Cheese Fondue

At 8:48 yesterday morning I looked up at the clock on the wall and seriously thought that I might:
1. Power vomit
2. Spontaneously combust
3. Die
4. All of the above

Sweat did not drip--it spewed--from every pore. I am guesstimating my heart rate was around 1,900 beats per minute. I gasped for air as if I was being waterboarded. My only rational thought was "Why? Why, Dear God...Why must I suffer so?"

I turned to the woman sitting next to me (who had an equally pained expression on her face, as if she was eighteen hours into a epidural-free labor) but my parched lips and pasty tongue were unable to form any distinguishable words, so I simply groaned. She looked at me, and although gulping for oxygen like a reeled in carp, somehow managed to find the strength to croak to me, "Only twelve more minutes left. We can do anything for twelve minutes."

And with those twelve words, I suddenly had the strength to go on.

No, I was not in my local emergency room, having eaten a rogue bad clam on Arthur Avenue the night before. Nor was I exposed to raw sewage, radioactive waste, Anthrax, or alien probes. Instead, I was at my 8:15 a.m. spin class, with the Spin Instructor from Hell--an ex-marine with the demeanor of a starved pit bull, the warmth of a pit viper, the compassion of Jeffrey Dahmer. And yes--I chose to be there.

Yet after 33 minutes, I began to question my sanity. "What in the world do I do this for, week after week, year after year?" I thought. "Am I out of my mind?" I wondered with what few neurons still fired upstairs, why I relentlessly tortured myself and my poor, middle-aged, gravity-weary body. Was it for that extra slice of cheesecake?...that second helping of pasta?...that crusty French bread dipped in that cheesy fondue? Yes...yes...and yes, again.

And with that confirmation, I mouthed a silent thank you to my spin partner for helping to get me over my 33 minute hump. Because what's twelve minutes of your life, when there's a warm, comforting fondue waiting for you on the other side?


Classic Cheese Fondue (PRINT RECIPE CARD)
1 garlic clove, peeled and halved
1 1/2 cups dry white wine
2 tablespoons cornstarch
2 teaspoons kirsch liqueur
2 cups (1/2 lb) Gruyère cheese, grated
2 cups (1/2 lb) Emmental cheese, grated

For dipping:
Cubes of French bread
Sliced apples
Boiled red potatoes
Blanched broccoli florets
Sliced red peppers

Combine the cornstarch and kirsch in a small cup and set aside.

Rub the inside of a 4-quart heavy pot with the garlic, then discard. Place the pot over medium heat, add the white wine, and bring to a simmer.

Gradually add the cheese to the pot and cook, mixing constantly using a zigzag (not circular) motion, until the mixture becomes creamy (do not let the cheese boil!). Slowly stir in the cornstarch/kirsch mixture, then bring fondue to a simmer, stirring in the zigzag pattern for about 5-8 minutes, or until the mixture has thickened. Transfer to a fondue pot set over a flame + serve with bread, fruit and vegetables for dipping.

Serves 4

Bolognese Sauce

I have to be honest with you, dear reader--despite the fact that I spent many years practicing my upper cuts, jabs, and hooks with my trainer, Bob, I was always a bit squeamish about the prospect of watching a ''real" fight, up-close, and in-person. Let's face it--watching a boxing match on television from the comfort of your pillowy sofa, with the remote control in one hand, and a bowl of popcorn in the other, is one thing; listening to the sound of bone-crushing blows delivered just feet away from you is a whole different beast. But when my cousin, Mati, invited me to the (not so) Annual Police vs. Firefighters Charity Tough Man Competition in Yonkers this past Friday night, I suddenly found my lips saying 'yes' before my brain had time to weigh in with a 'no'. And with that tiny utterance, I was going to my first fight.

So, there I was, standing on the floor of the old Yonkers Armory--shoulder to shoulder in a packed room with several hundred beer-swilling, blood thirsty cops and firefighters, anxiously waiting for my first fight to begin--when I learned that my cousin, Mark, was in fact, one of the Tough Men. Now, my cousin is a tough Yonkers cop, and I know very well that he can take care of himself, but...boxing? I thought to myself, "does he even know how to box?" A shiver ran down my spine. I made the sign of the cross, and prayed to my Grandmother, "Please Grams, don't let Mark die here in front of me tonight."

When it was finally Marks' turn to fight, I looked up at his face staring down at me from the big screen: 6 feet tall, 195 lbs, 24 years old. 24 years old?!?! Wait...Mark's 36 years old!! "Stop the fight...he's too old for this craziness!!!" Alas, my cries went unheard and the fight went on--all six minutes of it--and despite the fact that his opponent fought dirty, my baby cousin prevailed and took home a Tough Man trophy. All without a drop of his blood being shed, a single bone being crushed.

When I called to check up on Mark the next day, Mati informed me that he was sore, but not so sore that he wasn't in the kitchen making a pot of homemade sauce. As I hung up the phone I was comforted knowing that despite the fact that I come from a tough lot, in the end, what matters to us most is not who wins the fight or takes home the trophy, but who can put on the apron and make the best damn pot of Sunday gravy this side of Little Italy. That's the true sign of a winner in our family.


Sunday Bolognese Sauce (PRINT RECIPE CARD)

1 tablespoon vegetable oil
3 tablespoons butter
1/2 cup chopped yellow onion
2/3 cup chopped celery
2/3 cup chopped carrot
3/4 pound ground beef chuck
Salt + freshly ground pepper (to taste)
1 cup whole milk
1 cup dry white wine
1 1/2 cups canned Italian plum tomatoes, chopped (with the juices)

Place the oil, butter and chopped onion in a large pot over medium heat and stir until the onion becomes translucent. Add the celery and carrots, and cook for 2-3 minutes, stirring frequently. Add the ground beef, a pinch of salt and pepper and stir well until the beef has turned just brown, then add the milk, reduce the heat slightly and simmer, stirring frequently, until the milk has been absorbed. Add the wine and simmer until it evaporates. Finally, stir in the tomatoes, lower the heat and simmer, uncovered for 3 hours, stirring occasionally. Note: If the mixture begins to dry out as it cooks, simply add 1/2 cup of water as necessary (the end sauce should be dry and beefy. not watery!) Season with salt and pepper to taste before serving over cooked pasta + topping with grated Parmesan cheese.

