Sausages

When Josh and I were in France in 2002 - that long ago?! - we visited Bayeux. As I am sure you know, one usually travels there to see the Tapestry ... you know, the one that depicts the Battle of Hastings of 1066. The battle that turns the tide of, well, lots of things, including language and cultural influence of the French, Normans really, on the Anglo-Saxons, and all that good stuff. What do sausages have to do with this history lesson? Well, while in Bayeux, Josh and I hit the market and noticed people cheerfully holding onto what looked like hot dogs. Wha? Sure enough, we spotted the wiener cart off in the distance. I knew how to say saucisson, but my head started spinning with the notion that I didn't know precisely how to order this saucisson. And what if I was asked about condiments? What do the French put on their sausage? Yikes. Nearly paralyzing for a perfectionist who easily reddens. But Josh and I wanted one of those sausages, so we got in line and I furiously read the signs and eavesdropped on other people ordering. When it was my turn, I procured two sausages, in bread, with mustard. They were magnificent.

We will also remember the cuisine of Bayeux because this was where we met a very strange Frenchman who declared, in English, "I hate cheese," when we asked for a recommendation. Don't you get deported for that?

I once had a Rachel Ray cookbook. For the uninitiated, she is a TV personality-chef, which is to say, not a real chef, which is the say, she hasn't had training, but she's got some skills anyway. Her claim to fame is 30-minute meals. When I, a simpleton, actually make these meals, however, I find them to be more like 40-45 minutes. I suppose that's still pretty good for dinner preparation time. Anyway, I went through a very heavy Food Network phase when I watched pretty much everyone and all shows. The above sausage dish is one of Rachel's, and it is quite good. You brown sausage - kielbasa is nice - then remove it from the pan and caramelize your onions. Throw in your greens to wilt, adding a little chicken stock if dry. Once everything is wilted to your liking, dump in some drained sauerkraut, a few spoonfuls of brown mustard, and a tsp. of paprika. Throw the sausage back in, and mix. Rachel suggests servings with pan-browned perogis - potsticker-like. I couldn't find any at Trader Joe's, so we went with gnocchi, and it was great. Sam even ate a little bit ... when Josh offered it to him, of course.

Speaking of sausage, our American version is, of course, the hot dog. My mother has been on me for months to just get some for Sam. Josh has reminded me, every time I muse over the possiblity, that hot dogs are the #1 choking and death-by-choking food for toddlers. But I found these franks with no nitrates or other chemical weirdness in them, so we gave the wiener a shot - all cut up really small.

So? Well? What happened?

The short version: Josh and I have some hot dogs to eat.

How about this veggie update: Sam will eat carrots if you give him the whole stinking thing. The carrot you see here was just barely gnawed on after much protest because I cut the green end off. Sam likes to suck on and contemplate that end, declaring, "Don't eat the green part." I denied him that pleasure, so he only ate a bit ... like a rabbit, too.

Skillet Penne

Josh wanted to know what exactly makes this dish a "skillet" penne. It's a pretty cool dish, actually, because everything happens in one skillet, including the pasta. I didn't have much hope for this dish because it calls for sun-dried tomatoes in oil. I don't always like those, but I went for it anyway, thinking we could order pizza if it was awful. But it was so good that it elicited another "restaurant quality" from Josh. It also elicited the dreaded question "This is totally healthy, right?" This is where one can play with language: "Why, yes, our servings were indeed healthy." Notice I did not say "healthful" because that would have been a fib. But "healthy" can speak to serving size, can't it. I did confess, in the end, that it's not so healthful.

Ingredients: 8oz. penne pasta (2.5 cups), 1/2 cup cream, 2.5 cups chicken broth, 1 lb. sausage (I like Italian chicken sausage), 6 oz. spinach (you can wilt fresh in the pan or use frozen added at the end), 1 minced med. onion, 3 minced garlic cloves, 1/2 cup sun-dried tomatoes (oil pressed out and chopped), 1/2 cup grated Parmesan.

Procedure: Saute the onion until translucent, then add garlic and stir in for 30 seconds. Add the sausage and brown. Scatter the tomatoes, penne, and stir. Pour in the liquids and bring to a boil over medium-high heat, then turn down to med-low and cover until the pasta is done. The instructions said 10 minutes, but pasta cooked in this manner seems to take longer than the package instructions say. I think mine took 15 minutes to reach al dente. If you are using fresh spinach, throw it in when the pasta has a couple more minutes. If using frozen, thaw and squeeze excess water out, then scatter over in the last minute of cooking, just to heat through. Remove from heat and sprinkle Parmesan all over.

We drank a Malbec with ours - nice.

Reclaiming my kitchen

"Our kitchen," Josh would say.

