Plate #3: Caesar Salad

I'm, like, really really into caesar salads. Peppery and creamy, and you don't feel completely terrible about yourself because it's still a salad, after all. I also get pretty embarrassed ordering them in restaurants because they're so ubiquitous and cheesy now. The Uggs of salads. The ironic moustache of salads. The cosmopolitan of salads.

Lucky for me, I can just make the dressing in the comfort of my own home, averting shame for one more day.

Jenny, pup. Sara, roommate. Both irrelevant to salad making.

The main components of caesar dressing are as follows: egg yolks, lemon juice, garlic, black pepper, olive oil, and anchovies.

I'm so artsy, I can't even handle it.

Okay, anchovies. I know they're terrifying. Little fish in a can. Kind of stinky. But really delicious! Once upon a time when I first made this dressing, I thought anchovies meant being true to the original recipe. (It's a rare occurrence, but I was wrong.)

Regardless, I got over the fact that you can feel their tiny edible bones crunching when you chop them into a paste (um, don't worry, uh, you will too!) and embraced anchovies for their yummy umaminess.

These came wrapped around capers, another one of my favorite
unsung salty heroes.

Also, sort of terrifying: raw eggs. If you are pregnant or a wimp, coddling the eggs is a way to kill salmonella. But let me say, the bacteria is only found in less than 1 in 20,000 eggs, so I shall live on the edge dammit! I'm crackin' my eggs with one hand and I'm eatin' those yolks raw.

Once you've overcome your fears, it's time for assembly.
Into a bowl: some of those mashed anchovies, a few of those raw egg yolks, as much minced garlic as your breath is willing to brave, several turns of the pepper mill, and lemon juice squirts. Mix them around, let them mingle.

The next step requires moderate to advanced ambidexterity, or a friend. (I used the latter.) While constantly whisking the contents of the bowl, slowly drizzle in olive oil. The slower the drizzle, the creamier the end result. Something about emulsions.

Emulsions in action!

All right, great! Congratulations. Pats on the back. You have made an unexpectedly dangerous dressing. Now for things to be dressed.

Romaine lettuce, obviously.

Parmesan cheese. Some people like to grate this into the dressing itself, but I prefer big salty shreds.

Chicken, optional. I grilled it. That's all.

Croutons. I won't deny the ones that come out of a box, but I made my own pretty easy. Slice up a baguette, rub that mother with some garlic, drizzle with olive oil (you're a pro!), and stick it in the oven until crunchy and toasted.

My garlicky little soldiers.

And there you are, a shame-free caesar salad. Feel free to eat while wearing Uggs and/or getting your moustache sticky with spilled cosmos.

Eat me.

Caesar Salad Dressing (makes 1 cup)
5 cloves garlic, minced
5 anchovies, mashed
3 egg yolks
1 ½ lemons, juiced
Black pepper, to taste

¾ cup olive oil

Romaine lettuce
Parmesan cheese
Grilled chicken

Whisk ingredients. Slowly drizzle olive oil into base until creamy. Dress romaine lettuce, parmesan cheese, and grilled chicken.

I tried to get fancy with my plating. I'm not sure how well I executed it.
I ate it all anyway.

Plate #2: Stuffing

Thanksgiving, I'd argue, is the perfect yin and yang of holidays. On the one hand, there you are surrounded by relatives, the drunk kind and the loud kind and the politics-at-the-dinner-table kind and the ones who tell you you've gained weight and the ones who ask why don't you have a boyfriend.

This is a turkey made out of ginger snaps, a donut hole, and an orange
tic tac. Maybe you don’t have a boyfriend because you're too busy
eating things like this.

On the other hand, it is a holiday wholly and absolutely devoted to food. My God, and slap me if it isn't the best kind of food. Mashed potatoes! Pumpkin pie! Sweet potatoes covered in freaking marshmallows! A turkey the size of a two year old!

Since moving to New York about five years ago from the best coast (yeah, I said it), I've had my share of vagabond Thanksgivings. This year, I not only hosted my first orphan lunch, I also made my first honest to goodness homemade stuffing.

My initial plan was to recreate my mom's sausage and apple stuffing, but my new found appreciation for mushrooms lead me in a different direction.

First order of business, stale bread. On Thanksgiving Eve, I bought a crusty loaf of sourdough (pre-sliced to aid with the cubing process). The recipe called for 8 cups, which to me sounded like an outrageous amount. Instead, I dumped my chopped bread into the casserole dish that my stuffing would one day (the next day) call home, and I stopped once it was full, level with the top edge of the dish. I suppose if you're actually stuffing a bird, you should chop more bread accordingly, but this year wasn't my year yet for performing a full turkey cavity search.

The sourdoughs were nestled all snug in their beds / While visions of
mushrooms danced in their heads

There, the bread spent the night, getting stale, preparing itself for the next morning when it would fulfill its stuffing destiny.

Next day! Saute diced celery and onions until translucent and fragrant. 5 and 2, respectively. I tossed in 4 cloves of minced garlic too because I literally do not know how to cook anything without it. My fingernails smelled awful for most of my young adulthood until I learned the stainless steel trick.

Meanwhile, toast a cup or so of walnuts on a baking sheet in the oven. 350° for 10 minutes, or in my case, until you start wondering God, why is the kitchen so hot all of a sudden and where is that awesome roasty smell coming from.

And then! Time to get the star player into its party clothes. Brown a pint and a half of diced button mushrooms with a few tablespoons of finely chopped sage leaves. When they've got a nice tan, theoretically you should add half a cup of dry white wine. And while I am a huge proponent of booze in food (and vice versa), I was plum out of wine at 10am on Thanksgiving day. (This was not the case several hours later.) As a substitute for that depth of flavor boost, I bathed the mushrooms in chicken stock spiked with a splash each of balsamic vinegar and Worcestershire sauce.

Ta da!

When the wine/chicken stock has mostly cooked off, it is time for assembly. In your biggest bowl, combine the stale bread cubes, celery and onion, mushrooms and sage, and walnuts. Glue it all together with one more cup of chicken stock and two lightly beaten eggs.

Replace the whole gang back into your casserole dish and bake for 30 minutes at 400°.

We're ready!

Mushroom Walnut Stuffing (makes 8 servings)
adapted from Martha Stewart

1-2 onions, diced
5 stalks celery, diced
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 ½ pints mushrooms, diced
2 tablespoons sage leaves, finely chopped
½ cup white wine (or chicken stock with balsamic vinegar and Worcestershire sauce)
1 cup toasted walnuts, chopped
6-8 cups of stale sourdough bread, cubed
1 cup chicken stock
2 eggs, beaten

Saute onions, celery, and garlic. Saute mushrooms and sage. When browned, add white wine or chicken stock. Cook until evaporated. Add sauteed ingredients and walnuts to bread. Toss with chicken stock and eggs. Bake at 400°, 30 minutes.

Please excuse this crooked photo. I was way too excited to stuff my face with food to worry about making things look pretty.











Hooray Thanksgiving! Hope yours was as lovely and gut-busting as mine.

I made other food too! That's my blurry sister in the corner. See, she went
straight for the stuffing.