"real kitchens" news and stories

Sometime early last month, I went out to Linvilla Orchards in Media, PA with a friend to pick apples. I came home with an overflowing half bushel box, awash in good intentions. However, life got in the way and I let the apples sit for longer than I would have liked. They got a bit mealy as the sugars turned to starch and so the only treatment for them was to turn them into applesauce and apple butter (two things I love, so I wasn't particularly sad).

Years ago, when I first started making applesauce, I would labor over the apples, peeling, coring and chopping them into fine pieces. These days, my technique is a little more slapdash. I do still core the apples and I chop the quarters into smaller bits. But I skip the peeling part altogether, which saves an amazing amount of time and hand cramping.

Instead, I cook the apples down (with lots of cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger and lemon zest) with the peels still attached. When I'm able to mash an apple piece with the back of a wooden spoon, I take the whole mess off the stove and run the apples through a Foley Food Mill. It purees the apples into a nice, even sauce that still has some good mouth feel and gets rid of the peels at the same time. It's really easy to boot. If you make a lot of applesauce (or stewed tomatoes or peaches) this tool will become an invaluable addition to your kitchen gadgetry.

When I'm in the kitchen, my cutting board is one of my best friends. I use a large, sharp knife and quickly (but carefully) chop my way through my onions, celery, potatoes or peppers. However, I have a good friend who prefers to ignore the cutting board for everything of the large job, instead using her fingers and a small paring knife to make fruit slices, potato wedges and carrot rings.

I tend to think of that 'in hand' slicing as a kitchen technique that comes from an earlier era. I can imagine my Auntie Tunkel standing in her tiny rowhouse kitchen, slicing root vegetables directly into a roasting pan, using a callused thumb to catch the blade on the other side of the turnip or rutabaga. My own mother is somewhere in between, having used the same old cutting board for so many years that she's worn it thin in the middle, nothing like my own hurried smash and chop.

Are you a cutting board devotee or an in hand slicer?

Last week, I got to cook with my sister. She's a musician who lives in Austin, TX when she's not on the road, so while we check in with each other often, we don't manage to work it out so that we're in the same city frequently.

We didn't grow up cooking together, our parents (mostly our mother, to be honest) did the bulk of the food prep for the years we lived in the same house. I left for college in 1997 and when I moved back for six months after graduation in 2001, she was long since gone. However, having learned to cook from the same people, I've found that we have an innate compatibility in the kitchen that makes cooking together a joy.

Last Monday night, we didn't make anything particularly fancy, just some onion-spiked turkey burgers and a vast pan of sauteed veggies. I mixed the ground turkey and formed it into patties, as she washed and chopped the broccoli and cauliflower. She opened the fridge as if she were in her own home and rooted around for toasted sesame oil, Braggs and little sweet red chili sauce. It delighted me that she was so comfortable and that we could move around my two-person, galley kitchen with such ease.

After dinner was over, we headed back into the kitchen to clean up and I found myself wishing that these moments of cooking, eating and cleaning together came more frequently than two or three times a year. Sadly, during this phase of our lives, it is just not to be.

Do you have a person in your live with whom cooking is a joy? Do you cook with them regularly, or is it a rare occasion that you find yourselves in the kitchen together?

After a day of travel, Scott and I got home to our apartment last night just before 1 am. The changing time zones and the hours spent locked in a fast-moving metal tube had us totally thrown off and we were both ravenous when we walked in the door. Getting to bed was high on my mind, but I knew that we both needed to eat something or sleep would be impossible.

Opening the fridge, I saw that I had done a good job of emptying it out prior to the trip. Thankfully though, I had had the good sense to leave behind half a done eggs and the tail end of a loaf of bread. Pulling out a cereal bowl and a small frying pan, I quickly beat the eggs and poured them out into the pan. I shoved the bread bag in Scott's direction and said, "Toast, please." I stood at the stove, barely conscious, stirring the eggs with a silicone spatula. As I moved the eggs around the pan, I realized that it had been a week since I cooked a thing, a rare occasion in my life.

Soon enough, the toast popped and the eggs were done. We sat at the table for a few moments, eating eggs in companionable silence. It was a meal that took no more than 15 minutes from conception to completion and yet it was still warm, filling and lovely welcome home.

I grew up with a Salton, five-cup yogurt maker. As far back as I can remember, it was always tucked into the back of one of the kitchen cabinets. However, it never got much use during my childhood, as it was more of a relic from my mom's earlier, pre-children, hippie days than an active appliance. When I was 9 or 10 years old, at a moment when we were in need of drinking glasses, she cannibalized the yogurt maker, and pressed the milk glass cups into service around the dinner table. We continued to use them that way for years (I think that my mom even picked up a second yogurt maker at a thrift store at one point, just for the glasses).

Three or four years ago, I happened across a similar yogurt maker at a thrift store. I bought it, despite the fact that I had no active interest in making my own yogurt and my kitchen was already woefully overstocked. I tucked it up on top of my kitchen cabinets and didn't touch it again until last week.

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