This is what we say, don't we? We married women. As in, "Get your shoes off my couch," and, "She had the nerve to come into my house and treat me that way!" We know that these are shared things, but saying "our" in certain situations takes the power out of the statements.

So, you may have been doing the math. I was gone for THREE weeks, with Sam, to California. That's a long time to leave a man alone ... with a cat ... in my house. So what was it like? No, no, not the trip. What was the house like? You know you want to know. What state of disrepair, what kind of chaos did I encounter? What did the kitchen look like?

First, there were NO eggs. Who doesn't have at least one egg in the house? Sure, there was one carton of egg whites - that I bought before I left so that Josh had a supply - but no real eggs. Second, NO milk. Oh, I exaggerate. There was about 1/4 cup of skim milk. Uhhhhh, Sam is 19 months and drinks full-fat ... daily. Maybe you would want to have some on hand since we got home in the afternoon and he would presumably go right down for a nap after having some milk? No? Third, there was a lot of laundry. A lot. Like three weeks' worth. That I am doing today.

Fourth, and maybe the best, was that the garbage was really full. I mean, oddly full, since only one person was here. NO! He didn't! I hear you, dear friends. But he did! He forgot to take it out to the curb on garbage day! In his defense, there were three garbage days and I think he only neglected the can on one of those days. I think.... That was a lot of garbage, though ....

The good news: We have a new fan in the bathroom - one that works and doesn't sound like a lawnmower. AND, the furniture in the rumpus room is arranged in a new way that works much better than the old way. AND, the house is generally clean. He even did a load of kitchen towels that were folded and waiting to be put away. (Because I know where they go.)

I can forgive the trespasses, even the grocery oversights. Really, he just shopped in that way that men do ... you know, for things they need like undershirts, protein bars, and tangerines. He can't be bothered with staples or things that would be useful to have when one gets home with a baby. He also can't be bothered to replace things he used almost all of, like perhaps the diced tomatoes that I assumed were still there for my use in Sunday night's dinner. (Lentil and rice soup with Isernio's sausage and kale)

I blame myself. I was out of practice. Out of the anticipating practice. You know, as a wife who does the shopping, you read between the lines and get things and know things. In hindsight I knew that the diced tomatoes were gone because he told me that he made chili and stew. That positively screams at me to check on my spice, bean, and canned tomato supply.

To Josh's credit, he ran out to the store (after I yelled "You can't just use all of something and not replace it!") and bought canned tomatoes.

So it sent me pondering, this episode. The chores have become divided, and the more years that pass, the more specialized Josh and I become at our work. For example, Josh is all about the installation and maintenance and understanding of electronics. If I were a single gal in my own house (wait, it is my house), I would need to do this all myself. But I remain blissfully ignorant because I can be. My specialty is the store run because I plan the meals and I know what Sam and I need for our meals at home during the day. In other words, I know what we need. Josh will volunteer to go, but it's really more than the list, isn't it? You have to be ready to bob and weave when life throws you curve balls like no Arctic char. To send him means that I have to go through the list and be really specific. Also, there is the whole Inspired Shopping element. You know, you are going down the list when you spot *gasp*chocolate covered almonds and you think, Yes, I need those this week. What will I miss out on if Josh goes to the store? There are lots of psychological layers to this shopping thing, is what I'm saying.

I think a therapist would have a field day with his stuff.

Restaurant Quality

Rigatoni with Spicy Sausage and Arugula

That is what Josh said about this pasta: "Restaurant Quality." It is one of Mark Sorenson's and it was, as mentioned, very good. A lot of it had to do with the sausage: Isnernio's. I have had the hot Italian pork and the Italian chicken, and they are both delicious. The spice blend is such that your dish really needs nothing for flavor other than the sausage. Fennel seed is another one of those secret ingredients, I think.

So, you brown your sausage in a little olive oil, take it out and saute your onion and garlic, then pour some dry red wine and let it boil away a bit. Throw in your crushed tomatoes and put the sausage back. Simmer for 30 minutes, then add the arugula, basil and oregano to wilt.

The herbs go in at the end and add a lovely freshness. Why, yes! Thank you for noticing! I did chiffonade the basil. I did not do the same for the oregano - too small. Speaking of which, one should always watch her step with fresh oregano because it packs quite a punch. A heavy hand with that stuff is not desirable. And don't even get me started on marjoram. Wooeee.

Did you know that "chiffonade" means "made of rags"?

Funny, if you have ever seen Mario Batali's show on the food network, he generally disdains anything French. So, when many recipes would tell you to chiffonade, he says to break the basil up roughly, with your fingers, and (paraphrasing) "there's no need to make it look French."