiday time, I'm always looking for recipes that can be prepared in advance or put together in just minutes on the same day of the get-together. Plus I plan around using some store-bought items, like cheese, prosciutto, or olives.

The unique thing about French cuisine, is that it has both extremely complicated and yet surprisingly simple recipes too. Specifically, I love Provençal cuisine for its simple recipes using vibrant flavors. Besides all the wonderful fish dishes, salads, and homey stews, there are a number of simple things that work wonderfully as appetizers. In this case I'm focusing on olive tapenade, a pungent paste of olives used as a spread on bread.

Tapenade is the perfect party appetizer, because it's so easy to put together (less than 5 minutes) and it's very flavorful. It truly whets the appetite! All you need are some pitted olives and a few other typical Mediterranean ingredients to make this spread. Then just use a food processor to purée everything together (though the French would prefer mortar and pestle) and you're all set. Your guests will appreciate the simple and rustic yet elegant nature of tapenade.

As with many good things, a cherished recipe resulted from an accident.

My wife wanted an omelet for breakfast and we had only one egg in the refrigerator. That egg was an especially good, farmers' market egg, but it did not have a companion and my wife was used to having a two-egg omelet.

Many solutions came to mind.

Go to the market to buy more. That seemed like too much trouble with a cup of coffee already brewed and waiting on the dining room table next to the Sunday New York Times. Use a lot of milk as "filler." But the resulting omelet would have been more like a custard than what my wife likes, a very firm cooked egg.

So, I did the only thing any guy would do in the circumstances. I punted.

If I was short an egg, well, I'd compensate with a lot more filling, hoping my wife would be distracted by all the goodies so she wouldn't notice the paucity of "egg."