Makes about 4-6 servings (depending on how many rounds you go beforehand, of course)

Applesauce + Latkes

Honeycrisp, Golden Delicious, Ginger Gold, McIntosh, Granny Smith, Fuji—it seems there are as many apple varieties as there are ways to enjoy them. We mash them into sauce, fry them into fritters, bake them into pies, press them into cider, shred them into slaws, ferment them into vinegar. We bob for them, candy them, dry them, carve them, and remain faithful to the notion that eating one a day will help keep the doctor away. I’ve even been told that by having an apple pie baking in the oven when you’re selling your home will make buyers stay longer & look more intently.

Our collective love of apples started with poor Eve, who despite living in the Garden of Paradise with Adam simply couldn’t resist having a taste of that sweet, forbidden fruit. (I’d do a lot for a Macoun picked straight off a tree on a crisp October day, but I draw the line at bearing the burden of Original Sin.)

Personally, I’m a sucker for warm, cooked apples. Give me a slice of hot apple pie, an apple fritter, or a big stack of cinnamon-topped apple pancakes--and a fork--and I’m happy and content. This weekend I'll be making some homemade apple sauce to spoon over a batch of crisp latkes that I've had a hankering for lately. These go perfectly with a pot roast, or a roast chicken. Or, standing over the kitchen counter, if you simply can't wait until dinnertime.

CROCKPOT APPLESAUCE (PRINT RECIPE CARD)
10 large apples, peeled, cored and cut into chunks
1/2 cup water
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 to 1 c. sugar

Place all the ingredients into a crockpot, cover and cook on low for 8-10 hours, or on high for 3-4 hours. Note: If you want to do this on the stove, just simmer, covered (stirring frequently), until the apples are tender.

LATKES (Potato Pankcakes)
1 pound russet potatoes
1 small onion
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1/2 teaspoon salt
Dash of pepper
1/2 to 3/4 cup vegetable or olive oil


Peel potatoes and coarsely grate using a box grater. Grate the onion as well. Soak grated potatoes and onion in a bowl of cold water for a minute or two, then drain well.

Spread potato and onions out on a dry kitchen towel, roll up and twist, wringing out as much liquid as possible. Empty mixture into a bowl, mix in the egg, salt and pepper.

Heat 1/4 cup oil in a nonstick skillet over high heat until it is hot but not smoking. Working in batches of 4, spoon 2 tablespoons potato mixture per latke into the skillet, flattening into 3-inch rounds with a slotted spoon or fork. Reduce heat to moderate and cook until brown on one side (about 4-5 minutes), then flip latkes and cook until the other side is brown.

Carefully transfer to paper towels to drain and season with salt. Continue cooking batches of latkes, adding more oil as needed. To keep latkes warm, place them on a wire rack set in a baking pan in a 250 degree oven.

Makes about a dozen latkes

Grilled Island Pork Tenderloin

I barbecued last night in the middle of a classic northeast snowstorm, by the light of a small flashlight, wearing layers of Thinsulate and Gortex, and it was the happiest I've been in as long as I can remember.

I am in love.

I am in love with irreverance.
And, non-conformity.
I am in love with coloring outside the lines.
And not eating my vegetables.
I am in love with sleeping at odd hours, if I so please.
And, laughing too loud at a stupid joke that only I get.
I am in love with the fact that I am becoming the person I want to be, and that I have finally--at the cusp of 45--stopped making excuses, or concocting explanations for my idiocincracies.

I am what I am, and who I am. And that person chooses to grill Caribbean pork tenderloin on a full-moon night, in the middle of a January snowstorm, while drinking summerhouse margarita's, and laughing out loud at the lunacy of it all.


Grilled Island Pork Tenderloin (PRINT RECIPE CARD)

I first discoverd this recipe for Island Pork Tenderloin Salad in Gourmet magazine back in 2003, and instantly fell in love with it. But being a Summerologist and all, I wanted to be able to cook it outside on the grill, so I got rid of the salad part and simply marinated the pork in a Ziploc bag for several hours, then threw it on the grill until the internal temperature reached 140°F. The result is a delicious BBQ-ed pork that pairs perfectly with mashed sweet potatoes, fried plantains, a spicy slaw, or rice and beans (or, go crazy, invite some friends over, and make all of those). And, just because it's winter, doesn't mean you can't head outside and enjoy a taste of summer tonight; summer--as I've said before--is not only a season, but a state of mind.

I'm living proof of that.


2 pork tenderloins (2 1/4 to 2 1/2 pounds total)
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon chili powder
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 cup dark brown sugar
2 tablespoons finely chopped garlic
1 tablespoon Tabasco sauce

Place all ingredients in a large Ziploc bag, combine well, then refrigerate for several hours. Preheat grill for ten minutes on high heat, then place tenderloins on grill, and sear meat on all sides until brown. Lower heat, close grill top, and cook for approximately 5-8 minutes on both sides. Tenderloins are ready when a thermometer inserted diagonally in the center of each registers 140°F. Remove tenderloins from the grill, and let stand on a cutting board for 10 minutes (temperature will rise to about 155°F while standing) before cutting into thick (1 - 1/1/2") slices.

Serves 6-8